Monty laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m getting some real mixed signals here, man.”
“You talked me out of retiring when you did the exact same thing for the same fucking reason.”
Monty’s brown eyes soften, his chest moving in an exhale. “She told you.”
“Yes, she told me, and you should’ve too.”
“Take a seat.”
Annoyed, I do as he says, sliding into the chair on the other side of the desk.
Monty settles back in his seat, steepling his fingers under his chin. “I didn’t tell you because you and I are not the same.”
“We are exactly the same in that regard, Monty. You retired to take care of your kid. Why can’t I?”
“Because I wasn’t you, Ace. I didn’t have your level of talent. I wasn’t your age. I didn’t have the kind of help you have. Why do you think I’ve been so adamant about the organization making this work for you? I know how hard it is. Fuck, Kai, I know what you’re going through, but you’re not alone in this. I was.”
Shit.
“I didn’t tell you because you’re looking for a reason to retire,” he continues. “I wasn’t going to give you one. If you didn’t love playing anymore, I’d help you pack your bags right now, but I see it. The look you have on the nights you’re pitching. How much you love being with Isaiah again. You still love the game.”
“You do too. Clearly. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have coached for the past twenty years. So why did you leave if you loved it so much?”
“Because Miller was five years old, and she had just lost her mom.”
My eyes dart to the framed picture on his desk. A pre-teen Miller in her yellow softball shirt with a giant number fourteen on her uniform. Knowing what I know of the woman now, my chest aches at what she went through at such a young age.
Taking off my hat, my thumb dusts the photo of Max I keep tucked in there.
Monty sighs with resignation. “She was in kindergarten and had lost the only parent she had ever known. She needed me.”
“Do you regret quitting? Is that why you don’t want me to do the same?”
“Not for a second. I needed her as much as she needed me, but it was different for Miller and me than it is for you and Max. I was looking for direction at that point in my life, and I’m a much better coach than I ever was a player.”
My eyes stay glued to her photo.
“You have the help I never had. You and Max have so many people behind you. Your brother, me, this entire team.”
Miller, I silently add.
I can see it from the weeks she’s been here how protective she is of Max, how much she cares for him already, but I won’t say that out loud for her father to hear.
“What is quitting going to do? Keep you home to make sure Max is happy? You know what makes a kid happy? Watching their parent fulfill their dreams. Baseball is still your dream, I know it is. Stop viewing it as the enemy and let yourself enjoy it. All of it—the team, the travel, the fans. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.”
Keeping my eyes on Miller’s photo, her words ring through my mind. How she doesn’t want Max to feel the guilt she does, how she wants to help me find a balance between the two loves in my life.
“Kai, look at me.”
I do so, finding Monty across the desk.
“I love both you and your son. You know that. You’re the best pitcher I’ve ever had on my roster, but I wouldn’t ask you to stay if I didn’t think it was the right thing for you both. I want you to have the opportunity I never had. You’ve got a hell of a lot of people in your corner.”
For someone who has always felt alone in my responsibilities, never having anyone else to rely on, it’s not easy for me to see the help around me. But it’s there. There’s not a single soul on this team or staff who wouldn’t go out of their way for me or my son. I tend to wallow in self-pity, telling myself I’m alone in this, but I’m not.
I nod. “Sometimes I forget to look.”
“Well, you spent a lot of years looking and coming up empty, so I don’t blame you, but that’s not the case anymore.”
Silence lingers between us.
“You good?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He gestures towards the field. “Good. Go get your ass in the bullpen.”
Chuckling, I stand as he does the same. When he takes my hand to shake, he tugs on it, pulling me across the desk to throw his arms around me in a hug, but as I leave, he stops me.