“Ace, what was that hug for when you first came in?”
I hold his eye contact, making sure he hears my words. “For taking care of Miller when she needed it. You’re a good man, Monty.”
“Ah fuck,” he breathes out, chuckling under his breath. “You’re getting soft on me.”
“I can’t help it. Something weird happens to your emotions when you have a kid.”
“Tell me about it.” Monty shakes his head, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, trying to be discreet about it. “Get out of here. I need to get my shit together so I can go out there and pretend I’m a lot tougher than I actually am.”
“It’s hotter than Satan’s asshole,” my brother complains as he warms up his arm next to me, throwing down the foul line to Cody.
I do the same, stretching out my shoulder and throwing at twenty-five percent speed to one of the other starting pitchers who will be hanging out with me in the bullpen tonight.
“I don’t miss Texas for a lot of reasons,” I say. “But these bullshit temperatures are pretty high up there if not the number-one reason.”
Isaiah catches the ball, holding on to it as he turns to me. “Do you ever feel weird coming back here?”
I couldn’t care less about being back in my home state. Both Seattle and Chicago feel more like home than this place does. I spent my teen years grinding while I was here, trying to get my brother into college on a scholarship, figuring out a way for us to get to practice and school all while hoping to make him feel the love and support our dad couldn’t provide.
I keep my ball in my glove, facing him. “Nah. Do you?”
“Not weird, but I kind of miss it. I have some good memories growing up and playing ball here.”
I swear it’s that dad thing I was talking about, getting me all emotional, but there’s a flood of relief that flows through me knowing my little brother can look back at that time in our lives with nostalgia. I thought it would fuck him up. I thought me raising him would fuck him up, but he seems to be doing all right.
Leaving my spot, I throw an arm over his shoulder and palm the back of his head. “Yeah, man. We did have some good times here, huh?”
“Hey, Rhodes!” someone yells from the quickly-filling stands. “Your ass looks good in those baseball pants!”
Isaiah’s smile grows as he investigates the crowd behind me. Following his line of sight, I find the owner of that raspy voice wearing those cut-off overalls, sunglasses, and holding my son.
God, she looks good. In a sea of royal blue and red, she’s all denim and earth tones.
But what is she doing here? The game is about to start and she’s got Max situated in her overalls like some kind of kangaroo. When I look a bit closer I can see him wearing the mini version of my jersey the team bought for him with his arms and legs slathered in sunscreen.
My brother turns around to show off his butt, looking back at it. “This old thing?”
“Not you,” she shouts back, nodding in my direction. “I’m talking about the hot single dad over there! Number twenty-one.”
“Him?” Isaiah asks, throwing a thumb towards me. “He’s old as hell.”
“I’m two years older than you, you dick.”
“What can I say?” Miller yells to the field. “I’ve got a thing for older guys!” She punctuates that with an admiring whistle of her lips.
My smile is painfully big as it covers my face, partly because Miller calling me hot in front of my brother does something stupid to my ego, but mostly because Max is here and he’s never been to one of my games.
I jog over to them as they stand in the first row behind the barrier between the field and the fans.
“What are you guys doing here?” Max turns to look down as he sits in Miller’s overalls, his cute, chubby-cheeked smile finding me. “Hi, Bug!”
“I thought you might want to have Max nearby seeing as you’re in the bullpen today.”
My eyes dart to hers. “Where are you sitting?”
She points to a seat off the foul line, the first one on the side of the bullpen. A spot where I’d be able to see them both all game.
“How the hell did you score that seat?”
“I know somebody who works for the team.”
My head jerks to the field where Monty stands in front of the dugout, but he stares straight ahead, wearing his sunglasses and chewing his gum as if he wasn’t just looking over here.
Max reaches back for me. “Dadda!”