Caught Up (Windy City, #3)
Liz Tomforde
Chapter 1
Kai
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Ace.” Monty drops the scouting report onto his desk in the hotel room. “You fired him on a game day? What the hell are you planning to do with Max tonight? It’s your night on the mound.”
I made sure to bring my son in for this meeting partly because I didn’t have anyone else to watch him and partly because I knew Monty was going to be pissed I fired another nanny, but would be less furious with Max’s chubby-cheeked smile staring back at him.
“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”
“We had it figured out. There was nothing wrong with Troy.”
Like hell there was nothing wrong with Troy. After my early morning workout with the team doctor and training staff, loosening up my shoulder for tonight’s start, I came back to my room to find my son with a diaper that was hours past due for a change. Add that to the weeks he spent fanboying over my teammates instead of focusing on his job, and I was done.
“Not the right fit,” is all I say in response.
He exhales a long, defeated breath and Max giggles at my field manager’s frustration.
Monty eyes him from across the desk, leaning in. “You think this is funny, kid? Your dad is making me go gray.”
“I think that’s all you, old man.”
My fifteen-month-old son smiles back at my coach while sitting in my lap, all gums and baby teeth. Monty drops the tough guy act as I knew he would because Max is a soft spot for him. Hell, he’s a soft spot for the entire team, but especially for the man sitting across the desk in this hotel room.
Emmett Montgomery, or Monty as we call him, is not only the field manager of the Windy City Warriors, Chicago’s MLB team, but he’s also a single dad. He’s never told me the details of how his family came to be, but I would be shocked if his situation were anywhere as absurd as mine. That is, unless he also had a past fling fly across the country almost a year since he last saw her, only to drop the bomb that he’s a dad and she wants no involvement before leaving him as a single parent to a six-month-old baby boy.
I try not to take advantage of Monty, knowing he and the entire organization have bent over backwards to make my new family situation work, but when it comes to my kid, I refuse to compromise on who takes care of him while I’m working.
“I’ll talk to Sanderson,” I offer, referring to one of the trainers on staff. “He’ll be in the training room all night. I can get Max situated there. As long as no one gets hurt, the room will be quiet. He can sleep.”
Monty rubs his thumb and forefinger over his brows. “Kai, I’m trying here. I’m doing everything I can for you, but this isn’t going to work unless you have childcare we can all rely on.”
Monty only uses my first name when he’s wanting me to take his words to heart. Otherwise, he and the whole team call me by my nickname—Ace.
But I have taken his words to heart. They’re the same ones he’s been preaching to me for the past three months, ever since the season started. I’ve already rotated through five nannies. And the reason for that is because, well . . . I’m not sure I want to make it work.
I’m not sure I want to play baseball anymore.
The only thing I’m positive of is that I want to be the best possible dad for Max. At this point in my life, at thirty-two and after ten years in the majors, nothing else matters to me.
A game that I once loved, that I thought of as my entire existence, I now view as time away from my family.
“I know, Monty. I’ll figure it out when we get back to Chicago. I promise.”
He exhales another defeated sigh. “If your brother weren’t also on my roster, you’d be the biggest pain in my ass, Ace.”
I roll my lips in, trying not to smile. “I’m aware.”
“And I’d trade you if you weren’t so damn talented.”
I can’t help but laugh at that one because he’s full of shit. I’m one of the best pitchers in the league, yeah, but regardless of my talent, Monty loves me.
“And if you didn’t like me so much,” I add for him.
“Get out of here and go talk to Sanderson about watching Max tonight.” I stand from my seat, situating my son over my hip before turning to leave his hotel room. “And Max,” Monty calls out to my kid, who can’t respond to him. “Stop being so dang cute all the time so I can yell at your dad every once in a while.”
I roll my eyes, leaning in close to speak to my son. “Wave goodbye to Monty and tell him he’s getting grumpy and kind of ugly in his old age.”
“I’m forty-five, you dick, and you can only hope to look this good in thirteen years.”
Max giggles and waves at my coach, having no idea what we’re talking about, but he loves Monty as much as Monty loves him.
“Hi!” Max hollers from across the room.
Close enough.
“Hi, buddy.” Monty laughs. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
I didn’t think I’d ever be as close to a coach as I am to Monty. Before last season, I was playing for the Seattle Saints, the team I was drafted to and spent the first eight years of my career with. I respected the staff there, and I liked the field manager enough, but our relationship was all business.
Then, last season, my free agency brought me to Chicago, solely because my younger brother is on the roster—starting shortstop for the Warriors, and I missed playing ball with the little shit. When I met Monty, I instantly liked him, but our working relationship became more like family when Max came into my life last fall. I can’t thank him enough for what he’s done for me. It’s because of him, understanding the kinds of sacrifice it takes to be a single parent, that made this situation work.
He told the team executives that my son would be traveling with me this season, and he wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. Knowing if he was denied, I’d be going into early retirement. I refuse to be without my kid for half the year when his own mother abandoned him at six months old. He needs someone constant and stable in his life, and I won’t let something as trivial as a game be the reason my son doesn’t have that.
I should probably stop firing everyone we hire so I can make Monty’s life a little easier, but that’s a different conversation.
My brother, Isaiah, jogs down the hall and hops into the elevator right after us. His disheveled, light brown mop of hair is still formed into whatever shape the bed he slept in gave it. I’ve been up for hours, between waking with Max and getting my morning workout in, but I’d bet good money he just left his bed.
And I’d bet my life there’s still a naked woman in it.
“Hey, man,” he says. “Hi, Maxie,” he adds, blowing a raspberry on my son’s cheek. “Where are you guys going?”
“Gotta go beg Sanderson to watch him tonight during the game.”
Isaiah doesn’t say anything, simply waits for me to elaborate.
“I fired Troy.”
He laughs. “Jesus, Malakai. Make it a little more apparent you don’t want to make this arrangement work.”
“Troy sucked and you know it.”
Isaiah shrugs. “I mean, I prefer your nannies to have tits and a strong desire to sleep with me, but besides that, he wasn’t terrible.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Max . . .” Isaiah turns to my son. “Don’t you want an auntie? Tell your daddy that your next nanny needs to be a woman, single, twenties or thirties. Bonus points if she looks banging in my jersey.”
Max smiles.
“Wouldn’t mind being a mother to a thirty-year-old man,” I add. “Is okay with a disgusting apartment. Knows how to cook and clean since you’re a literal man-child and refuse to do so.”
“Mmm, yeah, she sounds perfect. Keep your eyes out for someone just like”—the elevator doors open—“that.”
My brother’s attention is glued straight ahead when we arrive on the lobby level.