Caught Up (Windy City Series Book 3)

“This one was a little too inside, but your speed was good.” Harrison, one of the pitching coaches, uses his cursor to move the stilled image around, showing me all angles of one of my pitches tonight.

I’m trying to focus on the computer, showcasing my post-game pitch breakdown, on the flight from Anaheim to San Francisco, but there’s a woman in the aisle opposite me, holding both my sleeping son and all my attention.

The baby Tylenol finally kicked in, thank God, relieving some of Max’s discomfort and allowing him a bit of rest. Miller is overly exhausted, but Max wouldn’t go down in his crib, always being a bit needy when he doesn’t feel well, so she’s trying her hardest to get an hour of sleep in an uncomfortable airplane seat while my son naps on her.

Having a sick toddler is no fun. Having a sick toddler while on a work trip? Absolute nightmare.

The past three days have been rough. Guilt gnaws at me over putting my sick son through my travel schedule. I should’ve left him home, but I felt just as guilty over the idea of leaving Miller to watch him full-time, especially when he’s not feeling well. That’s not her responsibility.

It’s moments like these that I feel selfish as hell for keeping my job, and if it weren’t for her helping me, I couldn’t do any of it.

Harrison moves onto the next pitch in the sequence so we can analyze it together, but when I catch Miller attempting to readjust out of the corner of my eye, using the fuselage to rest her head against, I can’t sit still any longer.

“Sorry, but can we do this in the morning?” I gesture to the seat across the aisle from me. “Max has been sick.”

Harrison peeks over. “He seems fine to me. Miller’s got him.”

“And she needs a break.” I try to keep my tone even when, in reality, I’m annoyed and short. I get that the organization has bent over backward to make my situation work, but these are the moments that matter to me. “Look, I’ll wake up an hour earlier tomorrow and meet you for coffee or something, but tonight I just need to take care of my family.”

He agrees but is clearly frustrated over it, and I know he’s just trying to do his job. I did lose us the game tonight, so I don’t have much room to be making demands, but he gives in, taking his iPad and heading back to the front of the airplane to sit with the rest of the coaching staff.

I’m fucking drained. Wrecked by the lack of sleep due to my son being sick while fighting the overwhelming desire to treat the nanny temporarily living in my house like she’s here to stay. But right now, I just really want to hold them both.

With the plane dark and quiet, most of the guys trying to get a bit of shut-eye before we land, I stand from my seat and sneak my way across the aisle.

Trying my best not to wake Max, I slide one arm under the bend in Miller’s knees, the other under her back before I gently lift her in my arms, turning to steal her seat. I get her settled onto my lap so I’ve got them both.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, not even opening her eyes as she buries her head into my shoulder, Max still melted onto her chest.

“Nothing,” I whisper. “Get some sleep.”

She breathes deeply through her nose, nuzzling herself further. “Why aren’t you working?”

“Because there are more important things than work, Mills.”

She doesn’t respond, and yeah, maybe I said that in a way that referred to her work as well.

She buries herself deeper, running a hand over Max’s back. “You holding me like this in front of other people feels pretty intimate.”

I quietly chuckle. “Yeah, well, sometimes I don’t give a shit about your rules, Miller, and right now is one of those times.”

“Why haven’t you tried to break the one where you sleep in my bed?”

Wait . . . what?

I play with the hair framing her face, pushing it out of the way so I can see her better. “Do you want me to break that rule?”

“I’m just wondering why you haven’t tried.”

“You’re confusing the hell out of me, Montgomery.”

“I’m confusing myself too.”

I readjust my hold on them. “I haven’t tried to sneak into your bed mostly for your sake, because I’m fairly certain if we start having sleepovers, you’re going to low-key fall in love with me and I know how adamant you are about this remaining a fling.”

A sleepy smile lifts on her lips. “I missed you.”

Her jade green eyes shoot open at that, and I can’t help but quietly laugh at her exhausted candor.

We’ve seen each other every day since she got to Chicago, so that’s not what she’s referring to. But taking care of a sick Max has been done in shifts, both of us too tired to do anything together once he’s finally asleep.

“Told you, Mills. You’re already falling.”

“I don’t fall in love.”

Those words instantly change the playful vibe. She wants a no-strings-attached kind of life, and the deeper we get into this, it’s clear the only life I’m complicating is my own.

She continues our hushed conversation. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get Max settled down tonight.”

My eyes flicker to my sleeping son who is very much settled down in her arms.

“I think he hates me,” she continues.

“What are you talking about?”

“I tried to get him to sleep, I really did, but he didn’t want me.” Her voice cracks, the words whispered but watery, and her greens are glossed over in a way I’ve never seen. “I didn’t know what to do.”

A single but shocking tear rolls down her cheek, and I swiftly wipe it away with the pad of my thumb.

She’s clearly more exhausted than I assumed because Miller is not a crier.

“He kept screaming and crying and I really think he hates me, and you hated me when I first got here, and I just know you’ll both love that redhead.”

What the fuck is she on about?

More tears fall from her closed eyes, and I clean them up, reminding myself not to give her shit tomorrow once we’ve both gotten some sleep. Knowing Miller, she’s going to cringe at the reminder that she was so vulnerable.

But I love it. Whether she wants to acknowledge it or not, Miller is, at the bare minimum, attached to my son. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve broken down from worrying that I’m not doing enough, and I know firsthand that you only react like this if you care.

“That wasn’t on you. He’s needy when he’s sick and for some reason, I’m the only one who can calm him down. It’s always been that way.”

My brother, sitting in front of us, peeks his head through the opening between the seats. “He’s right. One time, I was babysitting while Kai was at a charity concert and I had to walk into a completely silent auditorium during a violinist’s solo because Max was going to make me go deaf from his wailing, but of course, he was perfectly fine once Kai had him.”

“Stop eavesdropping, you little creep.”

He ignores me, wearing a mischievous smile. “Miller, you’re a beautiful crier.”

“Shut up, Isaiah. Turn around and forget this ever happened.”

I try to hold it in, but I can’t keep my body from shaking with a silent laugh.

Isaiah catches my eye, giving me a knowing smile before he turns forward again. What he knows or why he’s looking at me like that? No fucking clue.

“Miller,” I whisper. “If you’re this sad, I have a shoulder you could lean your legs on.”

She cackles. Yes, cackles. It’s adorable, which is a word I would never let her catch me calling her out loud.

“Hey, I’m the one with the dirty teenage boy jokes.” Her smile falls again as more tears continue to cascade down her cheeks. “I’m just tired, and you were upset with me after the game.”

Exhaling, my head drops back. “I wasn’t upset, not with you. I pitched like shit. The press wouldn’t stop asking questions and then having to go talk to fans . . . I’m tired and I knew you were tired. I wanted to give you a break. I didn’t mean to take it out on you or make it feel like it was your fault.” Running a hand over her hair, I usher her head back to my shoulder. “And he loves you, you know?”

When she looks up at me, Miller’s eyes are an even more vibrant green from the red that surrounds them.

“I’ve never seen him so smitten.”

Which makes two of us.

“You think so?”

I chuckle. “Yes, Mills. He’s passed out and drooling on your overalls. I think it’s safe to say he’s in love.”

She looks down for a moment, running a hand over his dark hair. “Okay.” Sniffling, she composes herself. “Are you going to make fun of me tomorrow for having an overly-exhausted cry?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

She lightly laughs, regaining some of that spirit that makes her who she is, before nuzzling back into my shoulder.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “I know I don’t say it enough but you’re so good with him.”

“Do you think I’m better than the pediatrician lady with all the cardigans?”

Confused, I tilt to get a better look at her. “Max’s pediatrician is a man, and I don’t think he’s all that into cardigans.”

“The redhead.” Miller yawns. “The one who gave you her number after the game. Do you think Max will like her?”

Wracking my brain, I look for something to piece together. Cardigans. Doctor. Phone number.

Phone number . . . the red-headed woman who slipped me a piece of paper after the game? I assumed it was her phone number, but I didn’t check before I tossed it in the trash outside of the bus.

“Miller Montgomery.” A smirk lifts. “Are you jealous?”

She shakes her head to tell me no.

“Little liar.”

“Shh,” she hushes, burrowing against my chest. “I’m sleeping.”

I can’t stop the grin from spreading on my lips. Miller Montgomery is jealous, which feels like the opposite of a no-strings-attached kind of emotion.

It’s just after 2 a.m. when I get into my hotel room in San Francisco. Max slept through the entire flight, thank God, never once waking up on the bus ride to the hotel or while I set up his travel crib in our room. For him, I hate red-eye flights and the team has rearranged our travel schedule to avoid them this season; however, sometimes we don’t have a choice and have to get to the next city.

After brushing my teeth, I flop onto the bed, completely drained from the past few days.

But there’s a woman on the other side of this wall from me who’s equally as worn out, and I can’t stop thinking about how upset she was over thinking she wasn’t enough for Max. That’s not something you worry about if you’re “just passing through”.

Grabbing my phone off the charger, I shoot her a text.

Me: Are you okay?

A minute passes before she responds.

Mills: Yeah, I’m good now.

Me: Good. So, what are you wearing?

I hear her laughter through the wall.

Mills: Wouldn’t you like to know.

Me: I would. That’s why I asked.

She sends me a picture of her in bed, fully covered from head to toe. Oversized sweatshirt, baggy sweatpants that I think might be mine, glistening from her night-time skin care. Clearly ready for sleep and God, do I want to be in there next to her.

Me: If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?

Mills: Well, I don’t make a habit of lying to you, so go for it.

Me: Why were you upset over Max?

There’s a hefty pause before I get a response.

Mills: I’m not sure. I just wanted to help him. To be enough for him, I guess.

Me: Is that because you love him?

Mills: Yeah. I do love your son.

And she thinks she doesn’t fall in love when she’s already done it once this summer.

Me: Can I ask you another question?

Mills: Shoot.

Me: Were you jealous tonight?

Three gray dots appear then disappear, repeating that pattern a couple more times on the screen.

Finally, she responds.

Mills: Yes.

Me: Why?

Mills: Would you believe me if I said I’m not sure? I’ve never been jealous before. I’ve never cared about anyone enough to be.

Me: But you care about us?

I’m too much of a coward to suggest only me. At least if I throw Max in there, I know she won’t be able to fully say no.

Mills: More than I knew I was capable of.

Fuck, my heart feels like it’s about to explode out of my chest. I want to bust through the door between our rooms and pull her into my bed, to let myself believe she’s mine for more than the summer. But Miller made these rules, so she’s going to have to be the one to break them.

Before I can respond, Max starts to stir and it’s not long after that his cry begins to fill the room.

Quickly, I stand from the bed. There are times I let him cry himself back to sleep. Him being sick is not one of those times.

“Come here.” I pick him out of his crib as his wail gains volume. “Shh. It’s okay, buddy. I got you.” Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I pace with him.

He cries as I hold him. My arm is throbbing after a night of pitching, but if I put him down, neither of us is getting any sleep, and that includes our neighbors who share these thin walls. So, I walk the length of the room. I rock him, rubbing his back until his screaming cry settles into a sniffle as he tries to find a comfortable position on my shoulder.

I take him back to my bed instead of his crib. Maybe this way I’ll get lucky, and he’ll be able to get a couple hours of rest.

Keeping him towards the middle of the mattress in case he rolls, I occupy one side, facing him. He uses my bicep as a pillow while he continues to cry, but this cry is the one he uses when he’s trying to settle himself back to sleep.

Rubbing his back, I make soothing noises, attempting to help calm him down, when the door separating my room and Miller’s opens.

She peeks inside and catches my eye.

“Sorry,” I whisper from the bed. “We’re keeping you up.”

She simply shakes her head and comes into my room, closing the door behind her. Lifting the comforter on the other side of Max, she slips into bed with us.

“Mmm,” Max hums, trying to say her name when he rolls over to look at her.

“Hi, baby.” Miller brushes his hair from his face before running her hand over the length of his back, soothing him.

She settles her head onto my open palm against the pillow, her eyes lifting to mine. “Is this okay?”

Typically, I hate someone else getting these moments, even the tough ones, but with Miller there’s no envy. It feels right that she’s here.

My words are desperate, but hopeful. “Please stay.”

She nods against me, gently stroking Max’s back and softly kissing his head until his little cry dissolves and he falls back to sleep.

I have no idea what she was worried about earlier, but it’s obvious to me that this wild woman is my son’s calm. And in a lot of ways, I think I might be hers.

Scooping my hand, I pull her in with my son sandwiched between our bodies, tangling my leg with hers, and draping my other arm over her waist in hopes to keep her close.

I liked seeing Miller jealous tonight, but she doesn’t need to be. I know this picture, the three of us, will dissolve as soon as she leaves, but for now, I plan to steal every second while pretending there’s no end date to us in sight. Because unfortunately for me, I know no one else will ever compare to how complete she makes both me and my son feel.