Caught Up (Windy City Series Book 3)

“Max, there’s your dad.” I point to the television screen across the room.

He squeals and claps, his eyes wide with excitement.

“Is your dad the best baseball player ever?”

His icy blues grow and glint, so I’ll take that as Max’s version of a yes.

“I wonder who’s gonna break the news to Babe Ruth and Willie Mays?”

He giggles, though I know he doesn’t have any idea what I’m asking.

Over the past few hours with him, I’ve learned that I’m the funniest person to ever exist and if he keeps laughing at everything I have to say, I’m going to need an ego check by the time the summer is over.

When my dad proposed the idea of me nannying for his pitcher’s son, I was hesitant. I’ve never really spent time with a kid before, and sure, there are some major fears of not being good at this role, but what’s different about this job compared to all the others is that, no matter if I’m the best or not, I’m directly helping my dad. Other goals I strive for are to impress him, reassure him I’m doing something with my life after he gave up his. But this, this is me having the opportunity to make his life easier.

Max continues to look at his dad on the TV as he stands in some kind of contraption that keeps him upright and level with the counter so he can hang out with me as I get his dinner together. He reaches for his sippy cup of water, chugging it back while I cut up a bit of avocado and brown some toast, putting it on his food mat so he can eat and make as big of a mess as he’d like.

I’m not sure if I suddenly gained a knack for working with kids or if Max is the easiest fifteen-month-old to exist, but he’s really boosting my confidence here. In his own way, he responds to my questions, as long as the answer is yes or no. He eats the food I put in front of him and was fully entertained by the castle of wooden blocks I made earlier.

As if I wasn’t already convinced that Kai was the problem and not the nannies themselves, spending my afternoon with Max is proving my point. They’ve got an entire MLB organization catering to their new family, but I’m starting to feel like maybe Kai isn’t all that eager to make this situation work.

My attention is pulled back to the television. Top of the eighth and the Warriors already have two outs. Number twenty-one is on the mound, looking stunning in that royal blue uniform. Scruff slopes over his sharp jaw, perfectly proportioned lips, full brows. He must be wearing contacts at the moment, but his usual glasses really add to that “uptight but fuckable” vibe he emanates. Clark Kent look-alikes do it for me apparently.

Kai shakes off a call and then another before accepting the third option his catcher gives him.

I roll my eyes. I’m glad to know I’m not the only one Kai likes to disagree with.

Winding up, that tall and lean body stretches out, releasing a curveball that’s speed is surprisingly fast for the type of pitch, but it moves so much over the plate that there’s no denying it’s a curveball. And it’s a nasty one too.

Third strike. Third out.

“Max, why didn’t you tell me your dad was so good?”

He smacks his lips around the bit of avocado before smiling at me, all green baby teeth.

“Dadda.” Once again, he points his avocado-covered finger at the screen as a camera zooms in on Kai jogging off the field.

The guy is annoyingly easy on the eyes. His cap is pulled low over his brow, but the blue of his hat makes his piercing eyes shine even from here.

“Kai Rhodes is having a heck of a season,” one of the announcers says in the background. “He looks better at thirty-two than he did at twenty-two.”

I’m assuming they’re talking about his talent, but there’s no denying that Kai Rhodes looks damn good at thirty-two.

Another voice cuts in. “I’d say those fans in Chicago are feeling awfully lucky right about now. He signed with the Warriors last season to play with his brother one final time before moving into retirement in the next handful of years, but with how he’s playing lately, retirement is the last thing anyone is thinking about. And I’d assume it’s not even on Kai’s radar.”

The little boy next to me with dark brown hair and wistful blue eyes looks at the screen in awe as his dad slips into the dugout. Not only does Kai look like a superhero, I think he might actually be one to his son.

You can see it in the way Max looks at his dad. In the way Kai looks at him. I’d bet good money Kai thinks about retirement every single day.

“Max,” I say, pulling his attention back to me and the food on his mat. “I made you something.”

I’m versed enough to know that crust is a hard no for most kids, so while cutting it off, I made it a little more exciting by turning his square of white bread into a piece of doggy-shaped toast.

Look at me using my kitchen skills on day one of this gig. Who the hell needs cookie cutters?

“Woof! Woof!” Max barks, pointing at the bread.

“Do you like doggies?”

He slaps at the toast in excitement before tearing off a leg and popping the bread in his mouth.

Glad to know I’m still in debt from pastry school when I could get this kind of reaction by cutting some store-bought bread into the shape of a Labrador.

I lean my elbows onto the counter to get on his level. “Max, what do you think is wrong with me?”

Damn. Loaded question for a fifteen-month-old. I guess I really am losing it.

He doesn’t answer, continuing to chew away at the bread and avocado. Little does he know there are people in certain parts of the world willing to pay twenty-five dollars or more for some avocado toast and he’s over here mashing it into his mat long before it ever makes it to his mouth.

I rephrase my question. “Do you think I’m going to get my life together by the end of summer?”

He looks at me with shiny eyes.

“Do you think I’ll stop sucking in the kitchen?”

He giggles.

My eyes narrow. “Do you think I’m going to figure out these recipes?”

He smacks his lips as he chews before giving me his biggest smile.

“Wow.” I straighten. “Hanging out with you is going to be excellent for my self-confidence. Did you know that?”

He squeals and I chuckle, brushing his hair away from his eyes. “All right, little man. I’ll be sure to keep phrasing my questions so I like your answers.”

My phone dings on the counter. The eighth time in eight innings.

Unknown: This is Sanderson . . . again. Ace wants to know how Max is doing.

I can’t help but roll my eyes at the unknown number accompanying the exact question I received during all seven of the previous innings. Kai is ridiculous, pulling these poor employees into his overprotective insanity.

Me: Good. He’s sleeping really well after the whiskey I slipped into his bottle.

Unknown: Oh okay. Well, um . . . Ace wants me to tell you that you’re fired.

Me: Weird. I was fired three times already tonight, yet I’m still at the hotel with his son.

Unknown: I’m sure he’ll reach out again in the ninth.

Me: I’m sure he will.

When I agreed to this gig, I wasn’t fully convinced I was ready to spend my summer taking care of anyone other than myself, but I said yes because my dad is almost impossible to say no to. Whatever convincing I needed was solidified by Max and how easy he is to be with, but his dad’s overly concerned parenting style is causing me to question my decision.

My attention falls back to the little boy who is an absolute mess covered in avocado.

“Max, is your dad the most overbearing parent of all time?”

He squeals and from now on, I’m taking that as a definitive yes.

“That’s what I thought.”