Play Along (Windy City Series Book 4)

“Mills just texted.” Kai sets his phone back in his locker stall. “They’re in the hall.”

I grab my hat—a different one than I sent with Kennedy—and follow my brother to the hall off the clubhouse.

Zanders, Stevie, Ryan, Indy, Miller, and Rio are waiting for us.

“Hey, guys. Thanks for coming,” I say, approaching the group.

Zanders puts his hand in mine, the other going around and tapping the back of my shoulder. “Big bro announces his retirement, we figured we better get to as many games as we can.”

We say hi to everyone individually, before Kai stays put with Miller, his arms folded around the front of her shoulders.

Other than Rio and me, everyone is paired off.

I fucking hate it.

I’ve gotten so accustomed to having Kennedy by my side, especially here at the field. All of this is a preview to next season. But my brother won’t be in his uniform. He’ll be visiting, just like the rest of these guys.

“Is Kennedy going to come out, or is that dickhead doctor keeping her too busy?” Indy asks.

“No, she’s not here actually. She’s in San Francisco.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Stevie says, so much excitement in her voice. “How’d her interview go?”

I hesitate, because the truth is, I don’t know yet. I’ve been too afraid to ask.

My eyes flit to Miller’s, silently begging for her help.

“Kennedy said she’d fill us in when she got home,” she says in rescue.

“Sunday night family dinner,” Ryan reminds me. “About time you brought her, don’t you think?”

“There’s my girl.” Monty steps out of his office into the hallway, eyes on Miller.

“Hi, Dad.”

He holds his arms open for a hug, but Kai doesn’t let go of her.

Monty’s attention shifts to him. “Really?”

“What?” My brother’s tone is entirely too innocent as he holds his fiancée captive.

“I have no problem benching you tonight.”

Kai huffs a laugh. “It’s my first start after announcing my retirement. I don’t think that’s going to go over too well with the fans.”

“Ask me if I give a shit?”

Kai playfully rolls his eyes and releases Miller.

“Where’s my grandson?” Monty asks as he hugs his daughter.

“Emily from the bakery is babysitting him and Taylor tonight.”

Rio’s head shoots forward from the back of the crowd. “Emily from the bakery, huh? She single?”

“Please stop.” Zanders’ tone is exhausted.

Monty says hello to our friends. “I gotta get out there.” He smacks me on the shoulder. “Same for you too. I want to win quickly. There’s a bout of rain coming in later and I don’t want to get stuck in a rain delay. Love you, Millie. See you after.”

“Bye, Dad.”

Stevie whips her head around to Miller. “Excuse me?”

“What?”

Indy is looking at Miller as if she can’t believe what she just saw. “Your dad is hot.”

“Gross.” She physically grimaces.

“Oddly enough . . .” Rio lifts a brow. “I agree with her.”

“You’ve got a hot dad, Miller,” Stevie chimes in.

“Make it stop.”

Zanders shrugs. “They’re not wrong. I’m straight as a fucking arrow, but that is one good-looking man.”

“Annnnd this conversation is done.” Miller turns back to Kai, giving him a kiss. “Love you. Good luck.”

“Love you, baby.”

She hugs me. “Love you too, just a little bit less than him, though.”

“Always keeping me humble.”

“Someone’s got to.” She keeps an eye down the hall as the rest of the group heads out of the hallway, and when Kai turns for the training room, she turns her attention back to me. “Have you not talked to her?”

“Of course I have. I just haven’t asked her how her interview went.”

“And why not?”

“Because I know she killed it and I’m in denial. But I’m happy for her, I truly am. I just want to celebrate her when she tells me in person because we all know I’m not celebrating right now. Until she gets home, I’m going to wallow like a little bitch in private.”

“Did she tell you that Dean basically set her up with his friend who picked her up from the airport?” Miller tries to hold back her giggle. “Bet you loved that.”

“Yes, she told me. That fucking prick. As if I didn’t already hate the guy enough.”

Miller tilts her head to the side. “I know the guys have given you shit for years over your crush on her, but I see it, Isaiah. I see the way you look at her, and I see the way Kennedy practically glows when she’s with you. Your marriage might be fake, but the rest is so obviously real. Don’t give up hope, okay? Maybe she won’t even take the job.”

“She better fucking take the job.”

Miller chuckles, smacking me on the arm. “Go help your brother get a win on his start record by hitting a couple of bombs, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best.”

I did do my best. Or at least the best I had to offer tonight. But the only time my bat ever connected with a ball was when I skimmed a few fouls or when I hit a weak grounder and was out long before I made it to first.

I was struck out twice, and I couldn’t tell you the last time I was so shit at bat. But I swear to God, every time my walk-up music played it was like the entire stadium was taunting me, singing our wedding song, while my wife is on the other side of the country landing her dream job.

That spot of rain Monty was worried about turned out to be a whole-ass summer storm.

Regardless of my shitty game, the boys pulled off a decisive win, ending it in regular innings, so I got home with plenty of time before the bad weather really started. As did my friends who came to watch the game, as well as Cody, Travis, Monty, Miller, and Kai.

I know this because I’ve checked on each and every one of them.

The only person who I haven’t heard from is the first person I called.

Seven unanswered calls now going through to voicemail, and I still have no idea if Kennedy made it home. If her flight landed. If she got in a rideshare to her apartment or to the stadium where her car is. And I have no idea if she got home before this shitty weather hit.

I try Miller instead.

“Have you heard from her?” I ask as soon as she answers.

“Not yet. I tried to call but she didn’t pick up. I know she landed because she texted to check in on how the game was going during the eighth inning.”

“And then what? Did she get a rideshare to her car at the stadium? Or did she go back to her apartment?” My tone is frantic. “Why would she not be answering?”

“Maybe she’s driving.”

“Miller.”

“Shit,” she exhales. “Wrong thing to say.”

“I’m calling her again. Let me know if you hear from her.”

I hang up before she can respond and try Kennedy for the eighth time.

Once again, she doesn’t answer.

A loud, thunderous boom shakes my apartment building, the rain hitting so hard and so fast against the windows I can hardly hear myself think.

The anxiety winds through my every nerve, making me unable to stay put in one place. I pace my living room, kitchen, in and out of my bedroom, rolling my eyes at every stupid fucking sign I pass that I don’t have the capability to laugh at right now.

Phone ringing in my hand, I quickly turn it over, hoping and praying that Kennedy’s name is on the screen.

It’s not. It’s Kai.

My thumb hovers over the green button to answer, but I can’t. All I can think about is the tone in his voice and the look on his face when I was thirteen years old, when he came in and told me our mom died in a storm that looked exactly like this one.

I can still remember the smell of the pizza we ate that night. The sound of the front door closing as police officers left. The laundry I had piled on a chair in the corner of the room that my mom told me to fold before baseball practice but I didn’t.

And I remember the exact tone in Kai’s voice when he told me what happened to her.

For that reason alone, I don’t answer.

Call it irrational all you want. I know it’s not logical. Anxiety doesn’t produce rational thoughts. It creates worst-case scenarios and acknowledging that still doesn’t change the fact that anxiety takes over my entire body and mind, making me unable to focus on anything else.

Kai calls again and this time, I muster up the courage to answer.

“What’s wrong?” is the first thing I ask.

“Nothing. I was just calling to check in on you.”

A burst of light flashes through the windows as another strike of lightning hits the ground.

I find a seat on the couch, knees bouncing. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you.”

“Kennedy isn’t answering.”

“Did she land from her flight?”

“Yeah. She texted Miller while the game was still going on that she had just landed.”

“Okay. Do you want me and Miller to drive by her apartment and check on her?”

“No! Don’t get in the fucking car.”

“Okay.” His voice is soothing. My brother, the caretaker. Always looking out for me when I can’t do it for myself. “Call her one more time.”

“It’s been eighteen years, Kai. Why can’t I just get over it?”

He sighs on the other end. “You’ll figure out how to change your thought process, Isaiah, but no one who knows you would ever tell you to just get over it. If Mom died in a plane crash, no one would think it odd if you didn’t like flying. If Mom died by drowning, no one would shame you for being afraid of the ocean. So how is this any different? Stop being hard on yourself, and give your mind a bit of grace, will you?”

I notice my heel creating the same, continuous pattern on the rug, as if the rhythmic movement could distract me, soothe me.

“I’m trying.”

“I know in my gut that Kennedy is okay and probably left her phone somewhere out of reach. I know it’s a simple answer, but it’s all right that your mind isn’t letting you believe that yet. One day you’ll figure it out, but it’s okay that today isn’t that day.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Okay.”

“I love you. Call me if you need anything.”

“Love you.”

I hang up and stand from my couch. While walking in a full and complete circle of my living room, I dial my wife.

Once again, she doesn’t fucking answer.

“Answer the fucking phone, Ken,” I mutter for no one to hear.

There’s not a thought that goes through my mind to stop me, not a moment of hesitation that stills my hand when I grab my car keys off the kitchen counter and head for my front door.

I stuff my feet into a pair of shoes and swing the door open the same time the elevator down the hall lands on my floor.

My eyes immediately lift to her.

Kennedy is standing there inside, clothes entirely soaked through, hair stuck to her face as she huffs to catch her breath. Those damn Vans are on her feet but dripping water all over the elevator floor when she looks up to catch me watching her from the doorway of my apartment, car keys in hand.

“Hi,” she says between hard-earned breaths.

I exhale for the first time since this goddamn storm started.

A tsunami-sized wave of relief settles over me, my body physically slumping from the tension unwinding itself. But I can’t move, stunned into place that she’s here. She’s okay, and it isn’t until she jogs down the hall to me that I realize that all those anxious thoughts begin to settle and rationalize.

But still, there’s nothing soft or sweet about the way I ask, “What the hell are you doing here?”

She’s breathing heavy when she stops on the other side of my door, water soaking the floor around her.

“Did you fucking drive here?” I continue.

She shakes her head no, and that settles me for only a moment before she admits, “I ran here.”

“That’s eight fucking blocks, Kennedy.”

“Yeah. I’m aware.”

I can feel myself amping up again. Can feel the nerves sparking to life, fragile and raw. Does she not understand how dangerous it is to be out in weather like this? She’s dripping from head to toe, probably going to get sick because of it, and she’s lucky something worse didn’t happen to her on the way over here.

My fear speaks for me through my raised voice. “Why the hell would you do that?”

Her shoulders are straight, no hesitation in her tone when she says, “Because I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Her words bring me down again, the constant spike of fear accompanied by the drastic come down is spiraling my emotions out of control. My eyes instantly burn. My throat constricts.

“Don’t fucking do that for me, Kenny.” My voice breaks on her name.

“I wanted to.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know why. I don’t know when it changed. But you always tell me to do what feels good, and I’ve never felt better than when I’m with you.”

I inhale a sharp breath, trying to calm myself down, trying not to let her see how much it means to me that even knowing I’m going to be at my worst, she’s here. Even when my mind plays tricks on me, she validates my fears.

Even when others would call me irrational, laugh off a silly summer storm, she ran instead of getting in her car to check on me.

She reaches out, hand wrapping around mine to uncoil my fingers. They soften in hers, dropping my car keys into her palm.

“Why do you have these?”

“Because I couldn’t get a hold of you, and I needed to make sure you were okay.”

Her head tilts, her face softening. She slips my keys into her jacket pocket the same time she pulls out her phone. Water drips from it, so she wipes the screen, allowing it to display my endless missed calls.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear it on my way over because of the rain.”

“You scared me.”

She shakes her head, brows furrowed as if she truly can’t grasp the concept of someone being concerned for her well-being. That someone would care about her enough, miss her enough that they’d get in the car and check on her.

A rumble of thunder shakes my entire apartment, the subsequent flash of lightning exploding in streaks across Kennedy’s beautiful face.

I try not to pay attention to anything but her, yet I can’t help the slight flinch in my expression.

Kennedy reaches up, her small hand cupping my jaw. I cover it with my own, reveling in her touch, proud of how easy it is for her now.

“Let me distract you,” she whispers.