Play Along (Windy City Series Book 4)

Isaiah: Meet me in the women’s bathroom by the clubhouse.

Me: Why are we meeting there of all places?

Isaiah: It’s where we first met. I’m being romantic.

Me: You should really stop using my bathroom.

Isaiah: But it’s so much cleaner than ours.

I shouldn’t be surprised when I walk into the women’s restroom and find Isaiah leaning a hip on the sink counter and popping dinner mints into his mouth. I’ve caught him in here a handful of times over the years, after all.

He’s too busy exploring all the privileges of the women’s bathroom to notice my presence, but maybe for the first time while at work, I notice him.

His baseball cap is turned backward, but his too-perfect hair is still making its appearance around the edges.

He’s tall. Ungodly tall.

Then there’s his clothes. Khaki pants that hug his thick thighs perfectly and an olive-green bomber jacket laid over a crisp white T-shirt, showing off the muscles in his chest. His sneakers are a fresh white, with socks too low to tell if they match today or not.

“Hey.”

Mouth full of mints, he finds me standing by the door and that signature smile blooms. “Hi, wifey.”

“I’m regretting this arrangement already.”

He ignores me. “The stadium is filling up and the game doesn’t even start for a couple more hours.”

Makes sense. It’s Opening Day against Minnesota and fans have been itching for baseball to return.

Isaiah eyes my yoga pants, running shoes, and Warriors’ polo. My hair is up in a ponytail and my cheeks are warm from lifting boxes of medical tape and other supplies for the past three hours.

In fact, I haven’t looked any less exhausted all week. There hasn’t been a day I haven’t arrived to the field after seven in the morning, or left before the sun has gone down. And I have a strong suspicion why Dr. Fredrick decided to throw the entire medical staff’s to-do list on my shoulders this week.

“How long have you been here?” Isaiah asks, his eyes crinkling and not from his smile, but instead, concern.

“All morning. Dr. Fredrick decided that Opening Day was the perfect day for me to reorganize the medical supply cabinet. I got here at six.”

“Don’t you guys have interns for that kind of stuff?”

“We do.”

Understanding dawns on him and the typically happy-go-lucky guy seems pissed. “Have you eaten?”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Have you eaten, Kennedy?”

“I’ll grab something in the dining hall after this.”

He eyes me as if he doesn’t quite believe me and steps into my space.

I’m not sure why, but I don’t move, flinch, or hesitate. I find myself okay that he might be invading my space to touch me.

Weird.

But he doesn’t. He simply reaches past me and turns the lock on the main bathroom door, keeping everyone else out.

“I have something for you.” He reaches into his pocket. “It’s not as flashy as the last one you had.”

“I hated the last one I had.”

A mischievous smile lifts at his lips. “So did I.”

Isaiah holds the delicate ring out between his index finger and thumb.

“Oh, wow,” I hear myself say. “That’s . . . beautiful.”

Taking it from him, I let the light shine off the center stone. It’s a stunning purple. Amethyst, I’d assume. Small diamonds create a halo around it, and the band is a patinated gold.

It’s clear there’s a history to this ring, a story behind it that new jewelry doesn’t have. This ring seems worn and cherished and loved.

“Fingers crossed that it fits,” Isaiah cuts in. “My mom had small hands too, so I’m hopeful.”

Wait. What?

My eyes shoot to his, only to find him watching me. “Your mom?”

The typically cocky man in front of me blushes at my question. “That was her wedding ring.”

I can physically feel the blood drain from my face as I hold his mother’s ring between my fingers.

I can’t wear this, not when our marriage is simply a transaction.

While I may never understand holding sentimental value for something from my parents, the Rhodes boys adored their mom.

From the little I know, Isaiah was only thirteen and Kai fifteen when their mother tragically passed. Miller has mentioned that Kai sings her praises when he speaks of her, so much so that when Miller was featured in Food & Wine Magazine last fall, she named a dessert after the woman she never got to meet.

Isaiah doesn’t talk much about her, but then again, he doesn’t talk about anything too serious, though I know he must miss her the way his brother does.

“I can’t wear this.”

“You don’t think it’ll fit?”

“This is your mom’s ring, Isaiah. This should be saved for someone else. Someone you care about.”

“I care about you.”

“You know what I mean.”

He holds eye contact, not backing down, but neither do I.

“Please,” I continue, holding it out for him to take back. “I don’t want to dishonor her memory by wearing her ring when I’m only married to her son as part of a business arrangement. I’ll wear something else.”

Too many silent moments pass, until finally, he takes the ring from me.

“When my mom died, this is the only thing I asked for,” he says, looking at it between his fingers. “I’m not sure why. I probably wasn’t thinking straight at the time. I should’ve asked for some of her clothes or her favorite books, but I just wanted this ring because I remember how pretty the color looked on her skin. I’ve always planned on giving it to the girl I marry, and whether this marriage is simply for convenience, you are the girl I married, Kennedy.”

He takes my hand in his and I don’t even flinch as he runs the pad of his thumb over my currently bare ring finger.

“So please, for me, just wear it, okay?”

His tone is pleading for me to agree, and he doesn’t wait for my answer before he slips it over my knuckle.

It fits perfectly.

He circles his thumb over it. “I will, however, divorce your ass if you lose this.”

I can’t help it, I burst a laugh.

After trying for years not to laugh around this man, it’s kind of nice to give into the urge.

I relent, my voice soft. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

“I know.”

“And I’ll get it back to you as soon as all of this is over.”

He doesn’t respond to that.

“These are for you,” I say, reaching into my pocket and holding my palm open with both the black metal band and its silicone counterpart. “I know it’s not diamonds, but—”

“Shouldn’t you be getting on one knee or something?”

I shoot him a look. “Take the goddamn rings before I change my mind.”

His smile grows. “Did you get me both a metal and a rubber ring so I could wear something during my games?”

Okay, my cheeks are definitely pink. Why the hell did I do that?

I guess because Isaiah seems like the kind of partner who would wear a silicone ring during his games since he couldn’t wear the metal version. And as his supposed wife, I would know that.

“You don’t have to wear it while you play if it’s uncomfortable, I just thought it might sell the whole thing, especially since Remington is here at the home games.”

He slips the silicone band onto his left ring finger. “I was just going to get your name tattooed there since I couldn’t wear a ring while I was playing, but this will do.” He unlocks the door, holds it open, and says, “You better get back to work, Doc.”

As I’m walking out, I laugh to myself about the tattoo thing before realizing, I’m not entirely sure he was joking.

With Kai’s hand in mine, I work his muscles, giving extra attention to his adductor pollicis, which tends to tighten up in the early innings if he doesn’t get it worked out before his starts on the mound.

I use my thumb to dig in and pull out the tension.

I work on relaxing the lumbrical muscles between his fingers then flip his hand, palm up, and open the abductor muscle by his thumb.

My fingers glide over his tendons and smooth over his skin.

His hands are big and his muscles are overdeveloped, grown from years of needing to control the path of a baseball.

They feel like Isaiah’s.

A flash of a memory from our night in Vegas zips through my consciousness. I remember freely holding his hand, the tequila keeping me from overthinking.

I wish I could be that natural about physical touch all the time.

But everything about that physical contact was completely different than the kind here, when I’m in the training room.

I started working in sports medicine back in undergrad. Dean was on our university’s baseball team, and I remember finding him in the training room after one of his games.

The team doctors and trainers were working on the athletes’ bodies, running them through different types of post-game therapy and helping them cool down with stretches. I remember how nonchalant it was for the medical staff to touch the athletes they were working on.

At the time, touch was such a foreign concept to me that it was both shocking and intriguing to see an entire profession dedicated to using your own body to fix someone else’s.

I had never really been touched. I couldn’t tell you a single time I was hugged as a child. Never had someone hold my hand or cuddle next to me. At the time, I didn’t know that was abnormal, but once I got to college, I realized there was something wrong with me when my entire body would tense up because my new university friends would try to hug me in greeting.

The next semester, I started interning for Dean’s baseball team and changed my major to premed. I fell in love with the science of it all. How the human body was able to break down and recover. How you could build strength to avoid injury.

I learned that there’s something so amazing about using your own two hands to help heal someone else. Sure, physical contact outside of the confines of medicine is still unnatural for me, but I’m working on it.

“Are you going to make eye contact with me at some point, or . . .”

I continue to work on Kai’s hand as he sits on a training table. “Not if I can help it.”

He chuckles.

“Do you hate me?”

“Damn, Kennedy. I’ve never known you to be so dramatic.”

I drop his hand, finally looking up. Yes, up because even though he’s sitting and I’m standing, the Rhodes boys are ridiculously tall. “Do you think differently of me now?”

“Of course not.”

“I’m basically using your brother.”

“He doesn’t seem to mind. I’m fairly certain he’d volunteer for the job if given the opportunity.”

I’ll never understand Isaiah’s so-called crush on me. If he knew anything about me, his feelings would evaporate. Connor was offered the keys to my family’s company. All he had to do was be with me, and even he couldn’t.

Kai’s voice is low, for only us to hear. “This will, however, be a very different conversation if he gets hurt.”

“He can’t get hurt. It’s not personal. It’s a business arrangement. One that ends in six months.”

He taps his mom’s ring on my finger. “I’m not so sure he sees it that way.”

That’s my concern too. This ring feels far too real for what we’re doing.

A paper plate with a homemade sandwich drops onto the training table next to Kai. “Eat,” Isaiah says, directed at me.

I look up at the other overly tall Rhodes.

“I told you I’m fine—”

“Eat the damn sandwich, Kenny. You look like you’re going to pass out.” He turns to his brother. “She’s been here all day and won’t stop working. Don’t let her work on you any more until she eats.”

Kai bursts a laugh as his brother walks away and leaves me with a homemade sandwich and very strict orders.

There’s a dining hall here, and I’d imagine that’s where he put this together. As part of the staff, I’m allowed to eat the food provided there too, I just haven’t had a chance yet. When my colleagues get breaks, I don’t let myself stop.

Dr. Fredrick may not want to promote me, but when called for a reference, he won’t be able to say I’m not the hardest worker on his staff.

I take Kai’s hand again to finish our pregame stretch, but he pulls it out of my reach, pushing the paper plate towards me. “You heard him. I’m not going to be the reason my sister-in-law passes out.”

“You did not just call me that.”

His mischievous grin looks a whole lot like his brother’s.

“Can I get everyone’s attention?” Monty announces to the entire training room. “Our team owner, Mr. Remington, has something he’d like to say.”

With the entire team and staff in here, I immediately find Isaiah across the room. He’s looking at me too, sharing a silent conversation that something doesn’t feel right.

“I won’t keep you long,” Arthur Remington says, holding up his hand. “I want to wish you all luck today. I’m looking forward to yet another successful season for us here in Chicago. This is my forty-second season as the owner of the Windy City Warriors, and I couldn’t be prouder of the group in this room. But before this year officially begins, I wanted to make an announcement that this season will be my last.”

Isaiah and I find each other for a brief moment again.

“Next year, my granddaughter, Reese, will be taking over as team owner for our family.” He holds his hand out, gesturing to a woman who I assume to be his granddaughter.

She’s beautiful. Mid-thirties if I had to guess. Short blonde hair, full body, and dressed to the nines. Bombshell in every sense of the word.

But more importantly, she’s a woman.

A woman is about to run this entire organization.

Another woman in a male-dominated field.

Part of me wishes I were going to be around next year to see it.

“I’ll miss seeing you all every day and being here at the field, but I’m looking forward to passing our family legacy down to my granddaughter.”

The room collectively gives a polite clap and Reese simply holds her hand up in greeting.

“You’ll be seeing her a lot more than me this season. In preparation for taking over, she’s going to be stepping in where I haven’t been able to be as present. That includes both home and away games. She’ll be traveling with you all this year and reporting back to me, so when you see her around, just treat her as you’d treat me.”

Hold up.

Traveling with us?

I find Isaiah again, expecting to catch a look of horror on his face to match mine, but he’s just standing there, hands in his pockets and a shit-eating grin on his face.

He knows as well as I do that simply saying we’re married isn’t going to be enough. Now, with constant eyes on us, we’re going to have to fake this entire thing.