Play Along (Windy City Series Book 4)
Chapter 11

“Kenny,” I whine in my typical way. “Come on. Please.”

“No. I’m busy.”

Trav peeks over his shoulder and smirks at me as he lays on the training table while my wife loosens up his hamstring.

“Ask Sanderson if he’s free.” She nods in his direction.

I replace Sanderson on the other side of the visitors’ training room, wrapping an ankle for one of our outfielders. He’s almost done, but I’m not going to tell Kennedy that.

“He’s busy. Really busy.”

She shoots me a look because, as always, she knows when I’m full of shit. Ignoring me, she continues to work on our catcher, so I step closer so only the two of them can hear.

“My shoulder is fucked up because of you, wifey.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You made me sleep on the floor. The least you can do is rub it out.”

“Can you please not say ‘rub it out’ as if you’re trying to proposition me for more than a shoulder massage?”

I don’t hold back my knowing smirk. That’s exactly what I was trying to do.

Travis laughs into the table. “Kennedy, you made him sleep on the floor? You two are getting pretty damn good at acting like a real married couple.”

“I didn’t make him sleep on the floor.” She looks around, lowering her voice. “I offered to sleep on the floor so he could have the bed, and he’s the one who refused.”

“Trav, she was so comfortable. Out like a light. Snoring like you wouldn’t believe. All the while I was just trying to get a couple of hours of sleep on the cold, hard floor.”

“Travis,” she says, ignoring me. “How exactly did you make the very poor decision to become his friend?”

“Probably the same way you decided to become his wife.”

“Too much tequila?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, as fun as it is to hear you two discuss how grateful you are to be in my life, Kenny, I really do need my shoulder worked on.”

She must notice the serious tone in my voice.

“All right. Travis, is that feeling looser?”

He works his leg around before hopping off the table and crouching into his catcher’s stance. “Much better. Thanks, Ken.”

Kennedy pats her now free table. “Take your shirt off.”

“Damn. No foreplay?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve said the same thing to about twelve different guys today.”

I bite back my smile. I like when she’s feeling up to sparring with me. There’s also no part of me that’s jealous her hands were all over my teammates. This is her job and she’s really fucking good at it.

It’s why I always ask her to work on me, even though I was tempted to refrain today. Her words played on a loop as I laid on the ground, trying to catch some sleep. Physical touch is foreign to her. I didn’t want to force her to have to touch me, but when I thought about it, I’ve never once noticed Kennedy being uncomfortable at her job.

And I notice everything about the girl.

This isn’t the physical contact she’s referring to, and I don’t want to treat her any differently after what she told me. So instead, I bugged her until she agreed to work on me. Just as I typically do.

“It’s the right one,” I instruct her, taking off my shirt. “Under the shoulder blade. It feels like I pinched a nerve.”

She brackets her left hand on my other shoulder, the metal of her ring cool against my skin.

“Right here?” She rubs her palm over my shoulder, warming up my skin.

“Yeah. Towards the top.”

She runs a hand down my arm, confidently situating my upper body where she needs it. With the back of my palm placed against my lower back, my shoulder blade opens, giving her room to dig into the tender muscle.

“Oh, yeah, I can feel it.” Her fingers press into my skin. “This got knotted up from sleeping on the floor last night, didn’t it?”

“No. I was playing with Max the other day, tossing him around. I must have tweaked it and not noticed until today.”

Complete and utter lie. Of course I fucked up my shoulder from sleeping on the rock-hard floor last night, but I’m not going to let her know that. She’d offer to share the bed with me, even though it’s the last thing she wants to do.

Kennedy manipulates my muscles, adding pressure where she needs to break up the tension. Her movements are so practiced, so confident, that I’d have no idea that she was uncomfortable with physical touch if she hadn’t told me.

She was never hugged as a kid.

Who the hell doesn’t hug their kid?

I wanted to hug her right there in the toothbrush aisle of the store when she told me that, but I also didn’t want to overwhelm her.

It made me realize that even though I’ve had a crush on Kennedy for years, there’s so much I don’t know about her, but all her admission did was make me want to know more.

“My family is in town,” she says quietly.

“To watch Dean play?”

“No.” She scoffs. “For some business deal. I’m having dinner with them tonight.”

She continues to rub my sore shoulder as I think about how I wouldn’t mind meeting the woman who never hugged her daughter. Wouldn’t mind saying a few things to her that are on my mind either.

“I just thought you should know. In case someone asks where I am, I mean. It’d be strange if you told them that you didn’t know where your wife was.”

“My wife, huh?”

“Technically speaking.”

“Say it again. I liked it.”

She breathes a laugh as she moves to the front of me. With my legs spread, Kennedy stands between them, continuing to work on my rotator cuff.

I watch her.

So focused on her job that she doesn’t notice me noticing how long her lashes are, or when I start counting the freckles dusted on the bridge of her nose. She doesn’t see me visually trace the slope of her jaw or locate the indent from the dimples she tries to hide with all her scowling at me.

She’s so pretty and sometimes a little mean. It’s a lethal combination for me.

Speaking of, there’s another person I’d like to have a few choice words with. Someone who never viewed her the way I do. It’s what has me asking, “Will your ex be there?”

She continues to work. “No.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” She gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, yet to look and realize I’m only inches away from her and wanting her attention. “Can I ask a favor?”

“I already married you once, Kennedy. What else do you want from me?”

Her lip twitches in a grin. Her, more than anyone else, I like making smile when I can. Especially after what she told me last night. No one ever hugged her? Well, I’d bet that no one made her laugh much either.

“Can you try not to get in a fight with Dean today?”

“No promises on that.”

“I’m just saying, if you hurt each other, I’d have to pick sides and Reese might replace it odd when I run over to my brother instead of you.”

She finally meets my eye, and her sharp inhale only confirms that she had no idea how close we’re standing right now.

Kennedy’s hands stop moving, but they don’t drop from my shoulder. She also doesn’t move from between my legs.

With my palm resting on my knee, I ever so slyly reach out to dust my fingertips against the back of her thigh before curling them in. My silent way of telling her I like exactly where she’s standing.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.

Freckled skin. Pouty lips. My eyes immediately drop to them, and I replace myself licking my own.

I want to know what those lips taste like, what her mouth would feel like against mine. I’ve wondered for years. And the idea that I may have already kissed this girl, but was too drunk to remember, kills me.

“Kenny,” I whisper.

Her gaze drops to my mouth, and she doesn’t move or shy away. That little victory feels like I won the lottery.

“Yeah?” It’s soft, kept only between us.

“It’s kind of fucked up that you’d pick your brother over your husband.”

“What can I say? We’ve got history.”

“Yeah, well we’ve got history too, Kennedy. You just haven’t been paying attention.”

I take a practice swing in the on-deck circle just before Cody earns his fourth ball, getting him to first on a walk.

It’s why he’s our lead-off hitter. He knows how to get himself on base, whether that be through a walk or a hit.

Then comes me, second in the lineup. Last year, I finished with the most home runs on the team, but the second most RBIs. That’s because Travis is our power hitter. He cleans up in the fourth spot. If I’m at bat and don’t bring myself home, I make sure I’m out there on a bag so he can.

I miss the cheers from the home crowd when we’re on the road. I miss my walk-out song. I miss the comfort of being in our own clubhouse, but I fucking love to score on someone else’s field.

I catch Kai in the bullpen, elbows on his knees as he watches me intently. Lucky bastard only has to work once every five games and gets to sit on his ass for the other four. The guy has always been my biggest fan though, and half the reason I’m the hitter I am today.

Your swing develops real quick when you spend your entire childhood practicing against Kai Rhodes. He is still, to this day, the best pitcher I’ve gone up against.

I’m booed on my way up to bat and it only makes me smile. Flattering if you ask me, that I’ve scored so much in this stadium that Atlanta’s fanbase remembers me.

My cleats dig into the dirt, my center swaying in rhythm as Atlanta’s pitcher shakes off his catcher’s call. He accepts the second one, standing straight with his hand on the ball in his glove. He quickly checks on Cody at first before sending a fastball a little high and inside the plate.

That’s a ball, I think to myself as I let it sail past me.

“Ball,” the umpire calls.

We do the whole thing again. This time, Cody tests the pitcher, taking a bit more freedom and space away from first base.

It must distract Atlanta’s pitcher enough because when he throws, it’s a curveball I can spot from a mile away. From the film I watched this week, I know he likes to use it on a second pitch. I’ve also gone up against Kai Rhodes’ curveball for the last thirty-one years, so I decide to take this one.

I swing, stepping into it before it fully crosses the plate. The contact is strong, sending the ball sailing deep into right field.

I explode, rounding first and sliding into second just before the ball lands in the glove of Atlanta’s second baseman. While lying on the ground, with my hand on the base, I spot Cody safely at third.

The ump calls me safe and I look over my shoulder from the ground to wink at Atlanta’s second baseman.

Dean motherfucking Cartwright.

Kennedy’s words ring in my mind as I stand and wipe the dirt off my pants, making sure to keep one cleat on the bag.

I know she doesn’t want me to get into it with her stepbrother, but it’s not my fault he’s got such a punchable face.

“Hi, honey,” I say as Dean throws the ball back to his pitcher.

“Fuck you.”

“That’s not very nice, Deanie. We’re family now. That’s no way to talk to your brother-in-law.”

I take my batting glove off and Dean’s eyes blaze into the silicone ring on my finger. “She did good, huh?”

His jaw hardens as he takes a single calculated step in my direction.

“Keep it clean,” the second base umpire says.

“Why’d you do it?” Dean asks, invading my space. “Why her of all people?”

My attention flicks over to third where Cody is watching me carefully, then to the dugout where most of my teammates are on their feet and ready if needed.

“Was it because of me? Is that why you married her? You took our rivalry a little far with that one, Rhodes.”

“What the hell are going on about, Cartwright?” My tone is equal parts exhausted and uninterested.

His chest bumps my shoulder, but I keep my foot on the bag.

“Watch it,” the ump warns, his tone serious.

“Or did you marry her for her money? Is this some fucked-up childhood trauma? You spent your entire life poor, so you go after someone with more money to their name than you’d ever see in your lifetime?”

Fuck him.

Sure, you could say I was shocked when I saw the prenup, outlining Kennedy’s family assets, but truthfully, I couldn’t give two fucks about the amount of money she has to her name.

“Pretty fucked up to know that’s what you think of your stepsister, Dean. That someone would only want to be with her because of her bank account.”

He ignores me. “Or was it because you don’t have your own family so you had to get Kennedy blackout drunk so you could try to take mine?”

These were always his favorite things to bring up. That we didn’t have money to own anything that weren’t hand-me-downs, and that we didn’t have any family left who wanted us.

Today, he sounds more pathetic than usual. I don’t feel him under my skin. I don’t care what he has to say.

My attention drifts to the dugout again, replaceing that auburn hair. Even from here, I can sense how tense Kennedy is as she watches us. Her shoulders are tight. Her eyes are pleading for me not to do anything.

I couldn’t begin to count how many times Dean and I have swung at each other over the years, and I know he’s goading me to do it again, but today I feel like I’ve already won. And I really don’t want to replace out if Kennedy was telling the truth about who she’d check on if we got into it.

I simply smile at my wife across the field as I tuck my batting glove into my back pocket.

“Some things never change, Deanie boy. You’re still the selfish prick you’ve always been. All you’ve talked about is yourself. Marrying her to fuck with you. Marrying her to steal your family. From what I’ve heard, I don’t want anything to do with your fucking family.” I replace Kennedy once again, working her lower lip between her teeth. “Look at her. She’s worried. I don’t like when my wife is worried, Dean. She asked me not to fight with you so stop saying shit that makes me want to punch you in the face, okay?”

Before he can respond, the crack of a bat echoes through the stadium and I take off, rounding third and heading straight for home, putting us up by two runs already.

Cody and I both make it back to the dugout, connecting fists on the way with Travis, who’s headed up to bat. My teammates smack my helmet, my ass, my shoulder as I make it to my box, discarding my gear until my next at-bat.

“Nice job, nineteen.”

With my hands gripped to the edge of my box, I look down to replace Kennedy, wearing our team polo and those shoes I bought and married her in. “Nice shoes.”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” she says.

“That’s it? You’re not going to tell me what a good boy I am for not getting in a fist fight with your brother?”

“You want me to call you a good boy?”

“Mmm, yes, please. Preferably while we’re naked and you’re on top of me, but now would do too.”

That smile I’m quickly becoming addicted to blooms. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Married?” Ryan asks. “You got fucking married?”

I hold my hand up to show him the ring.

“And you’re wearing a wedding ring. You’re not getting this annulled?”

“Can’t,” I tell him happily as I kick my feet up on the bed in my brother’s hotel room. “A picture of us in Vegas got leaked and Kennedy was going to lose her job over it. We’ve been pretending it was planned all along.”

Ryan nods his head because if anyone could understand faking a relationship to get them further in their career it’s him. It’s how he met his wife, after all.

Ryan Shay is the captain of the Devils, Chicago’s NBA team. They flew in a few hours ago for their game against Atlanta tomorrow.

Kai and I were planning to grab a drink down at the hotel bar, seeing as Kai is struggling over being on the road without Max. It’s the first time he’s left his son home from a road trip, and even though Max is with Miller, it’s obvious how much Kai misses having them both on the road with him the way he did last year.

But with Ryan Shay in tow, we can’t go anywhere in public, hence the three of us hanging out in my brother’s hotel room.

“Miller said the girls were going over to our place tonight,” Kai says.

“Yeah.” Ryan sits himself on top of the desk in the corner of the room. “Indy has been begging Miller for baking lessons, so she and Stevie went over there for the night.”

My brother grabs his phone. “We should call them and say hi, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely not.” I snatch his phone from him, holding it out of reach. “You’ve called your fiancée like six times tonight already. Leave her alone.”

As if I haven’t been staring at my phone, wondering if Kennedy might call or text to tell me her dinner is over, but it’s not the same thing. I just want to make sure she’s okay. Kai is calling Miller nonstop to make himself feel okay for being on the road and leaving them back at home.

“Isaiah?”

My head snaps to attention when I hear Miller say my name.

“No, it’s me, Mills,” my brother says, holding my phone out until eventually Miller’s face overtakes the screen.

That sneaky motherfucker took my phone and video-called his fiancée.

Miller laughs on the screen while wearing her signature overalls. “Kai, we’re fine. Max ate. He’s in bed. The girls are here and the house hasn’t burned down.”

“Hi, Kai!” Indy pops onto the screen, her blonde hair cascading around her face. Kai turns the camera so Ryan is in view. “Oh damn. That one is hella fine.”

“How are you feeling?” Ryan asks his pregnant wife.

Ryan’s sister, Stevie, pops onto the screen. “She ate Cheerios for dinner. Nothing else.”

“Blue,” Ryan scolds.

“What? It’s what the baby wanted. Don’t blame me. Blame them.”

“It’s also what I wanted.” It’s a voice in the background. Male. Boston accent.

“Is that Rio?” I ask, taking my phone back from my brother.

Suddenly, Rio’s dark hair and goofy grin take over my phone.

“I thought this was girls’ night?”

His eyes narrow in confusion. “It is.”

“Where’s Zee?”

Zanders, or Zee as we call him, is not only Rio’s teammate on the Raptors, but he’s also Stevie’s husband and therefore Ryan’s brother-in-law.

It’s one big clusterfuck, I know.

Rio’s confusion only deepens. “I just said it was girls’ night.”

Miller snatches her phone back from him, but in the background, I hear him call out, “If you can hear me, Ryan Shay, I love you!”

Ryan laughs to himself because his wife’s best guy friend might be more in love with him than she is.

Miller pops back onto the screen. “Why is Kai calling from your phone?”

“Because I stole his in an attempt to keep him from harassing you again.”

“Good effort. Thanks for trying, but the guy is so in love with me he can’t help it.”

Kai lays back on the bed, fixes his glasses, and shrugs because there’s no use in denying it.

“I’d probably describe him as clingy and needy if you’re asking me. A bit pathetic too.”

“Glad no one asked you,” my brother pipes up.

I don’t fully register his words because a text from Kennedy drops onto the screen, stealing my focus.

The Mrs: Can you call me?

“Miller, I gotta go. Kennedy needs me to call her.”

She barks a laugh. “And you call your brother pathetic.”

The video call ends, and I immediately dial Kennedy.

“Everything okay?” are the first words I say after she picks up.

“Are you busy, or could you come to this dinner?”

“To your family dinner?”

“Yes. I’m sorry for asking, but I need you.”

I need you.

I’m off the bed and shoving my feet into my shoes. “Send me the address. I’m on my way.”

“Isaiah?”

Her tone causes me to pause. “Yeah?”

“Everyone is here.”

Everyone is here. Her words are begging me to put the pieces together and it doesn’t take long for me to register what that means.

Her ex is there. Maybe her stepsister too.

“I didn’t tell them the truth,” she continues.

She didn’t tell them why we’re still married. Probably didn’t tell them why we got married in the first place.

I like that far too much.

“Don’t worry, Kenny. I got this.”