Play Along (Windy City Series Book 4)
Chapter 19

“One of our old travel coordinators, Josh, is working for San Francisco now,” Dean says. “I asked him to see if he could get any insight on your upcoming interview and from what he’s heard around the clubhouse, you’re their top candidate.”

I sit up straighter while in my parked car, phone to my ear and my stepbrother on the other end. “Wait. Really?”

“Yeah. Apparently at this stage, there’s only three people left being interviewed. Things are looking good. You should be stoked, Kennedy.”

“Well, yeah, I want to be excited about it, but after what happened on my first day in Chicago when I had my offer rescinded, I won’t believe anything until my name is on the door of my very own office.”

An office I’ll be sure to use less frequently than our current head doctor does. I’ll be continuing to practice sports medicine, not just telling everyone else how to.

“I told Josh to put in a good word for you. You should hit him up when you’re out there for your interview. He’s cool. Divorced. Mid-thirties. He’s got shit fashion taste, but I think you could fix that for him.”

“Dean,” I huff a laugh. “What are you talking about? I’m married.”

Whoa. Why the hell did I say that? Why the hell did I think that?

“Yeah . . .” he slowly draws out in confusion. “But you won’t be once you’re living out there. Josh is a good dude. I think you’ll like him. You should let him show you around the clubhouse while you’re visiting.”

I sink back, head relaxing against the seat. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I’ll give him a call when I’m in town.”

Keeping my eyes scanning the players’ parking lot at O’Hare International, I watch for Isaiah’s car to pull in.

“I’m counting down the days until you get that job and can finally serve that fucking tool divorce papers.”

“Dean,” I startle. “Don’t talk about him that way.”

“Kennedy,” he laughs incredulously. “How many times have you talked shit about Isaiah Rhodes in the past?”

“Yeah, well, he’s my husband. I can talk shit all I want, but it doesn’t mean you can.”

“Jesus. You’re sensitive today.”

“I’m not being sensitive. I’m just over your weird hatred of the guy. You don’t even know him. What did he ever do to you?”

“He’s just . . .” Dean hesitates. “I just don’t like the guy. He and his brother are . . .”

“Good to each other?” I finish for him. “Is that your problem? That they only had one another and still have a better family situation than us?”

He exhales on the other end of the line. “Why are we even talking about this? It doesn’t fucking matter.”

“It matters to me. He’s currently in my life and you’re my stepbrother. It’d be nice if you two were cordial with one another.”

“Key word here being currently. Let’s not have this conversation and once you two legally split, we can just pretend this never happened.”

That was my plan when I agreed to this whole thing, only now, I don’t know how I’m supposed to forget any of this ever happened.

I sure as hell won’t be able to forget about last night.

Speaking of the man I’m married to, Isaiah pulls up, parking his SUV right in front of mine, his boyish smile glowing through the windshield when he catches me waiting for him.

“Speaking of he who shall not be named.” I gather my keys and slip on my sunglasses before opening the driver’s side door. “He’s here. I’ve got to go.”

“Remind him how much I hate him for me, will you?”

“And you think I’m being sensitive today? The guy is living rent free in your head. I’ll talk to you when you’re being less of an asshole.”

I hang up the phone and slip out of the car.

My stomach dips when I see Isaiah, an odd fluttering that makes me feel equal parts sick and excited. The memory of the way he moved in my hand, the way he panted my name low in my ear last night as he came, is all I can think about as he rounds the hood of his car and meets me by the door of mine.

“There’s the old ball and chain.”

“That’s a new one.”

“We’ve been married for over a month now. I figured with the short lifespan on this whole marriage thing, it’s probably time we move out of the newlywed phase.”

He’s got this knowing smile on his lips, this goofy sparkle in his eye that screams he’s giving me a hard time. But the reminder causes my chest to sting, as if I didn’t know there was an end date to this whole thing. As if I wasn’t the one who set it.

“Sorry I’m late.” With an arm over my shoulders, he pulls me in for a hug, pressing his lips to the top of my head in the most casual way. As if we’ve done this all along. As if we’ll do this forever. “I had to swing by the market on the corner of my block. I wasn’t sure if you’d have enough time to grab one of these this morning, seeing as you had yourself a late night and all.”

He pumps his brows a couple of times like a fucking dork before unfolding the newspaper under his arm and handing me today’s issue of The New York Times.

“I heard Saturdays are the hardest, so you just let me know if you need some help with that.”

I huff a laugh, but it’s a choked, watery laugh because this is insanely sweet of him to do, to think of me without begging him to.

“Have you ever even completed a crossword puzzle?” I ask, instead of gushing about how grateful I am.

“Nah. I’m more of a word search guy myself.”

Popping my trunk, he pulls my bag out of the back, dragging both of ours behind him as we head through the private airport terminal, past security, and out towards the team plane on the tarmac.

This has been our routine since the season started. We meet in the parking lot and walk on board together. Reese has yet to beat us to the plane, but we haven’t wanted to risk showing up separately and opening ourselves up to questions.

“Isaiah,” I begin, as he passes our luggage off to one of the line guys to place in the pit of the plane. “Why do you and Dean hate each other so much?”

“I think it’s best if you get that answer from Dean himself.”

“I tried. He won’t tell me what happened.”

Isaiah huffs a laugh. “Of course he doesn’t want to tell you. Guy’s a fucking tool, but as much as I can’t stand him, you care about him, so I won’t be the one to try to change your opinion of your brother.”

At the base of the stairs, I pause, looking up at him. “I wish you would tell me, but okay.”

“Okay.”

With a soft squeeze to the back of my neck, Isaiah motions up the stairs for me to go first. We’re here a bit later than we typically try to arrive at the plane, and when I turn the corner and face the aisle, ninety percent of the seats are already full.

Thankfully, we have somewhat assigned seating, especially for the staff up front, so my empty seat is waiting for me next to Sanderson.

Monty and his staff sit in the first row, followed by team ownership where . . . Fuck.

Reese is already on board, sitting in the third row. Tailored pencil skirt, high heels, and blonde hair that’s perfectly styled. She smiles at me, but there’s a bit of confusion etched between her brows as she looks around, I’d assume for Isaiah—my husband. Who I should’ve arrived with. Because we live in the same apartment. Because we’re happily married.

I freeze in my spot, right there in the front of the plane with eyes on me, when Isaiah barrels around the corner and right into my back.

“Shit, Kennedy.” His arm flies around my waist from behind to keep me steady. “I almost took you out. What are you waiting for?”

His thumb strokes over my hip bone where his hand has yet to release me.

Good. This looks good.

I don’t move and he must sense my nervousness because he drops his hand immediately.

But I’m not nervous about him touching me. I’m very quickly becoming comfortable with his touch. Quickly craving his touch.

So I turn, trying to convey with my eyes that Reese is here, we’re being watched, and that’s what I’m nervous about. So if he could play along right now, that’d be great, but Isaiah doesn’t catch on to any of it.

“What’s wrong?” he asks loudly enough for the first few rows to hear him. “Are you feeling okay?”

Boys, I tell you. Clueless sometimes.

I take control of the situation, slipping my hand in his, lacing our fingers together right there in front of the entire team and staff.

Isaiah softens, his mouth turning up in a smile as he looks down at me. His thumb dusts over the back of my hand before he brings it to his lips, placing a quick kiss there. “Hi,” he says before placing another one.

It’s sweet, sure, but this is all for show and I’m not sure he’s picking up on that.

I watch as his eyes move from my face to the people around us. Watch the moment he replaces Reese tracking us from the third row. Watch as his smile falls at the realization of what this moment actually is.

His eyes bounce around the cabin as he puts the pieces together, and I can visibly see the second it hits him. He looks devastated, as if he thought I was holding his hand because I wanted to and not because others needed to see it.

It’s not that I don’t want to, but that’s just not what this is.

Isaiah clears his throat, pulls his eyes away from everyone else and with my hand in his, he leads me to my seat.

I slip into the spot next to Sanderson and in the most un-Isaiah-like way, he doesn’t even acknowledge my coworker to my side.

Isaiah always acknowledges the staff, whether it be here on the plane, or at the field, or even at a team party.

But today, he doesn’t speak to anyone. He simply places a quick kiss on my cheek, obviously done for onlookers, and leaves me at my seat before taking off for the back of the plane.

I catch Dr. Fredrick roll his eyes in my periphery.

“Is Rhodes okay?” Sanderson quietly asks from beside me.

“I’m not sure, actually.”

Slipping my headphones on, I pull out my phone to replace out, but it takes a moment to replace Isaiah’s name.

Because he changed his contact info.

Me: Did you steal my phone last night and change your contact name?

World’s Best Husband: I have literally no idea what you’re talking about.

Me: Is everything okay?

World’s Best Husband: Yep.

Lie.

Me: What’s wrong?

World’s Best Husband: Nothing. Just forgot what we were doing for a minute. All good now. I remember.

Me: You seemed upset.

World’s Best Husband: Everything is all good. It always is.

Me: Isaiah.

World’s Best Husband: Just tired. Late night if you remember correctly 😉 Gonna sleep for the flight. See you there.

A boom of thunder vibrates our hotel room, and if I hadn’t already been lying awake, the sound would’ve jolted me out of sleep.

There’s no rain to accompany the summer storm, only loud rumbles and bright flashes of light, but it’s kind of beautiful to watch from the safety of inside as the lightning illuminates the Minneapolis skyline.

Isaiah is only feet away, on the floor while I’m in the comfort of this king-sized bed, and still I can’t replace rest.

I have no clue why he’s still down there. After last night, I don’t know, I thought sleeping in the same bed was a given. I told him he could sleep up here if he wanted to, but he refused, and I have no idea what I could say that would make him change his mind.

My mind still isn’t clear, still hasn’t fully categorized last night as practice. Maybe he knows that. Maybe he knows I’m not ready for more because I’m still reeling over the fact that Isaiah made me come by simply grinding me over his body.

What the hell am I doing?

Kicking one leg out from under the covers, I flip onto my back as another flash of lightning explodes outside, brightening the space just enough for me to replace Isaiah up on his feet and pacing the room.

That’s weird. I could’ve sworn from how quiet our room is that he’s been sleeping through the storm. I never heard him get up.

The thunder crashes again and I watch as his entire body flinches from the sound. His eyes screw shut and his lips tremble with a shaky exhale.

I don’t speak. I don’t make it known that I’m awake and can see him now that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness.

I simply watch.

His perfectly disheveled hair. His shirtless chest, expanding and contracting at an alarming rate. His bare feet carrying him around the room silently.

Isaiah hovers his thumb over his phone screen before deciding against pressing it. He drops his arm back to his side as he continues to walk, wearing down the carpet by the door, but when another bolt of lightning lands, he doesn’t hesitate to lift his phone and make a call.

Isaiah’s free hand clenches and releases. He bounces on the balls of his feet, his nervous energy palpable even from the bed where I watch.

“Did I wake you up?” His voice is a whisper, his eyes closing in relief at the sound of whomever is on the other line.

There’s an uneasy pit in my stomach, both from seeing this confident man so frazzled and knowing he called someone to calm him down.

That part isn’t jealousy, though. Definitely not jealousy.

“Are you in your hotel room?”

Hotel room? This hotel?

A flash of Connor runs through my mind. How many times did he run off to my stepsister when he thought I was asleep? When we were at family functions, did he slip away to Mallory’s room in the middle of the night?

Is that what Isaiah is doing? Planning to slip into someone’s else’s room?

“And you’re not going anywhere?” he continues. “Yes, I know it’s the middle of the night, Kai, but you’re not leaving your room, right?”

Kai.

An embarrassing amount of relief floods me.

“And Max and Miller? I don’t know what the weather is like in Chicago right now.” He pauses, listening. “Okay, and Monty, he’s passed out, right? Not driving anywhere either.” Nodding, he stops pacing, listening to his brother talk on the other end. “Yeah, Kennedy is here. She’s asleep. I’ll be all right. I still need to check in on Travis and Cody. Okay. Can you text me after you talk to them? Yeah. Yeah, I know. Logically, I know that, Kai, but I’m not thinking rationally at the moment.” Another pause. “Thanks, man. I love you too. See you in the morning.”

He hangs up at the same time he hangs his head, breaths coming a bit more even now.

What the hell is going on?

Isaiah turns in my direction, and I’m quick to close my eyes before he catches me staring. Moments later, the floor creaks and the bed dips. I cautiously peek an eye open to replace him sitting on the edge of the mattress, elbows to his knees and back to me.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he mutters under his breath.

I watch his back, the way his muscles strain with tension. He runs a palm over his head, pushing his hair away from his face before dropping back down to lean on his elbows. He stays like that for a while. Not moving. Just sitting.

I wish he’d crawl back here, maybe realize I’m awake and tell me what’s going on. But there’s a bigger part of me that hopes he doesn’t, because what am I going to do to help? I’ve never been someone’s comfort. I’m cold, that’s what Connor always said. I have no idea how to be what Isaiah needs.

I don’t want to be cold with him. I just don’t know how to be anything else. He makes me feel vulnerable, like he can see all of me when no one else has even tried to look.

Isaiah’s phone dings with a text. He reads it, lets out another sigh of relief, then tosses it to the ground where his makeshift bed is.

Once again, he turns to look back at me, but this time he’s not looking for my face. He replaces my leg that’s untucked from the covers, reaching over and settling his palm over my ankle, gently rubbing his thumb over the bone.

He seems a bit more settled and when another boom of thunder rattles the room, this time, Isaiah doesn’t flinch.

Ironic, in a way. I tend to recoil from physical contact, but it’s what keeps him from doing the same.

He stays there, holding my leg for a moment before giving it a gentle squeeze and leaving the mattress, dropping himself back to his bed on the floor.

I don’t want him to go. I think I want him to stay. I want him to be okay. I want to be the one to make sure he’s okay. Yeah, that seems like something that someone in a relationship would do. It’d be a good learning lesson if I felt the need to spin it to myself that way.

But the truth is, I don’t care about learning how to comfort anyone else. I just want to comfort him.

Another boom of thunder rattles the room, and the subsequent sound is the ruffle of blankets—Isaiah adjusting on the floor.

I’m off the bed before I can think twice about it.

I replace him with his arms folded tightly over his chest, back flush to the bed frame.

“Kenny,” he whispers when he replaces me, as if there’s someone in this room who is actually sleeping, and he needs to remain quiet. “Why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He quickly sits up, as I stand by his feet. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?”

His concern melts away, his voice even softer as his attention drops. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What’s going on?”

He shakes his head before falling back to lay on the single pillow positioned on the floor. “It’s late, Kennedy. Get some sleep. Please.” Turning his back to the bed frame again, he faces the wall.

I can do this. My instincts are screaming to lay down there next to him.

Do what feels good.

Isaiah’s words are echoing in my ears as I crawl into two feet of space between him and the wall, angling my body to face him.

“Fuck, Ken. I don’t want you on the floor.”

“You’re on the floor, so why can’t I be?”

“Because you’re my wife.”

The words come out sharp, like he forgot that though we’re technically married right now, soon enough, we won’t be.

He lifts his head, urging me to lift mine, only to slip his one and only pillow behind my head, leaving his own to rest on the ground.

Then he takes his blanket off his body and drapes it over me.

“Isaiah, what’s going on?”

He shakes his head. “Please forget you saw anything. I don’t let people see me this way.”

I can attest to that. I’ve never seen him this way. Frazzled. Uncomfortable. Not smiling through a shitty situation.

His bare chest is right there in front of me, and I want to touch him. Feel him.

Do what feels good.

Without concern if my hands are too cold or anything else I could overthink, I reach out, placing my palm over his heart before running it up over his skin to gently hook around the back of his neck, keeping us connected.

His eyes close at the contact, nostrils flaring through an exhale.

“I don’t let people see my weaknesses either, Isaiah. But still you know all of them.”

“There’s nothing weak about you, Kenny. You’re just a perfectionist who doesn’t see how perfect she already is.” He places his hand over mine, behind his neck, fingers toying with my wedding ring. “Please go back to bed. This is fucking embarrassing.”

“Why? Because someone is seeing you be something other than arrogant or happy? This isn’t going to make me like you any less. In fact, knowing that life affects you might make me like you even more.”

“I don’t know how that’s possible. We both know how absolutely obsessed you are with me already.”

A tick of a smile raises on the corners of his lips before it immediately falls.

I lift, moving the pillow, and Isaiah accepts it back under his head, but I only give him half, keeping the other half for myself because I’m not going anywhere, and neither is he.

I try to give him back some of the blanket, but it’s too small to cover two people.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” My voice is a whisper. “Whatever is going on, you care about your brother enough to call him. Cody and Travis too. How is that embarrassing?” I toy with the ends of his hair, overgrown around the nape of his neck. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but you also said I should do what feels good and laying down here with you feels good to me. So I’m going to stay.”

His brows furrow, more emotion shining in his eyes than I’ve ever seen, but he doesn’t say anything else and neither do I. I simply keep my hand on him and close my eyes, willing the sleep to come.

It almost does. I’m not sure how much time passes, but I’m seconds away from sleep, random thoughts blurring my mind, when Isaiah finally admits, “I’ve always cared, Kenny. Too much sometimes, but people don’t want that guy. Who wants to hang around the guy who has anxiety attacks over the fucking weather?”

The constant smiles, the playful jokes. Isaiah has endless friends. He tends to be the center of attention and maybe that’s because he knows how to play the part and be exactly who people want him to be.

“I do.”

His eyes search my face, his mouth opening as if he wants to say something, then closing when he changes his mind.

“I want to be around that guy,” I repeat.

I don’t break away from the eye contact I’m not accustomed to or the physical closeness I tend to avoid. I stay, running the pad of my thumb across his stubble.

Because I want to. Because it feels good to be here.

“My mom died in a storm like this one,” he admits.

Shit.

“It was raining so hard she probably couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her. A car hydroplaned on the road, and my mom, she swerved to avoid them and ended up getting her car wrapped around a tree. I was thirteen years old when it happened, and it was still storming outside my windows when Kai came into my room and told me.”

“Isaiah—”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Kenny.” His tone is desperate, as if he needs to be fixed and I could be the one to do it. “It’s been eighteen years and every time the weather is like this, I can’t calm myself down. Every worst-case scenario runs through my mind, and I can’t relax until I hear from every single person I care about.” His fingers continue to toy with his mom’s ring on my finger, his face pained. “My skin gets hot and the way I breathe . . .” He taps his chest. “It’s not normal.”

“Anxiety is normal, Isaiah. You experienced the worst thing imaginable when you were only thirteen years old. If that didn’t affect you, then—”

“It was the worst day of my life, but I’m not typically like this, I promise.”

His words are pleading for me to not think of him any differently, but this version of Isaiah, vulnerable and honest . . . it is different. It’s the most attractive he’s ever been to me.

Human. Real. A man who cares so much about other people that he has anxiety attacks at the mere thought he could lose someone else.

“Did you ever go see a therapist about this? Or someone else you could talk to?”

He huffs a forced laugh. “You think I could afford therapy after it happened? I could barely afford to eat.”

“What about Kai? Could you talk to him?”

“He had it worse than me. He lost her too and he still had to take care of me. I wasn’t about to put my shit on him.”

My throat tightens. Because he was once just a kid who lost his mom. Who didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. Who didn’t have food to eat because his dad left him too, and my eyes burn when I think about all the times Isaiah has adamantly fed me.

Miller filled me in. After their mom died, their dad went down a bad path and never came back for his boys even once he cleaned himself up. It was just the two of them, getting each other through life.

From an outsider’s point of view, you’d think Kai was the one who had the burden on his shoulders, getting his younger brother through their teenage years. But what about Isaiah? Knowing their dynamic, I would imagine he took on the burden of making his brother laugh, even when Isaiah was heartbroken. Even when he didn’t want to smile himself, he probably did so for Kai. Wanted to convince him he was okay. That they’d both be okay.

Under the blanket, Isaiah runs his palm down my forearm and over my shoulder until it settles on my waist. “Thinking about that day is the only thing that makes me this way.”

“And you’re allowed to feel those moments. You don’t have to be on 24/7.”

I scoot closer to him until his hand wraps around my lower back and his feet touch mine. My sleep shirt has ridden up, and Isaiah uses the opportunity to circle the pads of his fingertips against my skin.

I’ve never done this. Intimately spoken in the dark, but for some reason, nothing about it feels foreign with him.

“Please, Ken.” He squeezes me, his desperation evident. “Don’t think any differently of me.”

“But what if I want to?”

I’m met with utter confusion.

But the only one of us who should be concerned if my opinion on Isaiah Rhodes has changed is me. Because I think I might like what I see.

I bring my body closer to him until we’re chest to chest, his arm fully surrounding me, our legs tangled, and his lips ghosting my forehead.

Why doesn’t this freak me out? Why doesn’t this feel unnatural?

The scariest thing about this is that it feels so right.

“The day you and I met.” His words are soft against my skin as he speaks. “I was hiding in the women’s restroom because that was the same date my mom died. I was having a bad day, and I didn’t want anyone to see me like that. I’m always having a bad day on that date, but for the first time in a long time, while I was talking to you, I felt this spark of genuine joy that I couldn’t ignore. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t have to fake it. So, it’s your fault, Kenny. You’re the reason I’ve been hooked from day one.”

My throat feels small. My nose and eyes prick with heat.

I’ve been a bargaining piece. A second-choice fiancée and even an unwanted employee, but I’ve never been someone’s joy.

I bury my face in his neck so he can’t see me. “Isaiah?”

“Yeah?”

“We got married on that date.”

He curls into me, lips dusting the skin of my neck before placing a soft kiss there. “I know.”

Isaiah turns onto his back, bringing me with him and draping my body over his. My short legs fall between his long ones, and though he took the pillow for himself, I’m perfectly happy to go without one when the alternative is his chest.

A hand settles on my lower back as I adjust the single blanket to cover us both.

“On the worst day of the year, I had two of the best days of my life.”

My eyes screw shut as I hide myself against his bare chest.

Just like I’ve never been someone’s joy, I’ve also never been someone’s best.

I don’t know how to process that.

I exhale a shaky breath. “Isaiah?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever wear a shirt?”

He huffs a laugh. A genuine, beautiful laugh that he needed.

“Thank you for that, but no, not around you anymore, Doc. I see the way you look at me.”

I smile against him.

“Please. Stay here with me tonight, Kenny.”

I nod. “I’m not going anywhere.”