Page 63 of Double Play

“Daddy, I’m just sayin’—”

“Maybe think before you⁠—”

“It’s okay,” India interjects, stepping closer to my side but keeping her gaze on Montgomery. “Have you ever had a crush on a boy?”

Montgomery scoffs. “Of course.”

What? When?

“Did you want everyone to know?”

“No,” Montgomery scoffs.

Slowly, India’s lips lift in that lazy curl that I love. Because I am thinking love, and I do love her, but we aren’t there yet. And I have my daughter to deal with.

“Keeping our status quiet is about respect,” I state, turning this conversation in a different direction. “I want to protect India.”

“Because of a job?” Montgomery emphasizes, blue eyes matching mine blink up at me.

“India’s work isn’t just a job. It’s her career,” I stress. My hands land on my hips like I’m ready to physically guard India. “A job is something you do. But a career involves passion.”

I glance from India to Montgomery. “Women like Indie are paving the way for girls like you. She’s the future.”

More women in sportscaster positions. Hell, even more women in professional sports, although that’s certainly been on the rise in the last decade or more. Soccer. Basketball. Female phenoms are nearly as popular as men in the traditionally male-centric, once male-only, broadcasts. And India wants to be part of the wave that changes things surrounding baseball.

As Montgomery watches me and India lays her hand on my forearm to calm my racing heart, I take a deep breath and heavily blow it out

“Monty, honey, what happened with Mom?” Let’s get back on track to the real reason for a slammed door. My daughter was due to visit for the next few days before I leave for a week on the road, but I hadn’t planned to see her until almost noon today.

“Just Mom and me stuff.” Montgomery waves her hand and sheepishly glances at India.

I don’t like her answer any more than I like the wary gaze she gives India.

“I’ll just . . .” India hitches her thumb toward my bedroom door. “Get dressed.”

The comment is a stark reminder she’s wearing my clothes, which suggests she spent the night. And as India lets herself into my bedroom, I longingly watch her retreat before glancing back at Montgomery.

With one hitched brow, Montgomery says, “India Baker. Really, Dad?”

“Really Dad, what?” What the hell? I’m allowed to date. I haven’t dated since⁠—

“She’s too cool for you, old man,” Montgomery teases, and I hate this trend of calling me ‘old man’.

I’m in my prime, like Isaiah said.

“Yes, she is, but she’s saying yes to me right now, and I’d like to keep it that way.” Something in my voice must tell my teenage child I’m serious.

“You really like her, don’t you?”

I gaze at the closed door and then look at Montgomery again. “Since I was in my twenties, I’ve been pining for that girl.” I chuckle when I think back to what Isaiah said about India’s inquiries about me and mine about her.

“What’s pining?”

Shaking my head, I step forward and wrap my arms around my daughter, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair.

“A feeling I hope you never understand.”

Because I never want her to long for someone who might never be hers.