by David Horne
Martin waited to speak. He knew age was against him. But he’d had some practice in psychology and knew most type-A personalities looked for challenges immediately following a conflict.
“You’re new here,” Riley continued. Martin suppressed a knowing smile. “I think the guys still need to warm up to you.”
“I want you to understand something.” Martin took a breath because he knew after that opening, anything he said, no matter how mild the delivery, would sound unappealing to Riley. “I’m here for Reyes and the rest of the team. That’s my job. It’s also my job to be proactive as well as reactive. You don’t have any right to come here and tell me how to do my job. Any more than I can go into the dugout to tell you how to do your job,” he said and expelled a lungful of air behind the words. “Reyes needs me right now more than he needs you as a coach.”
“Well, I think it’s my responsibility to make sure my players are in the right state of mind.” He shrugged one shoulder. “If he came in here hot, no telling if anyone could get to him before something happened,” he said.
Martin smiled and nodded. “I appreciate the point you’re making. But I’m not interested in your opinion. I’m not here for you. So, unless you need immediate medical attention, Reyes better be in this room as soon as you walk out that door.”
Riley didn’t speak. But Martin saw the jaw muscles tense under the surface. He turned around and went back through the double doors to the hall. Martin shook his head and breathed quietly.
A moment later, Reyes walked through the doors. He was alone and looked at the title while the cleats tapped on the ceramic.
“Hey, Doc,” he said. His voice sounded far away.
“What’s going on, Billy?” Martin asked. Come have a seat.
Obediently, Reyes walked to the examination table, cleats clicking on the tiles. He sat down.
Martin used the stethoscope on him. He checked pupil dilation with the penlight. He checked the young man’s blood pressure.
“Your heart rate is 105 BPM; your blood pressure is 144 over 94.” Martin stared at Reyes as he put down the blood pressure cuff. “What are you taking?”
“I’m not taking anything.” But his frightened eyes betrayed his statement.
Martin grabbed the blood sample collection kit from the locked cabinet in the room. He put on gloves and waited for Reyes to unfold his arms. Martin didn’t have to ask. Athletes regularly submitted random urine or blood samples. The business of sports performance enhancement was painfully real, and new drugs became available for the few who knew where to look.
Martin drew three samples. He wanted two tested at the local center. The third he had another plan for altogether.
“Want to tell me what happened?”
“It was a stupid call, and that asshole got in…” Reyes stopped talking when Martin took a step backward. Before he approached the table again, he had a urine collection cup in his hand. Reyes closed his eyes and shook his head as he stood up and grabbed the cup. “I’m sorry, Doc.”
“It’s okay, Billy,” Martin said, using a soft tone to help the young man redirect the anger that continued to brew inside.
After Reyes left the office, Martin put away the samples in the locked refrigeration unit. He went into the office and sat down after he closed the door.
“I was looking for Carolyn Matthews,” Martin said after someone answered the phone call. He waited on hold for a while, listening to an easy-listening version of a popular song. “Carolyn, it’s Martin.”
“Hi, Marty.” The voice was cheery and light. “What a nice surprise out of the blue.”
“I’m calling for a request.”
“Really?”
“Don’t worry. We’ll pay for it.”
Carolyn laughed before she said, “What can I do for you?”
“Is the college still in the business of drug testing?”
“We do labs for the local hospital. Do you need something done?”
“I’m sending two samples to the local guys.” Martin smiled as he delivered, “But I want someone who knows what they’re doing to take a sample right down to the basis.”
“Ah, okay.” She snickered. “What are you doing now?”
“I’m a sports doctor, actually.”
“Well, I’m not surprised. You were meticulous about health through our classes.” She waited a minute before adding, “But not much sports person as I recall. Where are you working now?”
“Well,” he started uncomfortably. “I’m actually a doctor for a minor league baseball team.”
“Really?” she said. Martin felt her tone was overplayed, but he let it go.
“I know, right? But some of these young men are outstanding golfers.”
Carolyn laughed. “So, what about Joel?” she asked. “Are you two still an item?”
It was an interesting take on his life. Viewed from the outside, over time, Martin and Joel’s relationship to the occasional observer might have the longevity that didn’t exist. He could tout an over exemplified version of his life. And while Carolyn was a nice person, they were acquaintances at the best of times. They hadn’t spoken in years. And in her world, Martin and Joel were still together. It was nothing of the hiatus that happened without a full explanation.
“We’re working on something.” It was the best answer. They’d shared an intimate evening. Now it was just a matter of understanding how their relationship moved forward.
“He was a nice guy.” Carolyn waited a moment. “I thought after he graduated you two would have lost touch. Especially after he took that job in California,” she said.
“Well, it’s a strange world, and we just live in it. I appreciate you doing this for me.”
“What are we looking for? I assume it a lot more than just a simple sample.”
“Why not just take it through the gambit and see what happens.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll have it overnight to you.”
“It might be a while before we can get the results back.”
“I’ll make sure you have my contact information on the email tracking I send you.”
“It was good talking to you, Doctor Craft.”
“And to you, Doctor Matthews,” she said. “Still sounds weird, doesn’t it?”
“It does. Thanks, Carolyn.” Martin hung up the phone. He made notes on the laptop. The express packet information listed and he made another call. “Hey Leslie, can you run me over to the overnight package place?” Martin had a hunch, and he wasn’t someone to share anything unless something came of it. At that moment, it was between him and his colleague from the residency.
Chapter Thirteen
It surprised Martin the following day to report to the main office. It was a typical morning routine interrupted by a call from the office manager and a request that came from the head coach. Martin finished his run, showered, and took an Uber to the stadium from the hotel.
When he walked through the doors of the central office, there was a look on the office manager’s face that suggested his arrival an hour after the phone call wasn’t what she expected.
When he ventured into the meeting room for upper management, he didn’t expect a panel inquiry. He didn’t wait to see Irving Durant or Vincent Key watching him with suspicion.
Floyd didn’t sit at the head of the table. He was a pragmatic man who took to sitting down like it was an uncomfortable but necessary exercise. He was the only person in the room Martin expected to see. Instead of a few faces, he didn’t recognize, and more looks that he’d rather not see.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
McGowan sat shoulder to shoulder with Durant. He spoke first. “We’re just curious if you’re going to keep getting in the way of how we do our work.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You took a look at Reyes yesterday,” Floyd said. He didn’t look at Martin when he spoke. The ball cap he removed from his head had permanent curve his skull. He had an
interesting-shaped parietal bone that had a mild central crest. The shape transferred to the ball cap. “Who told you to see him first?”
“I assumed you wanted me to see the players after the incident. I took William Reyes first because I felt he needed more attention than Brian.” He’d addressed the sustained wound with a cold compress. The shortstop player had a bruised face and untarnished ego.
“Well, you used medical equipment on a person who no longer plays for the team.” It was Durant who spoke, and Martin felt a wave of heat from the exchange.
“Excuse me?” he started. “Reyes is part of the team. I examined both men. He needed more attention.” Before he stopped, Martin added, “And who are you to even have a say in anything I do?”
“Mr. Durant is a serious benefactor to our team,” McGowan said protectively. “We’d appreciate if you showed him the same dignity he shows you.”
“Well, I work for Brant. He’s the person who has the responsibility above you who I answer to directly.” Since he’d already moved beyond the threshold of gentle persuasion, Martin felt it necessary to bury the hatchet in Durant’s skull. “If you have a problem with how I do my business, I suggest you take it up with Brant.” Using a man like Brant in the conversation was easy. He held power over all who attended the meeting.
“We’ll be having a conversation with him after this,” McGowan said. “You can count on that.”
Martin turned to Floyd. “What’s going on here? How is Reyes no longer a player?”
“It’s part of their contract. They’re not supposed to fight.” Floyd’s answer was halfhearted.
“They’re under a lot of pressure to perform their best. You already know what happens to players who play through injuries and don’t report it. Now you’ve got two young men who disagreed. Why punish him?”
“How about you let us do our job,” McGowan said. “And we won’t tell you how to do your job.”
“But you are telling me how to do my job. You’re going out of your way now, making a big show of it. You think this is supposed to intimidate me? I’ve held a beating heart in my hands, gentlemen. I’ve been responsible for countless lives. I’ve saved lives, I’ve lost lives. You’re a bunch of men who pay kids to play a game. Try pulling a bullet out of a nine-year-old girl who was just playing in her front yard when someone took a shot at her for no reason. Your perspectives change on what’s really important.”
“You’re disrespecting—” Durant started.
“Don’t you dare,” Martin said. If his finger was a gun, he’d used it on the man. He glanced to Key who sat watching the exchange with the same tense jawline Martin remembered from the examination room.
“Thank you, Doctor Craft.” It was Floyd’s smooth tone that pulled back the situation. Martin left the room and didn’t wait for any of the grown men to carry on about the comparison between saving lives and saving ballplayers from injuries.
***
It was the appearance of someone who understood the value of something that helped Martin ease out of his funk.
“You are a bad boy,” Joel whispered as he peeked around the office door. He hadn’t knocked, just cracked it open to make sure the coast was clear of anger leftover from the one-sided meeting.
He continued into the office and closed the door. Sitting in the chair across from Martin, he swung his leg over the arm of the chair while texting on his phone.
“Are you going to tell me baseball is more important than lives too?”
“Nope,” Joel said, not looking away from the screen of his smartphone. “I was going to say that I want to go down on you right here.” Then he smiled and looked at Martin.
Unable to hold onto the anger, Martin felt his heart lifted.
“It doesn’t take long for word to get out around here.”
“Nope. It’s just a big locker room. Everyone listens, everyone talks.”
“So tell me what’s really going on around here.”
Joel slipped the phone into his pocket. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t know? Something is going on here. What is it with Durant and Key?”
Joel shrugged. “I don’t get involved with a lot of the drama that happens here. I’m not really here for anything that went on with you today. I’m just here for you.”
Chapter Fourteen
It was Friday, and unlike the team, Martin didn’t have a curfew or had to abstain from alcoholic beverages or narcotics. While he wasn’t interested in the latter, Martin felt after what he’d been through over the last few days. A few drinks were just what the doctor ordered. And to his delight, Joel gladly accompanied him to a local club that catered to the extravagant and the critical people in Tampa.
They watched the drag queen performances and enjoyed each other’s company. Martin didn’t want to think about their relationship. He didn’t want to wonder what Joel had been up to since he disappeared. Martin just wanted some time alone with his former boyfriend and the lubrication of a few stiff drinks.
They danced together. They danced with other partners. Joel wrapped his arms around Martin’s middle and didn’t want to let go. They bought each other drinks and cheered each other’s accomplishments. By the end of the night, Martin was drunk and still bright enough to know it wasn’t in either of their best interest to fall into bed again unless both of them had level heads.
Instead, they went back to Martin’s hotel room and lay together on top of the king-sized bed and watched movies.
“I’m tired of being afraid.” It came out as if the thought was just another breath.
“I know,” Joel said. He wasn’t as intoxicated as Martin. It was apparent by his collected and measured movements from the club to the hotel. Shoes off, he was recumbent on Martin’s bed, feet and arms crossed.
“I’ve spent my whole life being afraid. I’m not going to worry one bit if they decide to fire me.”
“Why would they fire you?”
“Because of that asshole, Irving Durant,” Martin stammered. He drew out the man’s name as if it was something sticky and dark.
“He’s not worth your time.” Joel’s arms unfolded, and he found Martin’s hand. Martin took it and curled into Joel. He pressed his face against Joel’s breast and sighed.
“I just feel like I got into something that isn’t for me.”
“So, find something else.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Of course, it is. Just start looking. You think you’re not anything special, that you have nothing to give anyone, or your value isn’t worth someone else’s time.”
Martin didn’t say anything. His fingers found the side of Joel’s face.
“You’re finally taking charge. I’m proud of you.”
“Leslie told me it was you that got me the job here.”
“That’s not entirely true. I saw your CV online. I knew you applied for the job. I recommended you to Brant. But you got the job because of you, not anything I did. Brant’s not like that.”
“Well, as soon as Durant and Key tell Brant what I did, he’ll fire me.”
“He’s not going to fire you.” Martin felt Joel’s arm around his shoulder. He sighed again, breathing in Joel’s scent and enjoying the warmth of him lying there.
“I think something is going on.”
Joel waited for Martin to continue. “What do you mean?” he asked finally.
“It was Reyes’ behavior today. It wasn’t good. I didn’t like his vital signs either.” Martin slipped away from Joel, climbed off the bed and grabbed a bottle of water on the dresser. “I sent out his blood work.” He drank half the bottle in one go.
“That’s good. You’re doing your job. From what I heard, the fight was bad enough for Reyes to get kicked off the team.”
Martin shook his head. He finished the other half of the water and put the plastic bottle in the recycling container. “I don’t understand why they got rid of him.”
“It’s their contracts. They think if the
kids don’t get along in the weeks they’re here, they won’t get along when they make it to the big leagues.”
“I just feel like he was under the influence of something.”
“Well, if the blood work comes back positive, you can take that to Brant.”
“I will too.” And Martin shrugged. “That will probably get me fired.”
Joel opened his arms to Martin. “You’re drunk. Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself now.” Martin climbed onto the bed and into Joel’s arms. “Enjoy the rest of this night because your headache tomorrow will remind you why you don’t drink.”
“That’s true.”
“I know.”
Before he could stop it, before he thought about it, Martin closed his eyes, breathed in as much of Joel as his lung held and he whispered. “I love you, Joel.”
Chapter Fifteen
It was a long night and a longer recovery. Martin awoke lying face down on the hotel bed. He was wearing only underwear with a sheet draped over his shoulders. It wasn’t an image he wanted to contemplate. Instead, Martin pressed his hand to the other side of the bed to find it was empty.
Had he said that last night? Was it too much for Joel to hear and that’s why he took the opportunity to evade uncomfortable rejection while Martin was unconscious? He reached for the smartphone on the nightstand. It wasn’t there. Unable to roll over and sit up, Martin pulled his upper body to the edge of the bed and grabbed for the pants on the floor. The smartphone was in the back pocket of his jeans.
“You’re not sleeping all day.”
He didn’t need the phone. Joel stood at the foot of the bed holding two tall cups of coffee. It was Martin’s life-blood, and he accepted it gratefully. He sat up and rubbed his face with his free hand.
“You’re up early.” It was better to avoid the social faux pas he committed the night before.
“I had a quick call to make for some team memorabilia.” He sipped at the coffee and waited for Martin to scan his phone for messages. “Did they fire you last night?” he asked toying with Martin’s feelings.
