Wild Pitch

by Sloan Johnson

  “Sweet dreams, baby.” I didn’t say anything more since that’d lead to another round of bickering over who was going to hang up first.

  True to his word, I woke up hours later to the sound of my phone ringing. Mason asked me to join him in town for breakfast, and I was once again tempted to break my routine so I could see him. Instead, I reminded him that we only had to get through about twelve more hours before we’d be alone together.

  He set down his phone long enough to order room service while I started making myself an egg white omelet. It wasn’t at all satisfying, but I was trying to make up for not working out as hard as I was used to. It was a sacrifice that was worth it since Mason was the reason for my semi-slacker lifestyle. We talked until it was time for me to get in the shower.

  “Good luck out there today,” Mason said as the water warmed up. “If you manage to pull off the win today, I’ll make sure you’re so relaxed before tomorrow that the trainer will think you went off for a midnight massage.”

  Chapter 21

  One, two, three, four… I counted off the steps to home plate, the same as I did during every away game. Every player had a routine that kept his mind in the game, regardless of the home team hecklers and this was mine. The fans were especially raucous today because Chicago and Milwaukee were border rivals.

  I pushed the jeers out of my mind; counting, breathing, adjusting my helmet as I stepped into the batter’s box. Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus played in my mind as I tapped out a smiley face on home plate before lifting the bat into position. Every at-bat felt pivotal at this point in the season. If I knew I had a place on the roster for next year, I’d have been able to enjoy today’s game. Instead, I was fighting for my future every time I stepped into the batter’s box.

  Sixty feet away from me, Sean arched his back in a deep stretch. He shook his head twice before nodding. The cocky bastard winked as he shifted slightly on the mound. Sean released the first pitch and my bat caught nothing but air as it sailed over the plate. A perfect pitch.

  “Come on, Atley, he couldn’t have given you a better pitch if he’d set the ball on a tee for you,” Jason chided me as he tossed the ball back to Sean. “Is there something specific you’d like him to throw?”

  “Fuck off, Jason,” I growled as I wrung my hands around the narrow neck of the bat, trying to stay focused. The second pitch was high and outside, evening up the count.

  “You wish,” Jason tossed over his shoulder as he jogged past me to have a chat with Sean. I’m not sure what that was all about because he’d been on fire most of the night. If he was playing any other team, I’d have been proud of my partner because he’d managed to completely turn around the slump from early in the season and was more consistent now than I’d ever seen him before. Sean rubbed his shoulder and I allowed myself to worry for a moment that the errant pitch was the result of an injury.

  I glanced at the scoreboard, trying to stop thinking about Sean. In a few hours he’d be my lover again. While the game was still in play, he was the one man standing between me and the opportunity to help my team save face.

  Sean twisted his neck to the left and then to the right. He rotated his shoulder a few times, clueing me in to the fact that it was still bothering him. He’d started complaining about it over a week ago, but I doubted he’d told his trainer how stiff he’d been. My pride was the only thing keeping me from swinging at whatever he threw so he’d be one out closer to the end of the game. Besides, Sean would never let me hear the end of it if I pulled such a bullshit move.

  Every time a pitch is thrown, there’s less than a second to make the decision to swing or stay. By the time I realized what was going to happen, it was too late. I heard the crack before the pain exploded across my face. I spun as I crumpled in a heap on the ground, writhing in agony. It felt like the left side of my face had been blown off, but I knew that wasn’t the case. I heard Ike talking to me, but I couldn’t understand his words. I was incapable of doing anything but roll around in the dirt as blood poured from the side of my face.

  Time stopped as I lay there, weakly spitting blood to keep from choking on the coppery liquid. Both team trainers, managers and other people I couldn’t see talked over me while we waited for the paramedics to pull up behind home plate. As they loaded me into the back of the golf cart that’d take me to the ambulance, I tried lifting my head to find Sean, but they had me strapped down so tight that I couldn’t move even an inch. I needed his optimism, needed to hear him tell me that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed because it felt like that five-ounce ball had decimated half of my face. The doors closed, leaving only a paramedic and Ike sitting on the bench as we slowly made our way out of the parking lot.

  “Tell Sean it wasn’t his fault,” I pleaded, my voice sounding like a strained whisper. Blood coated the inside of my mouth as I ran my tongue across jagged areas where there used to be smooth teeth. The thought crossed my mind that my dad was going to be pissed after spending so much money at the orthodontist when I was younger. It was nonsensical, but I figured I was lucky to be thinking at all at that point.

  “He knows, but I’ll make sure they get the message to him,” Ike assured me. He continued talking to the paramedic, who then relayed information about my condition and the impact to the ER staff. The last thought I had before succumbing to the pain was that Sean’s pitch felt a hell of a lot faster than eighty-three miles per hour as it connected with my cheekbone.

  I watched helplessly as the trainers tended to Mason at home plate. I replayed the pitch in my head, trying to figure out where I screwed up. It wasn’t the first time I’d hit a batter, but this was really bad. I couldn’t be certain, but I swore I screamed at Mason to move as the ball rocketed toward him. I wanted to run to him, to collapse to the ground so I could see what I did to him. I shook so violently I’m certain the fans in the last row of the third concourse could see it.

  Jason joined me on the mound, placing his hands on my shoulders to steady me. When I tried to jerk away, uninterested in his comfort, he squeezed tighter. “Hey, it was an accident. They’re going to get him loaded up and checked out. It wasn’t your fault.” I knew he meant well, but I wanted to punch him. Of course it was my fault. I’m the one who threw the ball and I didn’t think I’d be able to forget the sound of the ball meeting flesh or Mason screaming in agony any time soon. Of all the players in the league, it had to be him.

  “Jason, don’t,” I warned him. I twisted out of his grip and crouched down, burying my head in my hands. “You can’t stand there and tell me it wasn’t my fault. I did that to him. I need to be with him, but I can’t. He’s lying there, bleeding, and I can’t do a fucking thing to help him.”

  “Sean, you’ll probably punch me for saying this, but you need to relax. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, but do you really think Mason would want you falling apart out here?” I hated it when Jason made sense. If Mason saw the tears welling in my eyes or knew I was about a second away from demanding to ride to the hospital with him, he’d be pissed. We’d promised each other that when we were on the field, all personal feelings would be shoved aside and I had to keep that promise, no matter how much it killed me.

  It seemed to take forever for them to load Mason onto the stretcher. The crowd roared with applause and well wishes as the golf cart rolled along the third base line. Mason gave a weak thumbs-up and I was finally able to breathe, knowing that at the very least, he was conscious.

  Jason slapped me on the shoulder, asking me if I was okay to continue. I wasn’t, but I couldn’t tell him. Jason might know the truth, but that didn’t change the fact that I had a job to do. The only place I wanted to be was in the back of that ambulance with Mason, which was impossible.

  While we waited for the grounds crew to finish —I didn’t want to think about what mess they were trying to clean up— I looked into the stands and saw the last person I expected to see glaring down at me. The Ice Queen. Teresa had rarely attended Mason’s games
when they were married, so it made no sense that she was here now. I shook my head as I scanned the stands for Bill and Virginia and saw them being ushered toward the exit. It eased my mind slightly, knowing that Mason wouldn’t be alone until I could get there.

  The next batter stepped up to the plate, determination etched on his face. He was going to hit whatever I gave him for Mason’s sake. Jason called the pitch and shifted to the outside. I always threw inside against Hoyt, but Jason knew me well enough to know I’d fuck it up if I went high and tight; the image of Mason going down still vivid in my mind.

  Hoyt’s bat cracked as he made contact. I’d struck him out every time he’d been at the plate, and now all it took was one pitch to send him running to first. I spun around in time to see Henderson save my ass. Two out. All you have to do is hold it together through one more and the inning is done.

  “Why don’t you get cleaned up and head to the clubhouse?” Stu suggested when I got to the dugout. “Let Mason’s family know we’re thinking about him.”

  I swallowed hard, wondering if my secret wasn’t as well kept as I’d originally thought. “Yeah…okay…I…” I stammered, barely able to keep from breaking down. Stu patted me on the back and sent me on my way.

  Jason followed me into the tunnel, stopping me before I got too far. “Sean, you have to hold it together,” he warned me. “Stu knows Mace is one of your best friends, but that’s it. I know it’s killing you to be here, but if you don’t calm down, you’re going to be the one to out the two of you to everyone. I know you’ve been thinking about doing it, but that’s something you want to do in your own time.”

  “Thanks.” Jason patted me on the shoulder and said something about getting back to the dugout before he missed his spot in the lineup.

  When I reached my locker, there was already a voicemail from Bill. “Sean, it’s Bill. I know you won’t listen to me, but it was an accident. Ginny and I are on our way to Froedert now. You do what you have to there and we’ll see you after a bit.”

  Jason’s warning echoed in my mind as I headed to the showers. As much as I wanted to go, I wasn’t sure it was the best decision because I really didn’t give a damn if anyone saw me with Mason and realized what was going on. He was right that I needed to be careful. But if I didn’t go, people would question that as well because it’s no secret that we’re friends. In the end, I decided that I couldn’t let fear keep me from being at Mason’s side.

  “It’s tough,” I responded when one reporter asked me how I was holding up during the press conference after the game. Stu had told me I didn’t have to participate, but I knew everyone would want their soundbyte and I didn’t want to deal with anyone following me to the hospital. “In all my years on the mound, I’ve never had something this scary happen. Saying I’m sorry seems inadequate while we’re waiting to hear how badly Mason is injured, but I am. And the sooner I can get out of here, the sooner I can get up to sit with his family and find out what’s going on.”

  Most of the time, we’re coached on what to say in situations like this. I looked to the press manager and saw her offer me a curt nod, the only validation I would get that I’d handled the line of questioning as she would have advised.

  The moment I could break free, I raced to the players’ parking lot. I slowed down when a few kids called out for an autograph because I remembered being on the other side of the fence and what it meant to me to have players at least pretend to give a damn.

  Traffic was merciless on the way to the hospital. Between construction and the fans creeping toward the highway, there was nothing I could do to get to the hospital quicker. I tapped at the phone display in the dashboard of my SUV hoping I won’t get put to voicemail.

  “Sean!” Mason’s mother sounded nearly frantic when she answered the phone. “Honey, how are you? Are you on your way up here? Mason’s been asking for you.”

  “I’m on my way up there right now. I’m so sorry.” My throat constricted and I was unable to will the tears not to form in the corners of my eyes. Why couldn’t he have been standing two inches further from the plate? Why couldn’t the ball have gone an inch to the left? I pinched the bridge of my nose while I waited for the light to turn green, hoping I wouldn’t totally lose my composure.

  “Sean Tucker, this is not your fault,” Mrs. Atley admonished. “I know you’re too stubborn to believe that right now, but I will keep telling you until you do.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The light changed and I eased off the brake to start creeping up the ramp onto the freeway. Hopefully, traffic wouldn’t be quite as horrendous once there were more lanes and no lights.

  Mason’s dad took the phone and reiterated what his wife told me. They could tell me that it was an accident all they wanted, but it didn’t make me feel any better. Bill told me that they had taken Mason for X-rays of his face, and they thought his injuries were limited to possibly some broken bones.

  I pulled into the emergency entrance at the hospital, sucking in a sharp breath when I saw the vultures hovering at the door. It was no surprise that they were somehow able to beat me here, some probably arrived before the ambulance carrying Mason even pulled into the bay.

  “Sean, do you have anything to say about what happened tonight?” one reporter shouted. I pulled the cap low over my brow, more to shield my eyes from the blinding flashes than to obscure my identity. I refused to dignify the string of meaningless, shallow questions with answers.

  The voices faded into the distance as the sliding doors closed behind me. Teresa noticed me the moment the waiting room came into view. Why she was even here was beyond me. “You cocky, arrogant ass,” she hissed as she stalked across the room. To any of the photographers lurking, we probably looked like two people concerned about someone we cared about. Both of us were working hard to make sure no one latched onto the animosity between us. “You shouldn’t be here. Mason has enough he has to deal with right now without people talking about you sitting at his bedside.”

  I cupped my hand under her elbow, guiding her to a chair at the back of the waiting room where we wouldn’t cause a scene or disrupt anyone. “Regardless of what you think you know, I’m here because of the one fact you’ve known for a long time. Mason’s been my best friend for years, and that is why I’m here. Add to that the fact that he’s here because of a pitch I threw, and I want to make sure he’s okay without hearing how the analysts spin it. That explains why I’m here, but what are you doing here, Teresa?”

  “That’s none of your business,” she seethed. Before I told her that anything having to do with Mason was my business, she stormed off down the hall toward Mason’s room. I wanted to point out that she had no right to go back there, but I’d let Bill deal with that. I didn’t want to draw any more attention to myself than I already had. I felt the eyes of people in the waiting room watching me, wondering what that fight had been about.

  I flopped into one of the unforgiving plastic chairs, ready to sit for as long as it took before Bill came out to get me. I needed to see Mason, but since I wasn’t family, I had no choice but to wait.

  A few of Mason’s teammates joined me in the waiting room. Time dragged on while we waited for Mason to get some x-rays and stitch his face. With every passing minute, I grew more convinced that something major was happening in there and no one was telling us anything. I stood, needing to move. On my third lap around the grouping of chairs in the middle of the room, Colfax, one of Mason’s teammates, grabbed my arm.

  “Sit the fuck down, would ya?” he grumbled, pulling me into an empty chair. “He’s gonna be fine. You live here, you should know this place has a rep for being slower than molasses.”

  “They should have some news by now. Why aren’t they telling us what’s going on?” When I looked up, I saw myself on the television in the corner of the room. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to look away. The network had slowed the footage to draw out every agonizing millisecond that I’ll never get back. I watched, dissecting the pitc
h, hoping it’d show me what went wrong.

  “Would someone turn that shit off?” Colfax yelled. A rookie, whose name I couldn’t remember, leapt out of his seat and the screen went black. “Don’t watch that shit, man. You know they’re all going to be looking at it from every angle they can, trying to find somethin’ that isn’t there. Everyone knows you never woulda done anything to hurt him.”

  I tangled my fingers through my hair, resisting the urge to scream because I was seriously going to lose my mind if one more person told me it wasn’t my fault. Just as I lost the fight, the sound of shoes squeaking on the floor jarred me out of my homicidal thoughts.

  “Sean Tucker?” The nurse squared her shoulders, effectively thrusting her ample chest forward as she looked around the room. I stood, pausing momentarily to tell Colfax that I’d tell them what was going on as soon as I knew anything. “Mr. Atley has been asking for you. I have to warn you, his wife doesn’t seem pleased that we’re following his request instead of hers.”

  “Not shocking, but thanks for the heads up.” I wanted to inform the woman that she was Mason’s ex-wife, but that seemed petty right now, especially since legally they were still married. Her procrastination on signing the divorce papers was simply one more reason for me to despise her. The nurse swiped her keycard in front of the sensor and the doors swung open. I followed her down the hall, blocking out the hushed murmurs of people talking as they watched me walk past.

  I heard Teresa’s shrill voice before the nurse reached Mason’s room. There was no screaming, so that was something. The nurse pointed to the door, and I waited outside, working up the courage to walk in there while Teresa was still beside his bed. When she exited the room, her eyes were red and black streaks of mascara ran down her face. I held my breath when she grabbed my shoulder, reminding myself that we were in public and I couldn’t cause a scene.