Quit Your Pitchin'

by Lani Lynn Vale

  I also didn’t look back even though everything inside of me was telling me to turn around and watch the paramedic work on my son.

  Instead, I dialed George’s number from memory, then placed it against my ear.

  In the end, they drove him to the local high school and then air-lifted him to the hospital.

  I was able to ride with them, even though it went against company policy to do so, according to the nurse that was arguing with the pilot.

  The pilot, Cleo, had looked at me, seen my terrified, pleading eyes, and had allowed me to come.

  I’d sat in a sliver of space normally reserved for a bag and hadn’t said a word as they’d worked to stabilize my baby.

  The flight lasted thirty-one minutes.

  We landed on the roof of Dallas Children’s Hospital and they took my son away.

  They hadn’t waited.

  And I didn’t want them to.

  I stared at the door of the hospital, wondering what the hell to do next.

  “I’ll take her,” Cleo, the pilot, said to the flight nurse.

  I looked up then and saw the two men standing side by side.

  They looked eerily similar, and if this situation had been different, I would’ve asked if they were brothers.

  I just couldn’t find it in me to care, though.

  I didn’t want to know if they were brothers.

  I didn’t want to know because there was only one single thing on this planet that I cared about at that moment in time. My son.

  Cleo put his hand on my shoulder and guided me to the gray metal door.

  “They’re going to take him down to the ER first. That’s on level G,” he told me like I was a child.

  I nodded, going where he guided me.

  “I’ll go with you, though. Take you to a nurse that can tell you where you need to go,” Cleo continued.

  I nodded again.

  “Let’s go.”

  ***

  Four hours later, I stared blankly at the wall, bile still filling my throat.

  They’d taken my baby to surgery over an hour ago, and George was on his way.

  George hadn’t taken the news well, which was understandable.

  I hadn’t taken it well, either.

  I closed my eyes and replayed the surgeon’s words in my head. He’d come by on the way to the OR—operating room—with my son in it and had discussed what was about to happen.

  “Your son has sustained two broken legs, a broken femur on his left, and a broken tibia on his right. He has a cracked pelvis as well as two broken ulnar bones in each of his arms. He’s sustained a concussion, but at this time, does not show any signs of swelling. The purpose of the surgery is to set both bones in his arms, and his broken femur. I’ll have more information for you once I’ve gotten a chance to repair the damage to him.”

  Another tear hit my leg.

  And another. And another.

  With my legs crossed the way they were, the tears had just started to roll down the length of my pants to pool in my crotch. It made me look like I’d wet myself, but I didn’t care.

  A door slammed somewhere down the hallway, and I looked up.

  George was barreling down the hallway toward me, determination in his every step, and a stark sadness in his eyes.

  “Georgie!” I cried, standing up so fast that my head spun. Then, moments later, I threw myself into his arms and buried my face into his neck.

  He did the same thing to me, and suddenly we were on our knees, holding each other while the other cried.

  Chapter 16

  If it’s the thought that counts, I should be in jail.

  -George to Wrigley

  George

  Your son is in surgery.

  I replayed those words over and over as I looked at my hands.

  When surgery was over, they’d scheduled him to be taken to an adult room since both his mother and I would be staying with him—and we would. There’d be no leaving for either one of us—they’d chosen to give him a bigger bed so we could sleep with him in it.

  In other news, professional baseball player center fielder for the Longview Lumberjacks had a tragedy strike against his family tonight. Around four p.m., the center fielder’s son was hit in a city park by a drunk driver who lost control of his vehicle. He was airlifted to Dallas Children’s Hospital, and at this time, no further news has been released on how he is doing. When the Lumberjack team manager was contacted, they declined to comment. Our thoughts and prayers are with the Hoffman family tonight as they await news on their son.

  I tuned out the reporter and closed my eyes, reliving those moments when Wrigley had called me to tell me the news.

  Then, to make matters worse, I’d looked up to see the entire thing play out on the TV in front of me. The team manager had requested that we stay and attend the local radio station’s “Live with the Lumberjacks” that they were hosting. Though, I and a handful of the other players had actually done what we’d been asked to do.

  And I had been one of them.

  I’d been there to witness the entire thing from start to finish of three reporters harassing my wife on the way to the park and distracting her. Then I’d watched as my son had raced ahead on his bike, and the car had lost control. The next thirty seconds would live forever in my brain.

  The car flipped into the ditch, rolled, and then swung around to hit my son.

  My son, his tiny little body, had gone flying.

  I could actually hear the crunch of bones as they snapped in his tiny little form.

  It was the single worst sound that I would ever hear in my life. The second worst was hearing Wrigley’s phone call confirming what I’d just seen, followed shortly by her sobs.

  My phone rang, and I saw it was the call I’d been waiting for.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said to Wrigley.

  She looked up, her eyes dead, and nodded.

  I made my way out to the hallway, placed the phone to my ear, and said two words. “Find him?”

  “Yes,” I heard replied from the other end.

  “I want him gone. I want harassment charges filed on him. And I also want anything else you can pin on him. He never finds another goddamn job in this part of Texas. Hell, any of Texas. Do you understand me?” I said carefully.

  “Yes, sir,” my lawyer replied. “I’ll get it taken care of.”

  I hung up and resisted the urge to smash my phone into pieces.

  I couldn’t do that, though.

  Grams was on her way here, and I wanted to be able to talk to her if she needed me.

  Meaning I couldn’t smash my phone like I so desperately wanted to do.

  I walked stiffly back to my seat and practically fell into it.

  “George?”

  I looked down and over at Wrigley.

  “Yeah?” I croaked.

  “Was that about the reporter?”

  I nodded.

  She blew out a shaky breath. “Please don’t hate me.”

  I moved before I was even conscious of doing so.

  “I could never hate you,” I promised fiercely.

  A tear slipped down her face. “It was my fault. I should’ve had Lucy.”

  “If you’d have had Lucy, there’s a good chance that she would’ve been right there with Micah. Trust me, baby. This is not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

  She looked down at her hands, which were clutching onto my shirt so tightly that her knuckles were white.

  “I’m so scared.”

  I pulled her in tight to my body and squeezed her hard enough to cause a squeak to pop out of her.

  “I’m scared, too.”

  She blew out a breath against my neck.

  Then she melted into me.

  We both waited.

  So long.

  It was hours later when the doctor finally came out, and we both rushed to our feet.

 
Somewhere in the interim, the waiting room around us had filled.

  My teammates, the coaches. Hell, even Diamond was there.

  She was sitting farther away from everyone else and trying not to look or make eye contact with anybody, but she was there.

  And I was glad.

  She’d been avoiding life for way too long.

  I just hoped that she was here to stay longer than us to only get a glance.

  My intention when I’d asked Wrigley not to have her sister live with us anymore hadn’t been to alienate her or kick her from the family. It’d been due to the fact that I wanted her to get help, but to also keep Wrigley, Micah, and myself safe.

  She wasn’t well, and she needed help.

  And the only way for her to realize that was to have her find her own way.

  But, after leaving our place, she hadn’t found help. She’d been holed up inside her place, refusing to come out.

  She was at work long enough to get a decent paycheck, and then she was back at home, refusing to let anyone in.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman?”

  I helped Wrigley stand, even though by the time I’d given her my arm she’d vaulted off the seat.

  She clutched my hand tightly, though, her eyes zeroed in on the exhausted looking doctor.

  “Your son is doing well.”

  There was a cohesive whoosh of air that was expelled the moment those words were uttered. Every single man and woman in the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  “Thank God,” I whispered.

  “His prognosis was what we expected. All of the broken bones I mentioned to you earlier have been repaired. He’s doing well and in recovery right now. In about half an hour, they’ll move him to a room on the fourth floor.” At both of our nods, he continued. “When they have him situated, they’ll let you know. We ask that you don’t see him in recovery until we’re able to remove his breathing tube,” the doctor murmured. “Do you have any questions?”

  “Is he…will he be able to walk normally?” I questioned.

  “Yes, I don’t see why that wouldn’t happen. Him being young means he’s resilient. I would be surprised more if he had a problem recovering,” the doctor replied with a small smile.

  The moment he left, my teammates made their way to me.

  “Glad he’s okay, man,” Rhys said, throwing his arm around my shoulder and pressing a kiss to my head.

  I snorted and pushed him away. “I’m not your child, Rhys-O.”

  Rhys winked. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

  And so it went.

  As each man said goodbye, more and more strength returned to me.

  Then, there was only one.

  Diamond.

  Who hadn’t gotten up or said a single word while my teammates took their leave.

  Wrigley looked like she hadn’t noticed, but I sure had.

  “You okay, Diamond?”

  I saw her swallow quickly, and then she nodded.

  “Something snapped in me today,” she said softly.

  That caught Wrigley’s attention. The moment she heard Diamond’s words, she whipped her head around and stared at her sister.

  “Dodger called, and he said that Micah had been hurt. I rushed around finding my stuff and headed for the door, and while I did, I asked him if he was coming.” She swallowed. “He said no. No, Wrigs.”

  Wrigley’s lip trembled.

  “I hate him. He’s the worst brother ever,” she replied. “I don’t know why he is the way he is, and I’m sorry for my part that I played in your and George’s divorce. I’m sorry that y’all fought over me.”

  Wrigley opened her mouth to say something, but Diamond shook her head. “No. If there was one thing I realized today, it’s that life changes in a split-second. It’s time for both of us to learn that.”

  Wrigley stood when Diamond did.

  “Diamond, wait…”

  Diamond shook her head. “It’s time for me to do something, Wrigs. I love you, and I don’t want to watch you throw your life away. Not like I did.”

  Then she was gone, leaving me speechless in her wake.

  I couldn’t have said it better myself.

  But, with all that had happened today with Micah, I wouldn’t be bringing up anything just yet.

  Maybe in a few weeks, once all of this was behind us, I would.

  But until then, I’d be her rock. I’d support her. And I’d thank God every single freakin’ day that he’d protected my son when I couldn’t.

  ***

  Micah’s eyes blinked open. One second, he was asleep, and the next he had such a wide smile on his face that it hurt my heart to see.

  “Hey, buddy,” I said, leaning over.

  I told myself I wasn’t going to cry. Not again. Not in front of him.

  But I was a weak bastard.

  The moment I saw those eyes so much like my own, I couldn’t help it. The tears just leaked out.

  It took an act of God to make me cry. And seeing my baby’s eyes open and alert was enough to make that happen.

  I hadn’t cried when my mother died. I hadn’t cried when my father died in prison. I hadn’t cried when Wrigley had left me—even though there were times that I wanted to—but seeing my son’s smile? Yeah, I was a goner.

  “Daddy hurt?” came Micah’s beautiful voice.

  My poor little man tried to reach up to put his hand on my cheek, but along with the wires and tubes, his little arms wouldn’t be moving very effectively for a while thanks to the casts he was in.

  I smiled sadly. “No, baby. I’m not hurt. Just happy. Do you hurt?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  I nodded, bringing my hand up to cup his head. My hand spanned from his chin to curl around the back of his head. His hair felt soft and silky against my fingers.

  It was also one of the only things on his entire body that wasn’t bandaged or bruised.

  Thank God.

  Everything else was going to be okay. He’d be in a cast of some sort for the next three months, but his beautiful head would not be among the things he had to heal.

  “You want something to drink, Micah?”

  “Chocwate milk.”

  I looked over at Wrigley, who was silently crying her eyes out and raised my brow.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know if he’s allowed to have it.”

  Micah, having heard his mother, turned his head and shouted, “Momma, Daddy!”

  Then he pointed at me.

  I grinned.

  Micah always announced when I was near. And secretly, I loved it. I was sure that Wrigley didn’t care that I was near.

  At least, that’d been what I thought. As of lately, I wasn’t so sure.

  Especially after today. If two people had needed each other more than we did that day, I’d be surprised.

  Wrigley hadn’t let go of my hand since I’d arrived.

  Even now she was clutching onto it like she needed it to hold herself together.

  “I’ll go ask,” Wrigley murmured, standing.

  She went to let go of my hand, and I winked at her.

  She took a deep breath and then nodded once in thanks. Then she turned and walked out of the room. The moment she was out of sight, I turned back to Micah to find him staring at me.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Micah’s eyelids drooped.

  “You tired?” I asked, rubbing my fingers over his head.

  “No.” He blinked, eyelids falling even lower this time.

  “Are you sure?” I smirked.

  “Yes.”

  I nodded, then tucked some of his hair behind his ear. “I love you, Micah.”

  Then his eyes finally closed, only this time because he was sleepy, not because he was hurt.

  Chapter 17

  Have you ever tried to change a two-year-old that didn’t want you to change him? It should be a
n Olympic sport.

  -Text from Wrigley to George

  George

  Two weeks later

  “I guess I’m just glad he’s still in diapers,” Wrigley murmured as I carried Micah into his bedroom. “I’m not sure how the heck I would’ve been able to do this otherwise.”

  I agreed with a nod.

  My belly hurt, and I didn’t want to leave.

  But, since Micah had been released from the hospital today, I wouldn’t be able to stay with him and Wrigley like I had for the last two weeks.

  I’d missed the last three playoff games, and would be returning to the game tomorrow night for the fourth game of this particular series. The Lumberjacks were losing three to one, and they were hoping with my return that we’d pick it back up.

  We wouldn’t. But that wasn’t their fault. It was mine.

  I was fucking scared to leave them. I didn’t want to go. And in fact, I honestly was thinking about spending the night in my truck in the parking garage rather than driving home.

  What if they needed me?

  What if I was twenty minutes across town and she called, and I needed to get here, and couldn’t?

  Those thoughts went round and round in my head until I was nearly dizzy with the urge to stay.

  I just couldn’t think of a way to ask her without feeling like I was trying to force myself into her home.

  Lucy nudged her nose between the bars of the crib and stayed like that until I petted her head.

  “You’re a good girl,” I said to her.

  Then I sighed and stood up, making my way to the front room where I could hear Wrigley moving around.

  “I’m gonna go,” I said to her as I rounded the corner.

  Wrigley stopped in her pacing, her face betraying nothing.

  “Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow before we walk to the game?”

  We’d discussed on the way home whether or not we should bring Micah to the game or not. Over and over we went through all possible scenarios, and we decided that we should allow him to see the game.

  The owner of the Lumberjacks had agreed to allow Wrigley and Micah the use of his box for the game, and I’d felt a lot better about them being there after that.

  Then, there was the second hurdle of how to get him there.

  With the casts that he had on, he wasn’t able to sit up in a seat. He had to lay down flat. Which also meant that he wasn’t allowed to sit in his car seat, or any car seat.