“No, no. I have a machine in the other room. As the team’s physician, I’m responsible for Jack’s condition and his recovery. It’s my job.”
“Wow. So we don’t have to go anywhere else?” Since I’d never thought this through, I didn’t know how it worked when a major league player was injured. Wrongly, I’d assumed Jack would have to get checked out at regular hospital, like normal people. But then again, the team chartered their own commercial planes to fly them places, so nothing about this lifestyle was normal.
“If I’m on the road with the team, one of my trainers will be here to help you, so no. You should never have to take Jack anywhere other than here.”
The Mets organization cared about Jack’s recovery, so I allowed myself to be comforted by the thought that he would be taken care of by the people who were invested in him the most. It was in their best interest, as well as his, to get him healed.
“If you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Carter, we’ll only be a minute.” The doctor motioned for Jack to follow him into another room. “Let’s go see what we’re dealing with, Jack.”
I paced the floor, one hand tugging at my lips from nervous habit. I wanted to call Dean, but knew he’d ask me questions I didn’t have the answers to. So I waited to call anyone until I had more to tell them. A broken hand was one thing, but having a hand that required surgery was another.
A few minutes later, Jack exited the medical room alone and scooped me into a careful hug. I felt his heart racing as our chests pressed together. “I love you, Kitten.” He gave me a quick kiss, then released me and hopped back onto the exam table. His hand looked painful, his fingers had taken on a purplish tint and were swollen to a ridiculous size. The sight of it made my stomach tighten painfully and I had to turn my gaze away.
“I love you too.” I wanted to say more, but words failed me. Bringing my hand toward my heart, my fingers grazed across the ball chain necklace that lay there. I glanced down at the key attached and moved my fingers to it, rubbing them across the etched letters for comfort.
Between the lies from Chrystle and the brutality from the press and fans, it wasn’t that long ago when I felt like my insides were unraveling. Melissa had given me this necklace when I needed it the most. Imagining that Jack was experiencing the same sort of feelings right about now, I realized this was the right time to pass the necklace on, as was intended.
I reached around the back of my neck, my fingers gripping at the chain before pulling it over my head. When I lowered the necklace around Jack’s neck, he looked up at me, his face pale and strained with pain, and raised his eyebrows at me. The bronze key fell against his sweaty white T-shirt before he glanced down at it. With his uninjured hand, he lifted the key and flipped it to the stamped side, then read its message out loud. “Strength.”
“You need this more than I do,” I said before leaning in and planting a kiss on his scruffy cheek. “We’ll get through this. No matter what the doctor says when he walks through that door, we’ll get through this.”
I tried to sound positive and strong, but my insides were rattled and fraying. If Jack lost baseball because of this, I wasn’t sure he’d ever get over it. His self-image, his hopes and dreams—hell, his whole identity—were wrapped up in the game. If the worst happened, if he could never play again, I had no idea how he’d process that loss.
The sound of the door creaking open caused me to pull my gaze from Jack’s and glance behind me. Footsteps slapped against the floor as Dr. Evans walked in our direction, a smile on his face. “Good news. You don’t need surgery and it’s not shattered.” I exhaled a huge sigh of relief and watched Jack do the same as the doctor continued. “You do have multiple fractures, however, here and here.” He pointed at areas on the x-rays as Jack tensed beside me. “And we need to get you in a cast immediately.”
“How long will I be out?” Jack asked, his face turning even whiter.
“Minimum, six weeks. It could have been a lot worse. Frankly, I’m surprised it isn’t.”
I watched as Jack flexed his jaw and worked to keep his emotions in check. He didn’t like that answer, but there was no answer that Jack would have liked. One day not playing baseball was one day too many for him. Six weeks probably sounded like a death sentence.
“I can’t leave my team for that long.” Jack shook his head as he mumbled, “I can’t let them down like that.”
“Jack, look at me,” I begged. “You’re not letting them down. They’ll understand, and they’ll want you to get better. Six weeks is better than six months, right? Let’s take it one day at a time.”
The pained look in his eyes informed me that these next six weeks were going to be anything but easy.
I’m a Baseball Player
Hearing Dr. Evans tell me I’d be out for six weeks made me want to fucking scream. But I didn’t scream when I was frustrated; I hit shit. And right now, with a broken fucking hand, I couldn’t hit anything.
A million thoughts raced through my head at once.
Why the fuck did I stick my hand out like that? No one in their right mind could catch a fast-ball being hit straight back at them. I must be mental. What if my hand doesn’t heal right? What if they find someone new to replace me? Six weeks is a long time to have your job up for grabs. What if I can’t throw again after this? I didn’t want to get hurt. I just want to play baseball. What if I can’t play anymore? I busted my ass to get where I am, I don’t want to lose it. I’m a ball player, that’s what I am. That’s who I am. What the hell will I do if I’m not playing baseball?
It was one thing when it was your choice to leave the only job in this world you could see yourself doing, but being forced to quit was another. The truth was that it was rarely ever your choice to leave.
I sucked in a breath, took one look at my beautiful wife, and hopped off the table. Grabbing her by the hand, I pulled her forcefully out of the locker room.
“Jesus, Jack, stop. That hurts.” She jerked her hand from my grip and I winced.
“Sorry, Kitten. I just want to get out of here.”
She looked at me with sympathy in her eyes and I almost fucking exploded. The last thing I needed right now was my wife looking at me with pity. “Don’t look at me like that,” I ordered.
“Like what?” She stopped walking and tilted her head at me questioningly.