Playing for the Save (Men of Spring Baseball Book 3)

by Rachelle Ayala

  “And so have you,” Marlene said. She rubbed Ben’s back and bent over to look into his eyes. “You must be Ben Rush. You like baseball, don’t you?”

  Ben shrank from her touch and hid his face in Jamie’s arms.

  Jamie swallowed a lump and kissed the top of Ben’s head. “You have to be brave. Marlene’s going to be real nice to you, and it’s only going to be today, tomorrow, and Monday. Then you can come home.”

  “I want to go home,” Ben cried, snuffling, and it was all Jamie could do not to burst into another round of tears.

  “I know you do, but I have to go to court to get permission to take you home. They don’t open until Monday.”

  “What about Drew?” Ben blinked his big blue eyes. “Drew’s scared.”

  “You have to take care of Drew. He knows you, and I’m sure Marlene will be really nice to you. Think you can give her a big hug?” Jamie prodded Ben toward the foster mother.

  Ben reluctantly hugged Marlene and turned his head away from her. “I thought when the police arrested Dad we could go home.”

  “Same here,” Jamie admitted. “But I’ll be by to visit you tomorrow, promise. Maybe we can do something fun together.”

  “You’re welcome to come to my place and get the boys settled,” Marlene volunteered. “I’m sure the little one will need more reassurance.”

  Jamie hugged Drew who was unresponsive. “Okay, let’s get them settled.”

  She had no choice but to comply. It was going to be a long, long night.

  It was the hardest thing Jamie ever had to do, but with her mother at her side, she drove away from Marlene’s house after seeing Ben and Drew to bed. Ben was semi-okay, after Marlene fed him cookies and Jamie read him a bedtime story about bears playing baseball. He was worried about Ryan and said his prayers before she kissed him goodnight.

  Drew, meanwhile, allowed her to bathe and dress him, brush his teeth and put on his diaper, but he was unresponsive. They’d been to the doctor earlier who ruled that Drew hadn’t suffered any physical injuries. But emotionally, he had gone back into his hiding place.

  Jamie could only hope he wouldn’t meltdown again, but right now, at least, he was quiet and allowed them to tuck him into bed and sing him a lullaby. When she left, he was still sucking on his chew stick.

  “I have to go to the hospital to see Ryan,” she told her mother, even thought she was tired to the bone and her brain was fried beyond consciousness.

  “Isn’t it too late for visiting hours?” Mother asked, checking her watch. “Have you gotten an update from Frances?”

  “Not really, she hasn’t answered my messages and when I called, she didn’t answer.”

  “I suppose we have to go by and see him. He saved Drew’s life.”

  “I know, but what’s happened to him? I’m so worried.” She gnawed on her knuckles as she drove toward the county hospital.

  “Does anyone on his team know?” Mother asked. “What does Brock say?”

  “That he’s gone into emergency surgery and he’s hanging in there,” Jamie said. “He didn’t say much else, only that he’s in touch with Frances.”

  “I wonder why she isn’t answering your calls,” Mother said. “She’s got to know you’re worried sick.”

  “Maybe she’s upset because all of this is my fault.” Jamie held back a sniffle. “I should never have gotten Ryan involved in the first place.”

  “Your fault?” Mother snapped at her. “How the heck is it your fault that Andrew tossed Drew off the bleachers? Really, Jamie, you need therapy.”

  “You go every week, does it help?” Jamie snapped back.

  “I’m a survivor.” Her mother pointed a thumb at herself. “I’m strong, and I don’t go around blaming myself for the dickwads I married and divorced.”

  Her mother was right. At least she’d freed herself from any guilt feelings about exposing Jamie to her serial marriages to a slew of losers.

  Jamie, however, would never be able to free herself from any guilt. If Ryan weren’t able to play baseball again, she would never forgive herself. He had a good life before he became embroiled in her messy sideshow.

  Twenty minutes later, Jamie and her mother were on their way to the intensive care unit. It was a long shot, but she figured Frances would be there, and there was an off chance that Ryan would be awake after surgery and wish to see her.

  They stepped off the elevator and spotted Frances sitting alone eating a sandwich.

  Jamie ran toward her. “Frances, how’s he doing? Brock said Ryan was in emergency surgery?”

  Frances put her sandwich down and stared at her. “Why are you here? You know you can’t see him.”

  “But, but …” Jamie sputtered. “I want to know how he’s doing. Is he going to be okay?”

  “Okay? You think he’s okay when he’s partially paralyzed?”

  “Paralyzed?” Jamie sank into a chair. “How could this be?”

  “He tumbled down a steep stadium. He has a concussion, internal bleeding, a separated shoulder, and spinal shock.”

  “Oh, Ryan,” Jamie cried. “Ryan, what have I done to you?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that?” Frances glared at her. “He’s severely injured and in so much pain, they put him in a temporary coma so he wouldn’t injure himself further by twisting around in pain. He’s not going to get better with you traipsing in there, that’s for sure.”

  Jamie threw her head into her hands and rocked herself back and forth as primal wails escaped her lungs.

  “You can’t blame Jamie,” her mother argued with Frances. “None of us want Ryan to be hurt.”

  “No, but Jamie broke Ryan’s heart last night. That, I blame her for,” the other woman said.

  “I want to apologize to him,” Jamie cried. “I’m so so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just want to apologize.”

  “To soothe your conscience, yes, but is it what he needs?” Frances’s voice grew sharp. “Think about it. He sacrificed everything he’s ever wanted to save a child’s life. Of course it’s worth it. But now, he’s left broken with no certain future. He doesn’t even know if he can walk. He has no feeling below his waist. He’ll never pitch again even if he recovers. How’s he supposed to feel when you waltz in to apologize for your accusations? Seriously, you’re no better than Andrew.”

  “What? Where is this coming from?” Jamie’s mother shouted. “Jamie never abused Ryan.”

  Frances squared her shoulders and jutted her jaw. “You think shoving all the blame for Andrew’s custody case onto Ryan isn’t abuse? The way she threw him under the bus, saying that if it weren’t for him, Andrew wouldn’t be suing for custody. Do you understand how hurtful those words were and how they could undermine Ryan’s case to prove himself innocent of the molestation charges Andrew is throwing at him?”

  “But Andrew’s in jail. He’s discredited,” Jamie interrupted.

  “It’s not that simple. His court order still stands. The allegations of child endangerment, gross negligence and clear and present abuse are serious.” Frances’s voice was clipped, barely hiding her disgust. “I suggest you concentrate on getting the custody order overturned rather than coming around here and playing with Ryan’s mind.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I was only trying to get him to leave, so he wouldn’t get dragged down with me.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Frances said. “You think words have no consequences? Let me give you a hint. They have everlasting consequences, and Ryan remembers every single word you ever uttered. He can replay them over and over in his mind. He’ll never forget.”

  Jamie’s stomach dropped through the floor, and she slapped her head, hating herself. She’d totally and utterly screwed up. What could she ever do to make up for the horrid words she’d flung so casually at him?

  “We don’t have to listen to this,” Jamie’s mother said. “You’re obviously upset because of what Ryan’s going through.”
<
br />   “So am I,” Jamie said. “Can’t you see I’m dying here? I love Ryan and I can’t take not knowing if he’s going to be okay.”

  “Let’s go.” Jamie’s mother dragged her to her feet. “You’re not going to get to see Ryan tonight. You need to go home and get some rest.”

  “How can I rest when he’s hurt?” Jamie sobbed. “I need to see him. To tell him how sorry I am.”

  “You’ve said your piece.” Mother put on her firm no-nonsense voice. “Now you’re going home. Maybe tomorrow, he’ll be up for a visit.”

  Jamie allowed her mother to lead her from the hospital, put her in the car, and drive her home. All the way back, she replayed what Frances had said.

  What had she meant about Jamie being as bad as Andrew? Could it be true she’d taken Ryan’s feelings for granted? That she hadn’t thought before she spoke and that casting the blame on him was mean and unfair?

  Definitely true on both counts.

  She’d cruelly broken his heart and tangentially caused him to lose his beloved career.

  Was there any hope she could make it up to him?

  Could he forgive her or should she leave him alone before she upset him further? Especially since he might never be able to walk again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Ryan lay on a cloud of pillows and a haze of background pain. Sometimes he was flying high with the wind blowing through his hair. He rode the air currents, and he soared free of the weights holding him down. But other times, oh, the pain, the heaviness, the dullness and the dread.

  Half of his body was missing, and the other half was hypersensitive. He was infested with tubes and monitors and his neck was stuck in a brace. He couldn’t see his legs, and he wondered if he had been sawn in half and somehow held in suspended animation.

  Doctors and nurses expanded and contracted, their faces blowing up or shrinking like images in a funhouse mirror. Voices echoed incessantly in his ears, and his brain was filled of images, flashing at warp speed, playing his life—his former life.

  During his lucid moments, he gathered understanding. He was in a hospital, unable to move. He’d injured his back, separated his shoulder, reinjured his internal bleeds. His mother was his main communicator.

  She piped in from somewhere above him and spoke for him. Not that he was sure he could speak or even remember how.

  Words as flash cards juxtaposed themselves with images and sounds. He tried making sounds, but he couldn’t tell where he began and ended. Was he lying in bed? Or hovering somewhere in the ceiling? Did he actually own the so-called parts of his body? Or had he died and he was only a spirit?

  He felt pain, or was it remembered pain? He didn’t have toes or feet or legs, but could a man live with half his body?

  And there were the voices. The boys whose names he couldn’t place. Two boys who loved baseball. One was a slugger and the other was a pitcher. Some afternoons, he would take them to the park with their brown dog.

  Some days, he was the boy with the dog. The boy who knew all the secret hiding places. And he’d crawl under the porch and lurk. He’d know who was around by their feet, coming up and down the porch steps. He felt safe under the porch. No one could get him there.

  No one except his mother who was always above him. Shielding him. Protecting him.

  Night and day blurred, and he dreamed about a woman—a spunky brunette with big brown eyes and misbehaving hair. She loved to dance, but she was always sad, worried, and frightened. He held her close and replayed all her words.

  She loved him. She oftentimes thought out loud without knowing it, and she was always with him, in his heart. He just didn’t know her name. But her words. Oh, the words, they were everything he wanted to hear.

  Ryan, I love all of you, whether different or not.

  I love all of you.

  Different or not.

  If you think I’m going to walk away from this big astounding heart of yours, then I would be a fool.

  Those were the sunny days, full of beautiful colors, the scent of fresh cut grass and sound of the perfect pitch drilling into the catcher’s mitt. Salty hotdogs piled high with relish and onions, and warm buttery apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

  But the aches would come, mixed with chills and sweat and pins pricking his entire body. His body would seize and jerk as every nerve rattled and quaked and a heavy blanket of doom would fill the room.

  It was your idea to go fishing where Drew almost drowned, and last night, you called the meeting where he got lost.

  If you’re going to compete with the kids, you’ll lose.

  I’m sorry it has to be this way, but I am their only mother. You can always get another woman.

  This gorgeous, vibrant, wonderful woman who made him feel things he’d never felt, who lifted him higher than he’d ever flown, who made his heart sing to the stars, also cast him straight into a pit where he was now trapped—unable to move, surrounded by briars and barbed wire, dry and parched, burning up and lost.

  “Ryan, are you awake?” The voice called ‘Mother’ sounded like an intercom system through a tube.

  Ryan felt his eyelids move. Willed them to open. It was time for his daily status check.

  “It’s Tuesday, March fourteenth. You were injured on Saturday, March eleventh. The good news is that you have recovered the reflexes below the L-one lumbar spinal nerve where you were injured. Your abdominal incision is healing well, because you’ve been immobile, and your doctor is okay with removing your neck brace. You won’t be able to move your shoulder since you have pins going through it. And finally, you should be able to wiggle your toes if you try. Are you going to say anything to me today?”

  Lifting his eyelids was like lifting barbells. Squinting, he made out the wavering image of a silver-haired woman, the one his mental flash cards identified as Mother.

  “Good job, you can see me, yes?”

  Ryan swiveled his neck, fighting through the stiffness and pain, but it was still held by the brace. No one else seemed to be in the room. Definitely not the brown-haired beauty who loved to dance.

  “Can you say something?” Mother asked.

  He felt the pressure of her hand on his, gently squeezing it.

  He flexed his fingers and elicited a smile. His flash cards told him it meant the other person was happy or encouraged.

  He cast desperately for the word he wanted. He replayed the voices in his mind. Call me, Jamie.

  That was it. She was called Jamie.

  “Juh-Jam-ee.” His unused voice was gritty and rough. “Jamie.”

  Mother’s eyebrows drew downward and her wrinkles showed the frown pattern. It meant she was unhappy and upset.

  “Jamie doesn’t want to see you anymore. You must accept it and stop thinking about her.”

  “Jamie loves me.” Ryan jerked the parts of his body that still worked. “She said so.”

  “Now, now, Ryan.” Mother patted his shoulder and tried to calm him, pushing him back down onto the pillows. “Jamie is no longer interested in you. She’s moved on along with her boys. It’s best if you forget about them.”

  “Boys?” Ryan felt like he’d emerged from the tangled mess of an overgrown jungle. His mind flipped through all of his scene cards and he placed them. “Boys. Drew, the pitcher, and Ben, the slugger.”

  “Yes, Ben and Drew, they’re safe now,” Mother said. “The judge was forced to rule that there was no abuse after Andrew’s wife, Alyssa, testified that he was trumping up the charges. As for the molestation slander, we’re hitting Andrew with a multi-million dollar defamation suit on the basis that he’s ruining your commercial value. He’ll have nothing left after we clean him out.”

  Her voice reverberated through his fuzzy mind, sounding like the “wah, wah, wah,” of the Charlie Brown teacher.

  “Where’s Jamie?” Ryan gritted his teeth at the pain just using his voice caused. “I want her to tell it to my face.”

  “I’m sorry, but she’s very busy,” Moth
er said. “She’s looking for a job, and her mother’s moving in with her to help with the boys.”

  “She can spare fifteen minutes,” Ryan said. “Unless it’s you who doesn’t want me to see her.”

  He could always tell when his mother lied. Like most non-autistic humans, they overshot the mark, exaggerating and creating extra drama.

  She forgot that he could replay everything she said in slow motion and compare her expressions and speech patterns to previous times when she had lied to him.

  “Me? I want what’s best for you,” Mother said. “And right now, you need to concentrate on recovery. You have a long road ahead of you. First priority is moving those toes and passing that hurdle. Your spinal swelling is going down, and we need to see how much function you retain.”

  “None of it matters until I see Jamie,” Ryan argued, his voice hoarse. “I know why she lied to me. She didn’t want to bring me down. She wanted me to live the high life of a professional athlete. In case you haven’t noticed, that isn’t going to happen. I’ll never pitch again.”

  “Not in the big leagues, but depending on how much functionality you recover, it’s possible you could go back to the minors.”

  “What for?” Ryan couldn’t help the exasperation in his voice. “The farm teams are a training ground for up and coming players, not a pasture where has-beens go to die.”

  He shut his eyes as the gloomy thought sank in deep. He was a has-been. He was no longer of any use to his team. He was done. A goner. Retired at thirty-eight.

  “Ryan?” His mother tapped his kneecap. “Can you wiggle those toes? Can you feel me touching you?”

  “Yes, Mom. I can feel you tapping me.” Ryan begrudgingly gave her what she wanted to hear. He concentrated on his toes and flexed his feet.

  “You did it. I’m going to report this to your doctor. This is wonderful. With a lot of hard work, you’ll be back in no time. I’ve always believed in you. You can overcome anything.”

  “Bring me Jamie,” he ordered, eliciting another frown.

  “No, you’re not ready to see her. You’re high on painkillers, and she’ll only take advantage of you. Lie and weasel her way out of this. She’s not the right woman for you anyway, and I’m not going to stand back and watch her walk all over you.”