Third Base

by Author Stella

  Test after test was performed, separated by long bouts of waiting. Shots of burning pain radiated down my left arm, reminding me of why I was here—in case I’d forgotten. The longer we sat, the worse it got until my fingertips grew numb.

  Even when the results were in, I did nothing but wait. Although now, it wasn’t for another test, but for my fate. I felt doomed either way. In the off chance they’d decide to keep me on the roster, it wouldn’t come without punishment. Regardless, my career would be over by the end of my contract. No team would want me—especially after the stunt I’d pulled.

  Steve came back into the room just as he disconnected a call on his cell. He had no doctors or nurses with him, just himself with a somber expression on his face.

  Too much damage.

  It could be permanent if you don’t stop.

  Another surgery won’t help.

  Your career is over.

  That was all I’d been able to retain from everything Steve had said. Apparently, when throwing that last ball, I’d stretched the nerves too far, and they were dangerously close to snapping. Surgery was out of the question, considering how much damage had already been done, and I was left to let it heal on its own, but my time on the mound had come to a close.

  Feeling down, angry, and cheated, I called for a taxi to take me from the hotel to a bar down the street. I just wanted to drink it all away. So as soon as I settled onto a stool at the end, I ordered a Crown and waited for it to numb the rest of my body.

  Across from me, I couldn’t help but notice a redhead and wondered if tonight was the night I’d finally make it past third base. But before I gave that any more thought, I glanced at the two men next to her, questioning if they had come together. Not that hitting on another man’s woman could’ve possibly made my day any worse.

  The guy on the end turned his attention my way and then nudged his friend. It wasn’t a crowded bar, like the ones I was used to, so I was able to hear him when he said, “Dan”—or “man,” I wasn’t sure—“do you have any idea who that is?”

  Chapter 9

  Ellie

  Something startled me. I awoke suddenly, sitting straight up. The sounds of the house had never bothered me when I’d been here alone. I’d lived here for nearly three years and spent more nights by myself than I could count. But it wasn’t just a noise, there was someone in the house. I tried to calm my hammering heart and slow my breathing to listen more carefully, hoping maybe it had been a dream. Whoever was here was in the hall, and I could hear them approaching. The heavy footsteps, followed by something being dragged behind them, echoed in my mind while I sat there—doing nothing. I didn’t hide, I didn’t look for my cell phone to call nine-one-one. Nothing. This was the part in scary movies where I would yell at the screen for the moron to move instead of sitting like a waiting duck.

  Yet I was paralyzed.

  I finally snapped out of it, tossed the covers off my body, and then threw my legs over the side of my bed and tiptoed to my bedroom door. With my ear pressed against the cold wood, I tried to place exactly where the intruder was in the house, but the second I realized they were on the other side of the barrier I had my face plastered to, the knob turned—the one I hadn’t locked when I got up—and I screamed instead of retreating. The door slammed into me when it was pushed open with far more force than necessary.

  I shrieked in fear when firm arms wrapped around my body, securing me to a solid chest. But I still didn’t recognize my captor until I inhaled his familiar scent. I pushed away and slapped at him.

  “Jesus, Coby. You scared the crap out of me. What the hell are you doing here?” I didn’t wait for him to respond before firing more questions. “Why aren’t you on the road? And why didn’t you tell me you were coming home when I talked to you last night? Do you have any idea how many years you just took off my life?”

  He reached for my wrist and tugged me back into his embrace. He didn’t answer any of the multitude of things I’d asked; instead, he held on tight and inhaled deeply. However, this wasn’t my friend coming home from the road—there was something heavy in his hug.

  “Coby?” I breathed his name against his chest, barely offering a whisper.

  He kissed the top of my head. “Why don’t you get dressed and come talk to me in the kitchen?”

  “Okay.” That one word was hesitant.

  Coby and I didn’t talk in the kitchen. It was always one of our bedrooms, usually on the bed lying next to each other, and if the subject was touchy, the bedroom door was about as formal as we’d ever been.

  He wasn’t supposed to be home for another few days. I had no clue if something had happened in the game, but whatever it was, it surprised me that he hadn’t mentioned it when we’d talked after my graduation party last night. His stroll down memory lane should have triggered something in me other than reminiscing about the past. Obtaining my degree hadn’t caused the nostalgia of our youth. I should have known something was wrong—but I just figured he was homesick. It didn’t happen often, yet every once in a while, Coby missed the normalcy of life before the Major Leagues.

  He let me go, then turned and trudged across the hall. I watched as he dragged his bags behind him, clearly the sound I’d heard along with his downtrodden steps. His shoulders sagged, and his head hung just slightly.

  Deciding to get to him as quickly as possible, I ran my fingers through my tangled hair and tied it in a knot, brushed my teeth, and then wrapped a robe around my tank top and boy shorts. We’d never been modest, especially not since we’d had sex, but I obliged his request all the same and padded my way to the front of the house.

  I found him perched on a barstool with his elbows on the granite and his face in his hands—surrounded by flowers. Gobs of blooms occupied every free space in the kitchen from the insane displays he’d sent me since he hadn’t been able to attend the ceremony. Unsure of what to do, I scooted the largest vase to the side, freeing up some space. I took the seat next to him and gently flattened my palm against his back. When he lifted his head, I rubbed circles along his spine, trying to comfort him the way I always saw my mom do when we were kids.

  When his eyes met mine, the soft brown I’d memorized since childhood appeared haunted.

  “The team terminated my contract yesterday.” He spat the words like they burned his tongue.

  The beauty of the flowers around us faded with the weight of his news. I waited for more, although clearly, he wasn’t offering anything. “For what? Can they do that?” My voice rose an octave in shock and came off more like a whiny child than a college-educated adult.

  He ran his fingers through his shaggy hair, closing his eyes slowly before reopening them to start answering questions. The defeat in his expression nearly broke me.

  “My shoulder—”

  “I don’t understand…lots of players get injured and don’t lose their contracts. Surely there was something more?”

  He took a deep breath and began to tell me what had taken place. “I got called into Coach’s office. Steve and Lou were there with him. I thought I knew what was coming, but I didn’t have a clue. I was completely blindsided—which you’d think I’d be used to since I can’t see shit coming at me.”

  “So, what did they say?” I couldn’t figure out why he was dragging this out.

  “They confronted me about my shoulder. I thought I could play it off, except they already knew. About everything.”

  “What do you mean, everything?” I prayed he wasn’t talking about Atlanta.

  “Someone tipped off the owner—or maybe just Coach, I’m not sure—about my visits to the specialist at Emory. They had all the facts—down to the name of the doctor I saw, the MRI, and the surgery. All of it.”

  I immediately went on the defensive. “Coby, who could’ve possibly told them?”

  He shrugged. “I asked that same question, still, they refused to tell me. All I know for sure is this person told them I hid it because I’d lose everything and have to leave Tus
caloosa if the team found out. Steve said it was an ex-ballplayer with an ax to grind, but for the life of me, I can’t think of anyone who would try to destroy me. I haven’t made any enemies…that I’m aware of.”

  My mind raced. The words were too similar to what I’d said to Ryan when we’d argued about our Christmas plans. In spite of it, there was no way he’d do that to Coby’s career. Especially since he got his way in the end, anyhow—I’d gone to lunch at his parents’ house for the holiday.

  “When we were in Arizona, they made me go see another specialist, one of their choosing—who had the team’s best interest at heart and would protect their assets. God, Ellie, they were so pissed. They told me they owned my arm the day I signed on the dotted line, and that I was foolish to believe that another team who had deeper pockets wouldn’t have had the doctor in Atlanta botch the job so I couldn’t pitch. I’ve never felt so dumb in my life.”

  “Just because you don’t think people are vindictive doesn’t make you dumb, Coby…naïve maybe. But personally, I think it’s one of your most redeeming qualities—you always assume the best of people.” I wasn’t sure how I was even keeping up with the conversation. All I could think of was throttling Ryan. If he thought we had issues before, he’d just taken them off the chart—we were at DEFCON five.

  “Anyway, Steve took me to a doctor in Arizona while the rest of the team went to the stadium. We were there the entire day while the office ran every test under the sun, including another MRI.”

  “And?” I could surmise what the answer was, yet I couldn’t bring myself to believe that at twenty-two, Coby’s career was over. I had been there during his surgery and recovery—not to mention, if something had gone wrong, he would’ve told me about it.

  “There’s too much damage. That final throw at Family Day pulled the nerve too far, stretched it beyond repair.”

  I gasped and covered my mouth with my hand, nearly knocking over the flower arrangement I’d just moved. “That can’t be right, Coby. I bet with rest it’ll be fine. Maybe after a year off, another team will pick you up.”

  He scoffed and shook his head. “E.T., the stunt I pulled in December—seeing a doctor without the team’s knowledge, allowing them to perform surgery without permission—that alone blackballed me from ever playing on another team in the league. Even if I could still play and wasn’t dropped from the Titans’ roster, no one would have ever picked me up after this contract ran out.”

  “There’s nothing that can be done to fix it? Rehab? Physical therapy? It’s not like you can’t afford the best that money has to offer. Maybe you just need another opinion. I’ve heard other countries have much more progressive medical procedures than the United States because the FDA takes forever approving treatments or something. Maybe international medicine is the way to go.”

  “If I keep playing and the nerve snaps, I could be looking at a nerve graft, nerve transfer, or even muscle transfer…none of which will guarantee positive results, and all of which can lead to total or partial impairment, even paralysis. I’m done, Ellie.”

  I didn’t even know where to begin to process all he’d just unloaded on me, much less how to comfort him. This had never been Coby’s dream, but from the moment he’d gotten picked in the draft, anyone who met him thought he was born for the role. This was what I had been afraid of if he hadn’t had the surgery.

  I never expected it after.

  “So what happens now?”

  “The team is holding a press conference on Monday. I asked them to give me time to get home to tell you and my dad before announcing it publicly. I didn’t want you to find out that way. I’m so sorry, Ellie.”

  I slid my hand from his back and hugged him from the side, pressing my face against his shoulder. “You have no reason to apologize to me, Coby. I never cared about baseball anyhow, but I know you do. I wish I had words of comfort, but I’m just dumbfounded.”

  Silence hung in the air. Then he finally leaned his head to rest it on top of mine.

  “Why didn’t you tell me last night when we talked?”

  “Yesterday was too important for you to ruin it with this. You only graduate from college once.” He glanced around the kitchen at the dozens of flower arrangements I’d accumulated this weekend—most of which had come from him. “Damn, this place smells like a funeral home.” It was the lilies, but that wasn’t important.

  “Hush. They’re beautiful.” A heavy sigh escaped my lips, and my eyes settled on Coby when I dismissed his scent-of-death comment. “I still wish you hadn’t carried this alone—even overnight. I’m always here for you, Coby. Always.” I wasn’t sure what else I could say. I hated that my best friend was upset, but I didn’t care about him because he played baseball. I had loved him before he was anything special, and this didn’t change that.

  Without lifting his head, he stuck his finger out, and I smiled against his arm before touching it with my own. Coby had come home—to me.

  I ended up making breakfast for Coby after relocating the flora and fauna to inconspicuous places in the living room, and we agreed a day of movies in our jammies was the best medicine. He knew he’d have to call his dad later, even though he wasn’t ready to rip off that Band-Aid. I couldn’t blame him. Mr. Kyler loved Coby, and he wanted nothing other than the best for him, yet losing these kinds of bragging rights as a parent would be painful. And he wouldn’t have a clue how to comfort Coby any more than I did…at least I wasn’t trying to do it from two hours away.

  “Is Justin Timberlake expecting to hang out with you tonight?” The boy band names never got old, although I refused to admit that to Coby.

  “I blew him off when you were in the shower.” I shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. The truth was, I was afraid if I saw or spoke to Ryan today, it wouldn’t end well, and Coby might have to post bail by the time it was over. I needed to cool off and make sure my best friend would survive this blow. “I can see him tomorrow.”

  “Was he supposed to come over? I’m sure you guys had plans.”

  “It’s really not a big deal.” It wasn’t.

  He eyed me suspiciously, even though he let it go. Coby was aware Ryan and I were having problems around the holidays, but I think he assumed it was all resolved since I’d gone home with Ryan for Christmas, and I hadn’t mentioned much about our relationship since then. There was no point in rehashing the same conversations over and over. I’d managed to get Ryan to agree to delay his demands until I graduated and found a job. I graduated yesterday, yet I hadn’t told anyone I’d accepted a teaching position at a private high school nearby for the fall.

  Coby milked the day for all it was worth. We normally took turns picking movies when we had all-day marathons, but I let him choose everything we watched, hoping it would help ease the doom he faced by telling his dad about his career. My phone constantly dinged with messages from Ryan throughout Conan, Aliens, Lethal Weapon, and The Terminator. I ignored the majority of them and only replied with one-word answers to the others, which did nothing other than fuel the frequency of his texts.

  “You’re awfully popular. Or someone’s not quite as understanding as you’d like to make him out to be?” Coby patted my leg. “It’s okay, E.T. I need to call my dad, anyhow. There aren’t enough eighties’ action flicks in the world to make it any easier. You should go meet Aaron Carter and have some fun.”

  “Do you really think calling him is the best way to go, Coby? Maybe we should go home so you can tell him in person. I’ll go with you.”

  “I’m sure Bell Biv DeVoe would love that, but my old man will be fine with a phone call. That way, he won’t have to be all emo in front of me. Once we hang up, he can cry or scream or beat his head against a wall, and I won’t have to witness it. It’s better for both of us this way.”

  I hesitated, although not for the reasons Coby thought. I knew how bad this was going to be. I’d warned Ryan, several times, that no one would ever come between Coby and me—tonight he was going to find out just how t
rue those words were.

  “Seriously, go. Have fun with O-Town.”

  An hour later, I stood on Ryan’s doorstep, unsure of how to approach what only he could’ve done. My hands shook with the adrenaline coursing through them. What I felt went so far beyond anger I didn’t have a word for it—Ryan’s jealousy had reared its ugly head for the last time. Straightening my shoulders, I took a deep breath and exhaled before turning the knob on the door to what was supposed to be our home by the end of the summer.

  I set my keys on the table next to the door as I closed it behind me. Ryan must have heard me come in because he rounded the corner with a broad smile on his face—clearly unaware of my mood.

  “Hey, Teller.” He kissed me on the cheek as he greeted me. It only took a fraction of a second for him to sense the rage radiating off my skin. “What’s wrong, babe?”

  “We should probably sit for this conversation.” My tone was clipped as I pushed past him toward the living room. I intentionally took the oversized chair instead of the couch to force him away from me.

  “This can’t be good. What’s on your mind?” He assumed a seat on the sofa with his knees wide, his elbows propped on each of them respectively, and dropped his hands between his legs.

  “Just tell me why you did it.” I’d prepared an entire speech in the car on the way over here, but the moment I saw him, it all went by the wayside. The eloquent diatribe I’d rehearsed was reduced to a few measly words.

  “Did what?” Surely, he wasn’t this dumb. There was no way he believed he could alert the League about what had happened and I wouldn’t connect it back to him—the only person besides myself, Mr. Kyler, and Dr. Chen who was privy to Coby’s time in Atlanta.

  “Did you set out to destroy his career, or was that just a bonus in letting the team in on Coby’s secret?” My voice had softened yet it remained stern. Ryan didn’t even recognize the calm before the storm.