by Rhonda Shaw
The hope in her heart quickly deflated with a sharp, painful thud and she felt drained and empty. Her whole body ached as if she’d gone through the wringer. She bit her tongue, refusing to break down in front of everyone.
“Hi, Aunt Karen,” Jerry said as he sat down into the chair next to her. “How are you?”
She gave him a quick smile but couldn’t get herself to meet his eyes. “Hi, Jerry. It’s good to see you’re out of the hospital.”
“Yeah, that was brutal. My head still hurts, but not like it did. Man, that sucked.”
“I can imagine,” Karen said, the strain apparent in her voice.
An awkward silence that seemed deafening to her fell around them and Karen suddenly realized she was the odd man out. She couldn’t sit next to the man she loved with every fiber of her being any longer, not when he didn’t remember a thing about her, other than that she was Aunt Karen. She couldn’t sit there while Chase and Maddie looked at her with pity. She couldn’t do it.
Karen stood up quickly with a false grin. “Uh, I’m going to go. Okay, uh, thanks for the wine, Maddie. I’ll talk to you later. Bye, Chase, Jerry.”
She grabbed her purse and made a beeline for the house before she fell apart. The tears were falling as she strode through the kitchen and rushed toward the front door.
“Bye, Aunt Karen,” Bree said as Karen breezed by her perch in front of the television.
“Bye, sweetie,” she said with a sniffle, but didn’t break stride.
Karen made it out and was down the sidewalk when she heard the door close behind her. She refused to turn around, totally dreading it being Jerry, but she was saved from humiliation when it was Maddie’s voice that called out to her.
“Karen, wait.”
She stopped and turned, wiping her eyes with her hands.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea Chase was going to bring him here. Chase feels horrible...”
Karen waved her off. “No, it’s fine. Really. We can’t all change how we do things because of what’s going on.” She gazed over Maddie’s shoulder, envisioning Jerry and Chase sitting on the back porch with a couple of beers. “He has to remember,” she whispered.
“He will,” Maddie promised.
“I really hope so.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jerry stood in front of his locker, staring at the items on his shelf, but not really seeing anything. He was in the zone, single-mindedly focused on the game plan and his pitches. It was a big game tonight and he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes or take any steps backward.
Luckily, his killer headaches and dizziness had only lasted about a week or so. He’d been ready to return to pitching before they would let him, so he’d spent a few more days idle on the bench, itching to get back on the hill and probably a little irritable because of it. In fact, he knew he’d said some things to his coaches and the trainers that he now wished he could take back, but thankfully, they knew to ignore him and just let it roll off their backs.
Finally, they’d given him the green light to try some easy throwing, not full-out pitching, even though he’d insisted that he was okay. He’d thankfully passed that test too and received the go-ahead to return to regular routine.
He was now ready to start his first game since taking the ball to the head almost a month ago, and Jerry wanted to go out there and prove to everyone, himself included, that he was back to normal. He was still the Ace.
He was ready, more than ready. Any more time sitting idle would just drive him crazy. He had to get back into the game. He needed it in order to feel complete, to feel like a whole person again. If he had any chance at regaining his confidence, he had to get everything back to normal.
With the annoying gap in his memory still refusing to fill itself in, he felt as if some part of him was missing. He hoped getting back on the mound would help to fill the void that his mind refused to. If he could get back to his usual routine, then maybe the strange feeling that he’d lost something would go away. As far as he could tell, the only thing missing was baseball and now he was going to get that back.
He took a deep breath through his nose and buttoned up his white jersey with a big “45” and his last name in red block lettering across the back. The locker room was quiet, as the rest of his teammates had already headed for the field as they warmed up before the game.
Thankful for some moments alone before he had to set out for the bullpen to warm up, Jerry sat in his chair resting his head in his hands. He closed his eyes as he concentrated, trying to visualize the opposing team’s line-up starting with the leadoff hitter all the way to the number nine spot. He’d memorized their strengths and their weaknesses; he knew what to throw and how to get them to chase something down and away, and he knew what pitches to avoid so they couldn’t hit anything out of the park.
He was ready.
He marveled that his head finally felt back to normal. After the concussion, the pain had been relentless. So much so that Jerry thought it wouldn’t ever feel normal again, that the dizziness that seemed to hang on the edges, threatening to overtake him, would never disappear. Then finally, one day it all vanished as if it had never been there.
He felt calm, almost tranquil. He felt like he was on top of the world, stronger than he could remember feeling in a long time.
He was so thankful that he was finally feeling back to his old self that he wanted to kiss the next person he saw. When a hand clamped down on his shoulder, however, and Jerry looked up to see his head coach standing over him, he restrained himself.
“You better not be holding your head because it hurts.”
Jerry shook it, demonstrating that he felt no pain. “No headache. I feel good.”
“You sure?” Coach Brooklyn asked, looking like the last thing he wanted to do was send his Ace out to the mound before he was ready and make things worse.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He cleared his throat feeling awkward, but wanting to get something off his chest. “I, uh, wanted to say thank you.”
The Skipper’s two white bushy brows raised inquiringly. “For what?”
“For sticking by me and letting me come back, not shutting me down for the year. I know you guys were debating that and I said some things I shouldn’t have because you wouldn’t let me back in as quickly as I wanted. Sorry about that.”
Coach Brooklyn smiled, showing teeth stained from tobacco. “Smutty, if you hadn’t said the things you said then I would be worried. Nobody’s more passionate about all of this than you are. It’s what makes you so great. I didn’t do anything, you did it yourself.” He squeezed his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, son. You’ve come a long way, you’ve battled through a lot, but you’ve come through it all still standing tall, and that’s why you’re the Ace.”
“Thanks. That means a lot,” Jerry said, swallowing past the thick emotion building his throat.
His coach patted his shoulder again as he walked away. “Enough bullshit. Go win us a game.”
Jerry grinned and shook his head. Skip wasn’t one to beat around the bush. Standing up, he reached for his cap and glove, and trotted out of the locker room.
He was ready.
* * *
The roar of the crowd as Jerry trotted out onto the field at the top of the eighth inning was deafening. It took him aback as he walked up the side of the pitcher’s mound and it set his heart racing wildly. He was on the verge of a perfect game; he’d given up no hits and no runs to the opposing team. He knew it and the crowd knew it.
From the first pitch in the first inning, he’d been completely in the zone, not hearing or seeing anything but the hitters in front of him, and cruised straight through the lineup, getting the batters out left and right. He hadn’t walked anyone and the Toronto Horseshoes had yet to have a base runner that night. He only had six more outs
to get and he would go into the history books.
He stood on top of the hill and took a deep breath, trying to calm his hammering heart and control the adrenaline that was pumping furiously throughout his body. He tried to force the frenzy out of his mind and concentrate on the basics of what he had to do. He was the only one who could mess this up and he wasn’t about to screw himself out of a perfect game.
He held the ball behind his back as he waited for Matt to start going through the signs. Once Matt threw down the sign for a fastball and Jerry agreed to it, he felt himself go back into the zone as everything simply faded into the background and became a low hum.
The first two batters popped out into right field, but he had a battle with the last hitter. When the count was full with three balls and two strikes, Jerry took a moment to walk around the mound in order to collect his thoughts. So far, the hitter had just been able to catch up with everything he’d thrown at him and foul each one off.
Jerry glanced at the large video scoreboard in the outfield and saw that his last pitch had tipped the radar gun at 100 mph. His arm still felt good and he felt good, but he needed to throw faster in order to get this guy out. He was in a hitter’s count and he knew the batter would be expecting him to blaze a fastball right down the heart of the plate. That was exactly what Jerry was going to do and he was going to do it faster than 100 mph.
He stepped back onto the mound and set his shoulders. Narrowing his eyes, he eyed the spot where he wanted it to hit Matt’s glove and he launched it. Everything was suddenly moving in slow motion as he watched the batter’s eyes widen when he realized it was going to be straight down Broadway and he swung as hard as he could. He swung right through empty air, however, and Jerry pumped his fist when the umpire’s hand shot up calling the final strike and last out of the inning.
On his way back to the dugout, Jerry kept his head down as the crowd yelled and cheered as loud as they could, giving him a standing ovation. Before ducking down the stairs, he peeked out of the corner of his eye and grinned when he saw his last pitch had been 102 mph.
Yep, he was back.
* * *
At the top of the ninth, Jerry trotted onto the field and was determined to keep the electric buzz of the pending celebration out his mind as best he could until the last and final out of the game. Until that point, he couldn’t get excited about what he was doing or what was happening, and he had to stay focused. He had a job to finish and he couldn’t let his emotions get the best of him.
He set himself on the rubber and waited for Matt to set in his crouch and throw down the signs when all of a sudden, like a movie playing in his head, vivid pictures flashed before his eyes. His legs turned to noodles underneath him and he stumbled back as images of him and Karen played through his mind, of him being pulled from games and then being down in the minors, of him telling Karen that he loved her and her rushing away from him.
Jerry took a shaky breath, trying to still the whirling in his head. Emotions flowed through him—relief, anguish, anger and hurt, but eventually he understood what he’d felt had been missing. It wasn’t baseball; it was Karen. He loved Karen. Plain and simple.
So much time had passed. For so long he’d been struggling with who he really was and what he wanted out of life, and then when he’d finally figured it out, he’d had a setback. He remembered everything...but was he too late? Could he still fix things between them?
Unfortunately, Jerry thought as he looked around at the crowded stadium, there was nothing he could do at the moment. He had to forget about everything until he could get out of there and to her side.
Matt came trotting out. “You okay, Smut?”
He looked up and rolled his shoulders, trying to calm the chaos in his head. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”
“You sure, man?” Matt’s bright blue eyes scrutinized him.
“What’s the problem, Jerry?” One of his trainers had raced out of the dugout with the coaches right behind him.
“You all right, Smutty?” Coach Brooklyn asked.
Jerry gave him a smirk. “Yep, never better. Nothing a short stint in Dayton couldn’t correct.”
His coach’s eyes widened for a second before he gave a small chuckle. “You finally getting your head back in order, huh? It’s about time.”
Jerry chuckled. “You’re telling me.”
“Let’s wrap it up here, guys,” the home plate umpire said as he came strolling up.
“You sure you’re okay?” the trainer asked Jerry again and all eyes were on him.
Feeling like he was back under control, Jerry nodded and waved everyone off. “Yeah, man. I’m good. Let’s go.”
Taking in a steadying breath and shoving everything out of his mind as best he could, Jerry set himself on the mound and went back to work. He was almost amazed at how easy it seemed, even though he knew it wasn’t. Every pitch came effortlessly to him; the ball just seemed to jump right out of his hand and land exactly where he wanted it in the strike zone. All the stars had aligned for him and he was proving to everyone why he was the Ace, and how he cherished that title. It was more than just a label to him; it was a badge of honor he wore proudly and he didn’t want anyone to think he took it for granted.
The stunning contrast of this crowd compared to the eerie silence of the stadium at the game his night had finished in the first inning amazed Jerry. It was hard to believe that he was the same person; he felt so different than he had when he’d taken the mound that night. His life had essentially fallen apart afterward and it was incredible how far he’d come since then—professionally, at least. He still had some work on the personal front, but he was where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to be doing, and soon he would be with whom he was supposed to be with.
It had been a struggle to get out of the hole of despair he’d found himself in earlier in the season and then after the injury, and now all that hard work was finally paying off. He’d worked his butt off to get back to where he was and he would continue to do so, never taking any of it for granted because he now realized how quickly it could all disappear. If Jerry thought that he had nothing left to work on, then he was done, and he wouldn’t ever let that happen. He had way too much to prove and too many things left to accomplish in his baseball career. He refused to be another Coach Adams. He wanted to be remembered for his game, not for how he had succumbed to the pressures of the game.
Squaring his shoulders, Jerry prepared himself to take down the final warriors in this battle. No matter how it went down, how bloody it got at the end, he would stand victorious, and then he would go find Karen.
He plowed through the first two hitters without a fight as they swung hard, but missed three straight pitches in a row. Now, down to his last batter, which was all that stood between him and the perfect game, Jerry eyed the opposing player standing at the plate and gave a little nod, acknowledging the determination he saw in his eyes—he was going to get a hit no matter how he did it.
Seeing this, Jerry stepped off the rubber and motioned for Matt to come out. Turning, he called for the infielders, as well.
“He’s going to lay down a bunt,” Jerry said, covering his mouth with his glove so nobody on the opposing team could read his lips and realize he’d called their play.
“What? That’s bush-league,” Matt said with a grimace, as if he suddenly had a bad taste in his mouth. No self-respecting player would try to break up a perfect game or a no-hitter with a bunt. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“He is, trust me,” Jerry said. He turned to the infielders. “Be ready for it and make sure you get his ass out.”
“What’s going on now?” Coach Brooklyn asked as he strolled up. “We seem to doing a lot of visiting tonight, boys.”
“Smutty thinks the hitter’s gonna lay one down,” Matt said.
Their coach eyed Jerry for a
second, before nodding. “All right, then we need to be ready for it.”
They listened as he relayed instructions to each of them. The home plate umpire finally walked out to break up the meeting, but they had finished already and everyone was returning to their positions, orders in hand.
With everyone back in place, Jerry tossed a high fastball, intending to buzz the hitter and back him away from the plate, but it still caught the outside corner. The ump called a strike as the batter watched it go right by him as he inched out of the way.
Jerry eyed the hitter again as he walked around the mound wondering when he was going to show bunt. He wasn’t wrong, he could feel it in his bones, but if he was, they were screwed since the infield would move in. Anything hit hard would blow right by them.
Stepping back on top of the hill, he rolled his shoulders and tossed out the next pitch, a changeup, which was hit foul. There were now two strikes; one more and he was out.
Prepping himself, Jerry stared down the batter and saw it in his eyes. He was going to bunt the next pitch and Jerry had to be ready to field the ball if it came his way.
He threw and sure enough, the hitter squared to it and turned his bat in preparation for the bunt. The crowd booed its disapproval at his attempt to break up the perfect game as the ball rolled down the third base line. Jerry rushed off the mound, watching to see if it would go foul. He heard the third baseman calling him off, but once Jerry saw the ball wasn’t going to be foul, he picked it up.
Turning, Jerry was off balance when he threw with all he had toward the outstretched glove of the first baseman. The runner was almost down the line and stretched out in order to beat the throw to the bag. A hushed silence fell across the stadium as everyone stood waiting for the call from the umpire, which seemed to take forever. Out and the game was over, safe and the perfect game was blown.