Catching Caden (The Perfect Game Series)

by Samantha Christy

  They all acted excited when I got the call this morning. But they are terrible actresses. They weren’t excited for me at all. In fact, I heard Kirsten, Tori, and Pauline talking in the bathroom. They were wondering how an ‘old lady’ like me could get a job like that. One of them, I think it was Tori, said I must have slept with someone to get it, which makes her a hypocrite seeing as she’s slept with half of New York City. Jamie was the only one who seemed genuinely happy for me. But maybe that’s because she got a great contract of her own last week.

  “Do you have any other questions for me?” Dr. Benson asks.

  “You said I can’t have the surgery until next week? Do I have to stay here until then?”

  “We need to wait for the swelling to go down before we do surgery. You’ll stay here for a night or two and then I’ll see you on an outpatient basis until the surgery. Then after the surgery, you’ll stay another couple of nights.”

  “That sounds expensive,” I say.

  He looks at my chart. “You have insurance, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

  I’m still on my mom’s policy. She’s going to freak when she finds out about this. She’ll insist I come back to Iowa. It’s not going to happen. I refuse to go back a failure. And besides, there is nothing for me there. Not anymore.

  I decide not to tell her. I figure she won’t get the bills for a month or so. By then, maybe I can get another job.

  “I’ll check on you tomorrow,” Dr. Benson says. He starts to walk out of the room, but then turns around, looking very fatherly. “I know it seems like the end of the world now, Murphy, but it’s not. Bones will heal. Scars will fade. It’s what you take away from this experience that will help define you as a person. Don’t let it break you.”

  I nod as tears roll down my face, wishing I still had my own dad to give me words of wisdom.

  Tony checks his phone and heads toward the door. “I have some things I need to take care of. You get some sleep and I’ll catch you later, ‘kay?”

  I look at the clock on the wall above the door. It’s not even eight o’clock. But he’s been here for hours. A lot has happened and he must be exhausted. It’s not until after he leaves that I realize he didn’t kiss me goodbye. I guess he didn’t want to risk hurting me.

  I wonder if they’ll give me more pain meds so I can sleep. So I don’t have to think about what I will do when I wake up in the morning with a face as big as a watermelon. So I don’t lie here and feel so broken.

  Chapter Three

  Caden

  With a bag full of Hawks stuff in one hand, I duck into the hospital cafeteria to get a quick bite to eat. I never eat before a game. I’m always too nervous. And I was so eager to get here, I plain forgot to grab some food along the way. Hospital food will have to do.

  Standing in line, there is a guy in front of me talking on his phone.

  “Just ask Kirsten,” he says. “She’ll tell you I’m not exaggerating. There is no way she’ll ever model again. She looks fucking hideous. It’s sad really. I mean the day she got the call. Her career was over before it even started. I guess I should wait a few days before I toss her to the curb.”

  “Tony!” I hear a woman call from across the cafeteria.

  He quickly ends his phone conversation. “Gotta go, man.” He puts his phone in his pocket and draws the girl into his arms, juggling his coffee and candy bar in one hand.

  “Hey, babe,” he says, planting a kiss on her cherry-red lips.

  “Next,” the cashier says, beckoning the guy forward. He pays the lady before leading little Miss Red Lips out the cafeteria door.

  I take my food with me, scarfing down my sandwich on the way to Murphy Cavenaugh’s room. Earlier, I texted my brother-in-law, Kyle, to see if he could tell me where I could find Murphy. As an ER doc, Kyle wasn’t on duty when Murphy was brought in a few hours ago, but he’s on-call tonight and texted me Murphy’s room number on the third floor. Damn. Apparently, the guy was hurt badly enough to get admitted which makes me feel even worse.

  The door to room 315 is open, so I stand in the doorway for a second before entering. I look down at my phone to double check the room number, because I’m pretty sure I have the wrong room. Sculpted, tan legs peek out from beneath the bed sheets and I can see waves of long blonde hair cascading down the front of the patient’s hospital gown. I can’t see the patient’s face from behind her magazine, but my guess is that I definitely have the wrong room. This is no old dairy farmer.

  The magazine gets flung across the room and the woman on the bed, who I can now see has a terribly injured face, screams before breaking down in sobs.

  I try to make my escape, knowing I’m in the wrong place, but the handles of the bag I’m holding choose this very second to break, and the bag falls down, spilling the contents at my feet.

  I look over at her in apology for invading her privacy as she tries to wipe tears from the side of her face that isn’t damaged.

  “Oh, sorry,” she says, looking horrified. “I wasn’t screaming at you.”

  “No, it’s me who’s sorry. I’ll just pick up my things and leave you alone. I must have the wrong room. I was looking for a Mr. Cavenaugh.”

  Her one good eye narrows, and she winces as if it hurts like a mother to make that small facial movement. “Um, I’m obviously not a ‘mister,’ but my name is Cavenaugh,” she says. “Are you one of my doctors?”

  I laugh as I clean up my mess and pack everything back into the bag as best I can. “No. Definitely not a doctor, for which you should be grateful seeing as I just spilled everything on the floor.”

  She attempts to smile, and even behind the damage on her face, I can tell she has a beautiful smile.

  “I’m looking for a guy named Murphy,” I say.

  She points to her chest. “I’m Murphy. But I’m not a guy.”

  I look to where her fingers are pointing. No. She is definitely not a guy.

  “You’re Murphy?” I ask. “Murphy Cavenaugh?”

  “The one and only,” she says. “At least I think so, but I haven’t Googled my name in a while so I can’t be sure.”

  I take in her face and it all makes sense now. Oh, God. The entire left side of her face is battered. There is a deep reddish-purple bruise in the exact shape of a goddamn baseball, and there are fresh stitches right below her swollen-shut eye. Shit.

  I walk into her room. “Then I’m afraid I owe you a big apology,” I say.

  “Apology for what?”

  “I’m Caden Kessler,” I tell her.

  She stares at me blankly. “I’m sorry. You say your name as if I should know who you are. But you’ll have to forgive me, because I don’t. Are you from my agency?” Her face falls into a frown. “Oh no, please tell me you haven’t been sent here to fire me.”

  “Agency?”

  “My modeling agency.”

  Double shit. This girl is a fucking model? Of course she is. I can tell that she’s gorgeous, even with a swollen and bruised face.

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I should start over,” I say. I walk up and hold my hand out to her. “I’m Caden Kessler from the New York Nighthawks. It’s my home run ball that did this to you.”

  Her jaw drops as she shakes my hand. “Really? You, uh, why … no, it was my own stupidity that did this,” she says, motioning to her face. “I was on my phone and not paying attention to the game. I was only there because my boyfriend and roommate made me go. Baseball isn’t really my thing.”

  My hand comes up to cover my chest as I feign abhorrence. “What? You don’t like baseball? Who doesn’t like baseball?”

  The right side of her face pinks up in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said that to you.”

  “No, no, it’s fine.” I look down at the bag. “But now I feel kind of silly bringing you all this stuff.”

  She peeks down at what I’m holding. “You brought me something?” she asks, like a curious schoolgirl.

  I look around her bare room. “
I did. But if I’d known you were a woman, I’d have come with an armful of flowers, too.”

  She looks at her empty side table and then her eyes fall. “I’m sure my boyfriend will bring some tomorrow. He was here with me until just a little while ago.”

  “Of course he will,” I say, putting the torn bag on the bed next to her. “Maybe your boyfriend will like this stuff. Go ahead.” I motion for her to open it.

  I watch her as she pretends to be impressed when she pulls out a replica of my #8 jersey, a signed baseball, some autographed photos, a hat, and VIP tickets to one of our last home games at the end of this month.

  “Thank you,” she says politely. “Tony will be over the moon to get all this.”

  My eyes snap to hers. “Tony?” I ask. “Your boyfriend’s name is Tony?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  Tony—the asshole from the cafeteria who said she looked hideous? The guy who said he was going to break up with her? The prick who kissed another woman while his girlfriend lies in a hospital bed as the result of an injury from a game he dragged her to?

  “Uh, I just thought maybe I could personalize some of this stuff with his name.”

  “Sure. He’d like that.”

  What I’d really like to do is personalize the douchebag’s face with my fist.

  Should I tell her what I heard? What I saw? I mean, she doesn’t know me from Adam, so maybe she wouldn’t even believe me. But damn, he’s going to cut her loose like a dead fish. It’s a low blow considering what she’s going through.

  “What did the doctors say about your injury?”

  She explains what the doctor told her. The more she tells me, the worse I feel. Surgery. Titanium plate. Scars. She’s a goddamn model for Christ’s sake. What is she going to do?

  A nurse comes in the room, bringing an ice pack that Murphy needs to put on her face for twenty minutes. My cue to leave.

  “Would it be okay if I visit you again tomorrow?” I ask.

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  The nurse laughs and then scolds her, saying something about when a handsome man wants to come calling, let him.

  “Because this is all my fault and the least I can do is come sit with you for a while. It probably gets pretty boring around here.”

  She shrugs. “I suppose you can if you want to, but please don’t feel obligated. I’m sure Tony will keep me company all day.”

  “It won’t be out of obligation, Murphy. I’m coming because I want to.” I get up to leave, but turn around before walking out. “What’s your favorite flower, by the way?”

  “I love all of them, but I’d have to say orchids, lilies and roses are my favorites.”

  “Duly noted. See you tomorrow, Murphy Cavenaugh.”

  “See you then, Caden Kessler.”

  I walk out of her room and go find Kyle. Because I have to know if things are as bad as she said.

  Chapter Four

  Murphy

  Tony was right. I shouldn’t have done it. I even went so far as to not turn on the bathroom light up until now. But I forgot this time. And when I see a flash of my face in the mirror, I can’t help but stop and look. Kind of like when you see a train wreck. Which is what my face looks like—a train wreck.

  So here I stand, stunned, looking at someone in the mirror who isn’t me. Well, I look like me if you cover the left side of my face. It’s worse than I thought. I know Dr. Benson said the swelling would get worse before it gets better. But as I stand here and look at my destroyed face, my hope of modeling paying the rent drains out of me as fast as my tears do.

  I turn off the light, vowing not to turn it on again. I shuffle my feet back over to bed and pick up my phone.

  “Hi, honey,” Mom says cheerfully, after only half a ring.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  She sighs into the phone. “What is it, Murph? What’s wrong?”

  How do moms always know when something is wrong from just a few words? For a second, I contemplate telling her. I mean, what would be the big deal if she begs me to come home? I might not ever be able to model again anyway. Maybe Iowa is where I should be. Maybe it’s where I belong.

  No. I remember Dr. Benson’s words from last night. I won’t let this break me.

  “I’m fine, Mom. Just feeling a little down, I guess.”

  “Well, you can always—”

  “—move back home,” I say. “I know, Mom. Thanks for reminding me. Again. And moving back home will not make me happy. Everyone I care about is gone.”

  I realize what I said and instantly try to backpedal. “I mean, except for you.”

  “I know what you mean, honey. And I’m sorry you are feeling low. You know what your father would say?”

  I laugh. “Yeah. I know. He would probably say he’s my biggest fan and he wants everything for me that I want for myself.”

  “Sounds about right,” she says. “He’s still your biggest fan, you know. Only now he’s got a lot more clout behind him.”

  “Thanks, Mom. But what if I don’t know what I want for myself?”

  I hear her sigh into the phone. I’m waiting for her to beckon me home again when someone knocks on the door. I don’t want Mom to hear any doctors or nurses talking, so I tell her, “Mom, I have to go, someone’s at the door. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  A teenage girl walks in with a huge bouquet of flowers. They are beautiful. All my favorites. I can’t help the painful smile that creeps up my face. I knew Tony would get me some. Even if he wasn’t the one to bring them.

  He must have gotten called into work today. He doesn’t normally work on Saturdays, so it’s just my luck someone must have had an emergency today. He works in computer technology and is climbing his way up the company ladder, so when they call—he goes.

  “Thank you,” I tell the girl.

  “Someone must really like you,” she says.

  “My boyfriend.”

  “You’re lucky,” she says on her way out.

  I take a moment to smell the flowers before I open the card. When I open it, I don’t know if I should laugh or cry.

  Get well soon, Old Man Murphy. And if you’re bored, I hear channel 31 is pretty good for entertainment.

  – Caden Kessler

  After I get over the disappointment of the flowers not being from Tony, I turn on channel 31 and can’t help but chuckle at what I see.

  It’s a Nighthawks game.

  ~ ~ ~

  I look at the clock. It’s after six. Why hasn’t he stopped by yet? Why hasn’t he texted me?

  I pull my phone out and my fingers hover over Tony’s name. But then I remember what my mom keeps telling me. Always make sure the man you love needs you more than you need him. It’s the secret to a great relationship. I drop the phone on the bed next to me, refusing to be the needy girlfriend.

  At seven o’clock, I’m on the brink of tears. Other than the nurse coming in to ice my face every few hours, and the doctor checking my stitches and my swelling, nobody has come to visit me. Not Tony. Not any one of my roommates. Nobody.

  I’ve been so bored I actually watched the baseball game. I didn’t understand it, but I watched it.

  “Hey, you,” I hear from the doorway.

  I turn around in excitement. Then my face falls when I see it’s only Caden.

  He laughs at me. “That might just be the worst reception I’ve ever gotten, Old Man Murphy.”

  “I don’t want your ego getting too big,” I say. “And what’s with the Old Man Murphy thing?” I nod to the flowers. “Thank you so much for the flowers. They are beautiful.”

  He looks around the room. I know what he’s noticing. He sees that his flowers are the only ones here. I wonder if he thinks I was lying to him about my boyfriend.

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like them.” He walks over to take a sniff. “When I came last night, I was convinced I was looking for an old man. Someone at work said Murphy Cavenaugh sounded like a retired dairy farmer or something, and I g
uess I just pictured that in my head.”

  “That explains it then.”

  “Explains what?” he asks.

  “How surprised you were to see me in this hospital bed when you were standing in my doorway last night.”

  He shakes his head. “No. I was just grateful I wasn’t the magazine you were throwing across the room and screaming at.”

  “Sorry about that,” I say.

  I remember the moment I did it. I had just come across an advertisement for the very same clothing line I was hired to model for.

  “So, tell me about your name. Is Murphy a family name?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “You’ve heard of Murphy’s Law, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah.” He furrows his brow. “Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.”

  I laugh. “That’s what most people think. But one of the earliest versions of it is a little different. It states, ‘whatever can happen, will happen’.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?” he asks.

  “Nope. Think about it. Whatever can happen doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing, whereas whatever can go wrong, assumes that an outcome will not be a positive one.”

  “Okay.” He ponders my statement. “You make a good point. And now I know you’re a glass-half-full person. So, tell me, why were you named after Murphy’s Law?”

  “My parents tried to have a baby for ten years before they gave up. They tried everything including fertility treatments and implantation. Nothing worked. Then two years later, after they’d stopped trying and accepted a life without children, my mom got pregnant.”

  A brilliant smile creeps up his face and I see what I hadn’t noticed before. Caden Kessler is hot. Like, freakishly hot. He’s tall, but not excessively so. Built, but not crazy buff. He has dark hair and the most amazing eyelashes. They are so long. Every model I know would kill for eyelashes like that.

  “What a great story,” he says.

  “Maybe, but I’m starting to think the other version of it is the right one.” I gesture to my swollen face. “Case in point. Everything went wrong.”