AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The first out is a piece ofcake.
My fastball, if a bit slow today, finds its target. My curveball is decent and the batter strikes out swinging. I shake out my arm and shake off the signs from Caden Vincent, the young catcher I’m still getting to know. He calls a decent game, but we don’t know each other yet. We haven’t had much chance to work together in game situations, but the best way to learn is trial by fire, I suppose.
After I shake him off again, Caden jogs out to meet me on the mound and I try to mind over matter myself out of the persistent twinge in my right elbow.
“You good?” He asks, pushing his mask up on top of his head, eyebrows pinched with concern.
“Fine,” I grit my teeth through the pain. “Just a little tight. Need to loosen it up.”
“If you’re sure.” Caden jogs back to the plate and sets up as I shake out my arm a few times.
The next pitch is supposed to be a fastball but my velocity is gone and it moves like an offspeed pitch. Shaking my head and my arm, I set up and get ready to throw again. This one is so far off the plate that Caden has to scrambleto stop it. Thankfully there are no base runners to worry about. On the third pitch, I feel it. Something loosens up in my elbow but not in a good way. Pain rips up my arm into my shoulder, and down to my fingertips.
Something is very wrong.
I make a not quite human noise as I stumble off of the mound, careful not to move my right arm as Caden catches up to me and the training staff jog out from the dugout. Sydney Casey, the Mustangs’ head athletic trainer, carefully tests my range of motion and I have to stop her before I shout from the pain. She nods and gives me a sympathetic look before turning to Roy Chambers, the manager, and at their shared look I know I’m out. Probably for a while.
I follow Sydney down the tunnel to the training room where she wraps my arm from wrist to shoulder with ice and compression bandages before sending me to the clubhouse to change into something comfortable for the MRI that I will most definitely be sent for.
“How are you feeling, Max?” Sydney asks once I’m out of my uniform and into my sweats from practice earlier. It’s the same thing Sutton asked just a few hours ago. And what was a persistent twinge then has ballooned into something much worse.
“Not gonna lie to you, Sydney…it feels like this could be it for me.”
“We’re going to let the professionals decide that,” Sydney pats me on my non-injured arm. “It could be a strain. Or it could be worse. But we want to let them confirm it.”
The Detroit Medical Center gets me in and out relatively quickly, with good news, considering the circumstances. Turns out Sydney was right, there is no tearing but there is significant – that’s the word the doctor used – straining in the ligaments of my throwing arm. It means extended rest and a trip to theinjured list. They’ll call up a replacement from the minor league team in Toledo, and I’ll be sitting out for a while. I told Sutton that I’m exhausted, but this isn’t exactly the rest I’ve been hoping for.
Sutton.
She was going to be watching.
Once I’m back to the apartment Luca and I decided to rent together until the end of the season, I sit down and call my girl. I’m sure her phone will put me straight to voicemail as she always turns it off during games, so I’m surprised to hear her voice, and my heart squeezes at the emotion as she sobs out my name.
“I’m just fine, Sutton. I just left the hospital, and they assured me it’s only a strain.”
She exhales a shaky breath and more than anything I wish we were in the same room, let alone the time zone.
“That’s good. That’s really good news. That should mean ten day IL, extended rest, and one or two rehab starts.” Ever the baseball coach, my Sutton.
“Roy said probably two rehab starts,” I can’t help but smile. “Fifteen days instead of ten.”
“Out of an abundance of caution.”
“Yeah, that’s probably what they’ll tell the press. Hey Sutton?”
“Yeah, Max?”
“Why aren’t you in the dugout?”
“Who says I’m not?”
“It’s awfully quiet on your end.” Sutton never answers her phone during a game. Ever. She never has it on her in the dugout.
“I’m in my office. Roger told me to keep my phone nearby just in case. And I’m glad I did because I’ve been out of my mind worrying about you. I was so scared this would all end insurgery and didn’t want you to be in Detroit all alone going through all of that.”
“They’d have sent me home for that.”
“That’s not helping, Maxwell.”
