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The nurse smiles and leaves the room.
“Well, it’s official. What are you going to do for the next eight weeks?” I ask.
He rubs his forehead. “Guess I’ll finally be able to watch and delete everything off my DVR.”
I laugh, and the nurse comes back with his discharge and medication paperwork. She explains everything to him.
“Well, let's break out of this place,” Tristan says, sitting down in the wheelchair as the nurse rolls him out of the room and out the ER exit.
Damon is waiting right outside, and helps me get Tristan in, then puts the crutches in the bed of the truck.
“The chief has everything ready for you to sign, and then I’ll take you home. They give anything for the pain?” Damon asks.
“Yes, and right now I can’t feel a thing.”
The ride is mostly Tristan talking about random things. What pain medication did they give him? He is out of it. When we pull up, the guys are outside waiting on us.
“I’ll use the crutches, guys. No need to carry me around.”
He goes into the office with the chief and we go to the breakroom.
“Maybe you should cancel practice tonight?” Damon suggests.
“No, I can handle it. The girls are excited for the season.”
It’s nice to have kids being active instead of sitting around on their devices all day. Kids don’t play in the street like we used to. They are all stuck inside on the computer or their phones doing the next Tik Tok challenge. I don’t want to take that away from them.
“Since you are taking him home, I’m gonna head to the ballfield.”
I’m not going to lie, it’s going to be difficult doing this on my own, but if it’s between doing that and canceling the season, then I’ll gladly take it on. That’s just the guy I am.
The truck rumbles to life, and then I put it in reverse and pull out of the parking lot onto Main Street. Practices might have to be longer, but are the parents going to complain? Maybe Vanessa, but it’s my only option.
Three girls are already in the dugout, getting their equipment out of their bags, and getting ready for practice. Their moms are the ones that are at school thirty-minutes before school gets out so they don’t have to wait in line. Never made sense to me.
“Hey, ladies. Ready to have some fun today?” I say, walking into the dugout and tapping them on their heads.
They scream, and head onto the field to warm up. I wait patiently for the other players to show up before jumping into practice. Parents sometimes bring their kids late, and it’s not the child’s fault. So, I don’t get onto them about it.
Once all the players are accounted for, and the parents are gathered in the bleachers, I tell the girls to go play catch and warm up. I might as well get it out of the way to figure out how we are going to do this moving forward.
“So, my assistant coach got hurt on the job today and will be unable to help for at least six weeks. Since it’s only me, I might need to extend practices by about half an hour so the girls can get the one-on-one attention they need to get better. Does anyone have issues with that?”
My eyes immediately glance at Vanessa who isn’t paying attention.
“Okay, so practices will be two hours instead of the normal ninety minutes,” I say.
“Mommy, why don’t you help?” Sherrie yells.
She is playing catch with Addilyn right behind me, but it gets Vanessa’s attention.
“Help with what?” she asks, putting her phone down.
“Tristan got hurt and Coach has no one to help. You played softball.”
Vanessa's eyes fixate on me, and then a fake smile takes over. “Of course, mommy would love to help. I played for almost seven years.”
The parents thank her for volunteering and she follows me out onto the field to assist me. Vanessa stands far from me, and must not be thrilled about our new partnership. Let’s just keep this professional with no lingering glances.
