“Yeah. Your uniform’s torn and there’s blood running down your leg.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
The umpire came over to take a peek. “That looks bad.” He signaled for the coach and the medical personnel.
Goddammit! He was pitching a good game.
“I’m really okay.”
Coach Manny Magee stepped up to the mound along with the team doc.
“Cassidy has an injury to his left calf, Coach,” the umpire said.
By now, all the infielders had crowded around, plus the umpire and the pitching coach.
“I feel fine.”
Phil, the team doctor, looked at his leg then at Manny. “This is going to need stitches. Cut is pretty deep.”
“Your leg looks like shit, Tucker. You pitched a good game.” Manny signaled to the bullpen.
Once he did that, there was no sense in arguing.
Tucker handed the ball to the coach and walked off the field. The crowd stood and cheered for him. He tipped his hat, but the bottom line was, he could have finished the game. He’d been in a comfortable pitching groove, his pitches had landed in the strike zone, and if not for that collision with the batter, who’d gouged him in the leg, the game could have ended great.
He made his way down to the locker room, where he met up with the team doc.
“Get your pants off and let’s see what’s going on with that leg, Tucker,” Phil said.
“It’s hardly even a scratch.” He took off his cleats and socks, then dragged his pants off and lay on the table.
Phil cleaned out the wound, which made him wince a little.
“It’s a pretty deep wound. Needs stitches just like I thought.”
“Great.”
“You and Green had a hell of a run-in there at first base. How do you feel?”
“I feel fine.”
“You guys always say that.”
They did. No one wanted to miss any games.
“I’m going to send you over to the ER for them to do a thorough exam.”
Tucker sat upright. “I don’t need to go to the ER.”
But Phil had already written on the chart. “I’ll give them a heads-up and let them know you’re on your way over. I’ll put a bandage on your leg. The docs there can stitch you up. I’m a little worried about your knee.”
Tucker frowned. “My knee? My knee is fine.”
“Again. All you guys say that. And I saw the way you landed, then limped.”
“Of course, I limped. My leg got stomped on. Come on, Phil, the game’s still on.”
Phil tore the form off his clipboard and handed it to him. “Off to the ER, Tucker. Your ride will be waiting for you outside.”
He took the sheet from Phil and climbed back into his pants, grumbling under his breath.
He should still be out on the mound, not headed to the ER.
He was fine. Fucking fine.
And that game had been his to finish.
ONE WOULD THINK ON A WEDNESDAY NIGHT THAT THE ER would be slow.
But not tonight. So far Aubry had covered an eight-year-old’s asthma attack, a suspected myocardial infarction, an automobile accident with a non-trauma injury and a drunk who’d started his happy hour very early in the day, then had spent the past three hours vomiting. Nonstop.
Typically a lot of these cases were saved for weekends.
Maybe it was a full moon or something. Either way, she’d been busy.
She liked busy. Her shift went fast when she stayed moving. The only problem was she ended up working late updating her charts.
“Dr. Ross? There’s a new patient in room seven,” the intake clerk told her as she stood at the counter trying to stay ahead of said charts.
Aubry reviewed the labs on the cardiac patient, ordered new drugs, then signed off and had a short conversation with the shift nurse about the patient’s care before turning to the intake clerk. “What’s the deal with the new patient?”
“Baseball player from the Rivers. He was injured during the game.”
She nodded. “Heading there right now.”
She grabbed the patient’s chart and flipped through it on her way down the hall. When she scanned the name, she stalled for a second, then shook her head and resumed her walk to the examination room.
Unbelievable.
She opened the door to find Tucker Cassidy, still in uniform, sitting on the exam room table.
He was frowning, looking down at the floor. When he looked up, he smiled.
“Oh. Hey, Doc. I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”