“He’s ready,” says Brett.
Gainsboro ignores him. “Tuck?”
I inhale deeply. “I’m ready. I want to play.”
“Michael says he’s still not sure it’s a good idea. That you’re still feeling some discomfort. He’s willing to give you a cortisone shot, but you shook it off.”
“I don’t need it,” I say. I also hate the idea of numbing my body.
Gainsboro watches me carefully and tension grows in the room. My phone rings again, vibrating in my pocket.
“Do you need to get that?”
I check my phone. “It’s my brother,” I say. “Give me a second.”
“Casey is the best pitcher in the league,” Brett tells Gainsboro as I turn to take the call. “He’ll make you World Series Champions again.”
“I don’t doubt it,” says Gainsboro. “I just don’t want to risk injuring him again.”
“If he says he’s ready, then he’s ready.”
“Hello?” I answer.
“Thank God you picked up.” Austin sounds breathless.
“I can’t talk, I—”
“Casey, wait, don’t hang up. Dad is in the hospital.”
“What? What happened?”
“He had a heart attack.”
“Is he okay?”
“I don’t know. The doctors say he has three blocked arteries, and they must operate now. They sound worried. I think you should come home.”
“I’ve got a game tonight. Are you sure it’s bad?”
There’s a beat of silence. “I don’t know if he’ll make it.”
He sounds a bit dramatic, but I’m not sure. My fingers curl tightly around the phone as I look up at the men who are no longer talking but staring back at me. “I’ll call you back, I’m just speaking to my manager now.”
I end the call. “That was my brother, my dad is in the hospital. He suffered a heart attack.”
“Is he all right?” asks Gainsboro.
“I’m not sure. They’re taking him into surgery.”
Brett waves us off. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
Gainsboro ignores him. “Why don’t you go home for a few days and see your dad?”
Brett jumps in before I can respond. “That isn’t necessary.”
Brett talking for me gets on my last nerve, and while a small part of me agrees with him, I’m certain my father will be fine, I still don’t like him overstepping. “Thanks, Coach. I’ll make sure he’s okay and then come back ready to pitch the next game on Sunday.”
“What?” Brett’s shocked expression gives me more pleasure than it should. “Youcan’tleave.”
