“He does. I think I may have even seen him smile toward Scotty.”
My heart flutters at that smile and I press my fingers into the palm of my hands to remind myself that I shouldn’t let a smile get to me like that.
The shortstop makes a great play and now there’s two down in the bottom of the inning. I admire how Casey keeps his cool in high-pressured situations. Then, I wonder if his shoulder is bothering him.It’s not your place to worry, Sage. He has a mother and a trainer who worries for him.
But still, I can’t help it.
The next batter is Walker, and Casey lifts his leg and sets up for his pitch. It normally happens so quickly, but time moves slowly as Casey throws the ball. I see it all so clearly that I anticipate what will happen next.
“No,” I whisper.
“What?” Frankie says just before it happens. Then, “Oh, my God Casey!” she shouts.
My stomach drops to the floor and blood drains from my fingertips.
Oh, God. No.
The ball rocketed straight for Casey’s head. He tried to turn to the side, but it landed square on his temple. Casey fell like a bag of bricks to the ground. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait.
“Casey,” I whisper, then louder. “Casey, baby, get up.”
“Oh, my God. Do you think he’s…”
I shake my head, staring at the screen, willing Casey to move his leg, his arm, anything.
“Shit. That doesn’t look good, man,” someone says behind me. His voice is deep and sad. The calmness in which he says it only heightens my fear.
Scotty runs to the mound and checks for a pulse on Casey’s neck. He quickly turns to the dugout but there is already a crowd of people racing toward him, one is running with a stretcher.
“This is very difficult to watch,” says the announcer. “L.A.’s Casey Tucker was hit by a pitch and fell down immediately. He has not moved since. We are waiting for some signal, anything to let us know that he’s all right.”
“Please, Casey,” I beg. “Please be okay.”
A man puts a brace on Casey’s neck and then several men lift his body onto the stretcher.
“There is no movement by Tucker, at least none that we can see from up here.”
Grief is a terrible thing. It is also familiar. You would think having gone through it before, I would know how to handle it better. Instead, all I can think about is, ‘not again’. I can’t do this again.
I pull Frankie away from the television toward the exit. “We have to go.”
“Go where? Oh my God. Do you think Casey is going to be okay?”
Her hand trembles beneath mine and I stop and turn and stare at her. Gripping her shoulders, I say with no confidence at all. “Yes. He is going to be fine.” He has to be.
I pull Frankie out into the street and head down the hill. “Sage, where are we going?”
“Back to our car. Then to New York City.”
“You’re going to Casey?”
“As fast as I can.”
16
Casey
The rhythmic beeping is the only indication that I’m still alive. I can move my fingers and toes, but nothing else. I try to move my neck, but it won’t budge. Neither do my legs or arms.
