Angels Walking (6 page)

“We have a medical transport van. Someone can give you
a ride.” Dr. Bancroft set the chart down, took a pad of paper from his pocket, and scribbled a few lines. Then he ripped off the top sheet and handed it to Tyler. “Here’s a prescription for pain medication. You’ll need these for the first few weeks.”

“Thanks.” There wasn’t much else to say.

“My family, we followed your game this fall. You were right there.” The doctor clucked his tongue. “You’ll get back. You’re too good to hang it up now.”

“Appreciate that.” Even talking intensified the pain.

“The nurse will be in shortly with discharge instructions. Obviously I want you to ice it twenty minutes at a time, and take your pain medication. The thing with pain is, don’t let it get ahead of you.”

“Yes, sir.” He still had questions, but he couldn’t remember them.

“The nurse is bringing in a sling. I don’t advise moving your arm until you see an orthopedic surgeon.” The doctor stood to leave. “Sorry again.” He paused. “Any questions?”

Tyler blinked. His mind raced but it couldn’t get ahead of the searing pain. “No. No, questions.” He relaxed the muscles in his right shoulder. Anything to find an edge. “Well, maybe one.”

Dr. Bancroft waited.

“When are my next pain pills?”

He checked Tyler’s chart once more. “Looks like you have about ten minutes.” He set the chart back in the rack at the end of the hospital bed. “I’ll have the nurse bring them in.”

And with that he was gone. Tyler tried to take a full breath, but the pain was too great. He lowered the bed back a few inches and exhaled. There was no comfortable position.
Not with his shoulder on fire. Every time he looked at his right arm he expected to see it barely hanging onto his body.

The doctor’s news swirled in his mind. He had destroyed his labrum and damaged his rotator cuff—so badly he couldn’t move his arm without talking to a surgeon. And he’d done all that damage with a single pitch. He could see himself, winding up, getting ready to throw, and—

“Tyler.” This time the voice was familiar.

He opened his eyes and stared through the pain. “Coach.” As far as he could remember this was the first time someone from the club had been by. But he couldn’t be sure. They’d had him on morphine until this morning.

Jep Black removed his Blue Wahoo baseball cap as he entered the room. “You don’t look too good.”

“Nah, I’m fine.” Tyler’s breathing came in short bursts. All that the excruciating pain would allow. “Got me on the lineup tonight, or what?”

The slightest smile lifted Jep’s lips. But it did nothing to ease the nervousness in his expression. He made his way to the side of the bed. “I talked to your doc.”

“I need a little sewing up.”

Jep shook his head. “Tyler . . . I’m sorry.”

His nurse entered the room holding a tray with a single small cup. The pain pills. “You’re late.” He tried to smile, but his body wouldn’t cooperate.

“Actually . . .” The nurse checked the clock on the wall. “Right on time.”

Tyler had no words. He took the pain pills with shaking hands and downed it with the water at his bedside table. “Thanks.”

When she was gone, Jep stepped closer to the bed again. “I can’t believe it. I mean . . . you were pitching perfect.”

With his left arm, Tyler wiped the water off his mouth. “Another mountain.” He raised the bed again. No matter how much he hurt, he couldn’t let Jep know the extent of his pain. He was a pitcher, not damaged goods. “I’ll be back next season. Better than ever.”

Jep looked from Tyler’s shoulder to his eyes. “The news . . . it isn’t good.”

“I know.” He willed the pain pills to work. “Torn labrum.”

“Well, that. Yes.” He hesitated. “Tyler, there’s no easy way to say this. You’ve been cut from the Wahoos.”

The pain screamed through his body and soul. What had Jep said? Tyler narrowed his eyes. “They cut me?”

“Yes.” Jep muttered something under his breath. “I hate this part of the game.” He pulled an envelope from his jeans pocket and set it on the table next to Tyler. “That’s your final check.” He gripped the bed rail and hung his head for a moment. When he looked up, genuine pain darkened his eyes. “This ain’t right. You’re an incredible pitcher, Tyler. One of the best. You work your way back to that mound. Prove ’em all wrong.”

The room was spinning. Tyler grabbed the manager’s hand and the bedrail at the same time, steadying himself so he wouldn’t pass out. “Nothing to prove.” His words came in short bursts, the best he could do. “They . . . won’t cut me. . . . I’m Tyler Ames. . . . I’m their ace . . . No one can touch me, Coach . . . They’d be . . . crazy to—”

“Tyler.” Jep worked his hand free and took a step back. “The decision came from the higher ups.” He shook his head. “Nothing I can do.”

The man’s words didn’t make sense. Tyler was a Blue Wahoo. He’d been the best pitcher this year and now the Bigs wanted him. That was his life just a few days ago. How could this be happening? He tried to breathe but his lungs wouldn’t work right. Like he was underwater with a two-ton truck on his back. “What . . . about my surgery?”

Jep shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed. “You signed a no-injury clause two years ago in Dayton. After your third arrest, Tyler. Remember? After you hurt your back in the moped accident.” He nodded toward the envelope on the table. “A copy of the clause is there with the check. Management wanted you to have it. In case you forgot.”

Confusion lay like a wet blanket over the conversation. Tyler gripped his elbow. Why wouldn’t the pain pills work? He clenched his teeth. “I signed . . . what?”

A drop of sweat fell off Jep’s forehead onto the hospital floor. “It’s all in there.” He pointed to the envelope. “The injury isn’t covered.” He stared at Tyler for several beats. “We got new guys coming in all the time. You know that.” Jep looked helpless. “It’s a business. Sometimes a player’s luck runs out.” He started for the door and stopped. “Prove ’em wrong, Ames. No one believes in you more than me.” With that he slipped his hat back on and left.

If Tyler’s heartbeat was erratic Saturday after his injury he could only imagine what it was now. He held his right elbow close to his body and turned to the table next to him. The envelope was there. What had Jep said? Something about his final check? He blinked hard, forcing his mind to stay clear even for a few minutes.

He grabbed the envelope with his left hand and wedged
two of his fingers beneath the flap. His heart pounded and with each beat the aching sensation spread up into his neck and down through his torso. Finally he ripped open the top and pulled out the contents. The first was a sheet of paper with small print. Jep had tried to explain it. Something about his contract.

With a snap of his wrist the paper opened all the way and he held it close to his face. The jolt caused him to cry out, but he caught himself before he might alert his nurse. If only the medication would take even the slightest edge off. Tyler tried to make out the words, but it took a while. His vision blurred the edges.

Slowly the paragraphs came into focus. He scanned the words quickly until he saw this:

Clause IV—No Injury: Due to previous off-field injuries and arrests in the Player’s past, he will at this time play without insurance coverage in case of an injury. Player assumes all responsibility for his medical costs, regardless of illness or injury obtained in future games. This clause may be renegotiated at a future date.

Tyler felt the floor beneath his bed turn liquid. As if nothing was holding him up except the bed frame, and even that was starting to fall away. A no-injury clause? Why would he have signed that? How come his agent hadn’t intervened? He set the paper down on the table and squeezed his eyes shut. Somewhere in his distant memory a moment came to light.

The contract sitting on a long wooden table. The contract and a choice: sign it or walk. Take the offer or head home to
California with his hat in his hands. His opportunity gone forever.

Tyler had signed it. His agent never had anything to say about it.

But until now he hadn’t remembered anything about it. Two years ago? He’d done nothing but improve since then. Every week, every inning, every pitch. No more off-field craziness, no more mopeds or girls or drinking. His agent should’ve renegotiated the contract a year ago.

The reality of his situation began to make him shake. He might as well have been flung into a sub-zero freezer. And with each excruciating vibration his busted shoulder shot arrows through his body. Was this really happening? He had no insurance? How was he supposed to pay for his surgery? His body shook harder, the pain worse than before. Why weren’t the pain pills working?

Tyler clenched his left fist and tried to see a way out. He was going to be released from the hospital, and then what? Where would he go? How would he find relief? He pursed his lips and exhaled. Over and over again. Maybe if he breathed everything out there’d be room in his lungs for air. After a few raspy breaths he settled back into the pillow.

How much money did he have? He forced himself to concentrate. His phone would have the answer. He glanced at the table next to his bed. Where was his phone? He hadn’t thought about it until now. He was about to open the only drawer in the table when his nurse entered the room.

“I have your brace.” She pulled something from a plastic wrapper and frowned at him. “You don’t look good.”

“Where’s . . . my phone?”

“In here.” She kept her eyes on him as she opened a cupboard at the corner of his room. The phone was on a shelf. “I’m not sure if it’s charged. We turn them off when patients are admitted.”

Everything felt surreal. This couldn’t be happening. It was a dream. That had to be it. Maybe if he blinked a few times he would be on the mound again, ready to pitch the next inning. Nothing but perfection behind him and a contract with the Reds ahead of him. The pain pulsed through his body. Wretched pain. It wasn’t a dream. It hurt too much.

The nurse handed him his phone and stepped back. Using his left hand, Tyler turned it on. He was going to pass out any second. He could feel it. His eyes narrowed and he stared at the phone’s screen. What was he doing? Why did he need his phone?

“Doctor says you’ll need surgery.” She lowered the bed rails. “Here. Swing your legs over the side. You’ve been discharged.”

Surgery. Yes, that was it. He tried to think around the pain. He had to pay for his surgery. No insurance meant no help from his team. His former team. He gritted his teeth. “I have to . . . move slow.”

“That last dose of pain medication should take effect soon.” She opened up the brace and shifted to his right side. “Turn your body toward me. You’ll feel better with this.”

Black dots flashed before his eyes. He gripped the edge of the bed with his good hand so he wouldn’t fall to the floor. Somehow she helped him get dressed and slipped the sling over his neck and around his waist. It had built-in padding so his forearm could rest against that instead of his ribcage.
Again he forced himself to relax. Maybe she was right. Maybe the pain would ease up now that he had a brace.

“Let’s get you on your feet.” She took a step back.

Nausea grabbed at him from every direction. Tyler held up his left hand. “Hold on. Please.”

She hesitated, watching him. “How about the chair? Can we do that much?”

He didn’t have enough energy to speak. His eyesight wasn’t working and neither was his mind. Moving like he was in a trance, he let the nurse help him to the chair next to his bed.

“Tell you what. I’ll get you something to eat. That’ll help.”

Tyler leaned his head back against the chair. He needed a new arm, not food. He was alone again and something was in his hand. He looked down. His phone. He tried to turn it on again but another wave of dizziness came over him. The pain was just slightly more bearable. But in its place a drunken feeling started coming over him. The buzz felt wonderful—something he hadn’t felt in the past few years. An intoxicatingly sweet release. He savored the feeling for a few seconds.

The pills were working.

Tyler’s phone screen lit up and he stared at the icons. What was he doing? He blinked a few times and then he remembered. His bank account. He needed to pay for the surgery so he had to check his balance. The process of signing in was nearly overwhelming, but finally the number shouted at him:
$187.32.

Tyler didn’t have two hundred dollars to his name. He sank into the chair and closed his eyes. Then he remembered the check. His eyes flew open and moving slowly, carefully, he reached for the check on the bedside table. The one Jep Black
brought. His final check. He opened it up same as the copy of the page from his contract, with a snap of his wrist. He sucked in a quick breath through clenched teeth.

The number had to be wrong. He squinted through the haze of medication but the amount didn’t change. One week of work with the Blue Wahoos: $312.02.

All totaled, he didn’t have five hundred dollars.

The nurse returned with a tray of food. “We’re going to get you home, Mr. Ames.” She explained again about the icing and the pain medication. “Eat first. Otherwise the pain med will make you sick. Now listen. No driving with these pills. Have someone drive you to your orthopedic appointment. The sooner the better.” She paused. “I understand your car’s at the stadium.”

Tyler lifted his eyes to hers. Her words were coming from at least three mouths. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay, our driver will take you home. You can get your car later. Have your teammates bring it over.”

His teammates. They would be at practice now. The truth slammed him around like a washed-up fighter on the ropes. He no longer had teammates. The Reds had cut him without a conversation. He thought about his part-time job—coaching young pitchers on off days. He couldn’t do that now, either. Besides, it was a job set up for him by the Blue Wahoos. A team he no longer played for. He closed his eyes. His room was three hundred a month. Car insurance, another hundred. His phone cost fifty-something. Gas and food and now his surgery . . .