Covering Home (24 page)

Landing at LAX this afternoon. Make some time for me. We’ll sort this out
.

So Rod was still speaking to him after all. While he’d much prefer to hear from Britt, he’d take an opportunity to meet with his former agent. In a moment of desperation, he’d called Rod’s office before boarding his flight in Tokyo.

He didn’t know what else to do. In all his twenty-eight years, he couldn’t recall a time when he’d been without a baseball team. Before Little League, probably.

Today he felt like a man without a country.

“Knock, knock.” Dr. Weaver popped his head into the room, a broad smile stretching across his tanned features.

He wore the standard white coat with his name embroidered on the chest, stone colored pants, and brown loafers. An oversized envelope was tucked under his arm.

Caleb stood up, towering over the doctor by several inches, and shook his outstretched hand. “Hey, doc. Thanks for seeing me.”

“Not a problem.” Dr. Weaver let go of his hand and set the envelope on the table. “I’m glad you called. Our house is crawling with company for Easter. I’m pretty happy to take a breather. But I am sorry about your arm.”

Caleb sat back down on the table. “Yeah, it stinks. Lousy timing.”

Dr. Weaver shrugged. “Well, sometimes things happen for a reason. I bet your folks are glad you’re back on the West Coast.”

“They weren’t big fans of my decision to play in Japan.” He’d heard the guarded excitement in his mother’s voice when he called to share the news about his unexpected departure from Tokyo. She sounded concerned about the prognosis, but he knew she was overjoyed that all of her boys were on the same continent again.

“Let’s have a look at that elbow and then we can talk about next steps, okay?”

Caleb nodded and held up his pitching arm, along with a silent plea for the skilled surgeon to work a miracle. Or at least suggest a viable option. He’d toyed with Heather and Aaron’s suggestion on the flight home. He’d come so far. Could he really give up baseball?

“So any chronic soreness, loss of control, sudden decrease in velocity?” Dr. Weaver wrapped his fingers around Caleb’s arm and palpated along the elbow joint.

“A little sore, but I threw a lot more pitches this spring. The pain I felt the other night was different, though.”

Dr. Weaver’s blue eyes flitted from Caleb’s elbow to his face. “How so?”

“I thought somebody had lit my arm on fire. The popping sound was pretty loud, too.”

“So we might be looking at a ligament that weakened over time and finally just ruptured versus a single traumatic incident.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?” Caleb looked down at his arm. ‘Traumatic’ and ‘ruptured’ were not words he was fond of, especially in connection with his pitching arm.

“Depends.” Dr. Weaver lifted Caleb’s arm and moved it through its normal range of motion. “If it is your Ulnar Collateral Ligament, I’ll need to take a tendon from your hand or your leg and use it to re-stabilize the elbow. I won’t really know until I get in there, given this arm has quite a history.”

Dr. Weaver pressed his thumbs along the inside of Caleb’s elbow again and he flinched.

“Tender there?”

“A little.” A purple bruise had formed within a couple hours of coming off the mound. Kai had made him ice that night, but it didn’t seem to do any good. The pocket of swelling that hung out near his elbow was obvious, even to him.

“You’ve got some significant instability. Does it hurt to make a fist?”

Dr. Weaver drew back and waited while Caleb complied.

Caleb shrugged. “It’s not too bad.”

“Good. Let’s take a look at these films.” Dr. Weaver opened the envelope and slid the plastic sheets free. Clipping them onto the light box behind him, he flipped the switch and illuminated the images. MRIs were like a puzzle Caleb couldn’t solve. He had no idea what he was looking at. All those clusters of white and black—it made his eyes glaze over.

“So I’d want my radiologist to give this a second look, but I think your UCL is ruptured. The lateral side, the outside, looks fine. The hardware I put in your forearm last time looks good.”

Dr. Weaver turned off the light and faced him. “Give me a timeline. When do you need to be back on the mound?”

“I—” Caleb swallowed hard against the thickness in his throat. “I don’t have a timeline. Rays released me with a one way ticket to LA.”

“Ouch.” Dr. Weaver grimaced. “Still have that same agent?”

“He’s flying in this afternoon. We’ll see.”

“So here’s the thing. Once upon a time, an injury like this would have put you out to pasture.

Now it’s a twelve month rehab, probably with an injury assignment in the minors, but a high percentage of pitchers make it back to where they were before.”

Caleb nodded. A high percentage. He could work with that. “Will I be a better thrower?”

Dr. Weaver arched one eyebrow. “The secret sauce isn’t in the surgical options.

It’s the rehab. If you come back better, it’s because you worked hard. I’ll hook you up with the best PT around. Where are you going to live?”

“I’m, uh, thinking about moving into Amanda’s place.” He surprised even himself with those words. That was the first time he’d verbalized his intentions.

“Calabasas?”

“She left it to me. All my stuff is still in boxes in the garage. It’s been vacant since … the accident.”

“That’s some high-end real estate you’re hanging onto.” Dr. Weaver sat on the stool and wheeled up to the table, pulling a pen from his chest pocket.

“I mainly kept it just to tick her parents off,” Caleb confessed.

“Well, I hope you were successful. Her father needed to be taken down a few notches, as I recall.” Dr. Weaver scratched out a rough drawing of an elbow joint on the paper. “Let me give you the nitty-gritty details and then you’ll be free to go.”

Caleb tried to focus while Dr. Weaver explained the procedure, but his brain tripped over words like autograft, debridement, and ligamentization. When he started talking about drilling holes in his arm, Caleb waved his hand in the air.

“Whoa, whoa. That’s good. I’m good. Where do I sign?”

Dr. Weaver laughed. “Most patients get a little pale when I start talking about the power tools. Why don’t you think about this, maybe talk to your family this week? It’s a long rehab, Caleb. Getting better will be your new full-time job.”

Caleb nodded. He could handle full-time therapy. He’d done it before.

“Are you open to other options?”

He cleared his throat. “It’s not something I thought about before this week.”

Dr. Weaver pursed his lips. “Anything is possible and you’ve certainly defied the odds. I’ve never met a more determined athlete. But if you were considering retirement or pursuing a manager’s role, you could probably avoid surgery for now.”

His gut twisted. There it was again, the possibility of no more baseball looming on the horizon. “I—I’ll give it some thought.”

Dr. Weaver shook his hand. “Let me know.”

“Thanks for your time.” Caleb slid off the table and wandered out of the office, this new reality like a riptide, sucking him into uncharted waters. He hoped Rod could toss him a lifeline because he wasn’t ready to not be a pitcher.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Chin up, please.” Wendy dusted her makeup brush across Britt’s forehead. “A little more eye shadow and we’ll be done.”

“Good. I’ve got to review my notes one more time.” Britt mentally rehearsed the Dodgers’ starting lineup—from the outfield to the catcher—singing the names to a little tune she’d made up. Maybe the correct pronunciation would stick this time. Flubbing their starting pitcher’s name would not go over well. Even if it was impossible to remember.

“Relax, you’ll be fine.” Wendy swiped an applicator through a pod of eye shadow.

“Whatever.” Britt closed her eyes so Wendy could finish. “You don’t have to say Hak Ju Kang in front of two million viewers.”

“Wow, you don’t hear that every day, do you?”

“You’ll be hearing it a lot more. He was just called up from the minors and put in the Dodgers’ starting rotation.”

“Makes those Japanese names from last week sound downright ordinary, huh?”

Britt popped her eyes open. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“What do you hear from Tokyo these days?” Wendy paused, hand hovering in the air.

“Not much. He’s injured and we’re having a hard time … connecting.”

“What does that mean? You’re trading voicemails and fighting the time change, or you don’t think there’s a connection?”

Britt pursed her lips. She’d replayed her conversation with Caleb in her head a half-dozen times, hashed it out with Kristi at least twice. Although she’d tried not to let it bother her, his injury and what it would mean for them weighed on her mind. Her family worked hard to distract her. But the Easter festivities, her adorable nieces and nephews, even Allison and Dad’s overprotectiveness didn’t succeed in chasing Caleb’s situation from her mind.

“Your silence speaks volumes. What happened?”

“I told you, he’s injured.” Britt scooted forward in her chair, her high-heeled Jimmy Choos braced on the thin carpet. “Things are in a holding pattern until he figures out what to do about his arm.”

“Don’t even.” Wendy rolled her eyes. “You can’t fool me. This has nothing to do with his injury.”

“You’re right. His injury shouldn’t matter. But apparently it does. Maybe we’re not meant to be. Like you said, our careers are important and—”

“And this is the perfect opportunity for the two of you to figure things out. Don’t you think he’ll come home for surgery?”

“Actually, I heard he’s already here. But he hasn’t called.”
There.
She’d confessed.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Wendy narrowed her gaze. “So are you worried about him or miffed that he might be in town and he hasn’t bothered to call?”

“You’re making this sound so petty.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Both, I guess. I know it’s silly to let these doubts slip in. But this is really hard … the distance, our careers, everything.”

“I’m sure there’s a reason why he hasn’t called.” Wendy uncapped an aerosol can from the vanity counter. “I bet he wants to surprise you with roses and chocolate.”

“You read too many romance novels.” Britt sat still while Wendy sprayed her hair. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“Yours, of course, and I hate to see you let something silly come between you and your chance at happiness.”

“Aren’t you the same woman who told me to steer clear of this relationship when we were in Japan?” Britt stood up to leave, plucking a stray hair from her skirt.

“That was before I knew how much you cared about each other. I want you to think about what truly matters. Your pride? Or extending grace to someone who means a lot to you and is struggling?”

Ouch.
“I think you missed your calling, girl.” Britt squeezed Wendy’s arm and made her way toward the door. Wendy was right, of course. She was being stubborn. Any sane person could recognize that. Caleb probably didn’t know she was in town, unless he happened to watch the show on TV later tonight. But she knew he was here, thanks to Rod and Lucas’s conversation after church. So what was stopping her from reaching out?

Britt stepped out of hair and makeup, the trailer door slamming shut behind her.

The late afternoon sunshine cast long shadows across the asphalt, while rush hour traffic on the freeway near

Dodger Stadium hummed in the background. Her phone chimed and she fumbled for it in her briefcase, her pulse bumping up a notch. But she glanced at the screen and groaned when she saw the message. Marne. She’d already summoned her once for pre-game interviews. Shooting
Covering Home
remotely for Opening Day on the heels of their Tokyo trip was going to do them all in. With Joe still out, Britt feared for her on-camera chemistry with the revolving guests Marne had booked.

Drawing a deep breath, Britt squared her shoulders, put her phone away and crossed the lot to the entrance of Dodger Stadium. Flashing her ID at the security guard, she allowed him to open the heavy metal door for her. She smiled her thanks and went inside, cool air from the vents overhead blowing across her skin. People milled about in the corridor. From members of the press, to vendors and Dodgers staff, everyone was on a mission. She fell in step with them and hustled toward the field. Paul and Gretchen were probably all set up and ready to go.

“There you are.” Marne came up the corridor from the field, an extra-large fountain drink in one hand and her phone in the other. “Did you get my texts?”

“Which ones?” Britt reached for her phone inside her briefcase.

“The one about Kate’s resignation.”

Britt faltered. “Kate Songer?”

Marne nodded. “She dropped the bombshell this morning. Another network offered her a position covering college football, and she accepted.”

“So what does that mean for her show?” Britt flashed her credentials at the attendant and followed Marne onto the field. If Kate resigned, would—

“It means the network will scramble to find a replacement and transition the new anchor into Kate’s role after the All-Star break.” Marne stopped walking and faced Britt. “You’re a strong candidate, Britt, but you’ll have to prove yourself these next few weeks on
Covering Home.
I can guarantee the VP’s are keeping a close eye on you.”

Britt could only nod, her mind racing as she processed this news. So Wendy was right. Kate Songer had vacated her coveted role for her fiancC) and football.

“Any last minute questions before we get started?” Marne asked.

“Hak Ju Kang. Jang Ku Hak?” Britt whispered. Wait. What was the starting pitcher’s name again? The butterflies in her stomach began their uprising.
C’mon. Focus.

“Nope, I’m good.”

“Excellent. Gretchen has your first interview all lined up …”

Britt stepped onto the field and headed for Paul and his camera, stationed near the visiting team’s dugout. She tried to listen to Marne’s directive, but three men standing in the first row of seats off the first base line distracted her.