Page 74 of Houston, We Have a Problem
I’m not sure I’ll ever recover.
“Yo, Briggs, are you going to throw the ball, or what?”
This isn’t working. How am I supposed to concentrate on baseball when I’m already thinking she’s a pretty good reason to give it up for good?
Thankfully, one of the coaches waves me off the field and tells me the manager wants me in his office. He must have noticed me staring off into space for most of the morning, but I barely care that I’m about to get a lecture.
But when I get to Fujimura’s office, the team’s physical therapist, Solano, is there as well, and my heart sinks. This doesn’t bode well.
“Sit,” Fujimura says, pointing to the chair next to Solano.
Solano winces when he gets a good look at my face as I sit next to him. “I had to tell him,” he says. “You and I both know it’s not getting better.”
I try to convey with a look that I don’t blame him for doing his job; my tongue feels like cotton in my mouth, so speaking isn’t going to come easily.
Fujimura sighs, pulling my attention to him again. “How long, Briggs?”
If I don’t answer honestly, Solano will probably do it for me. “The pain started about fourteen months ago.”
Fujimura’s eyes nearly bug out of his head, and he swears loudly. “You’ve been losing your arm for over a year and didn’t say anything? You played the whole season!”
“I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.” Maybe that makes me sound pathetic or like a pushover, but it’s the truth. My whole life, I’ve just wanted to be needed. Valuable. Someone who wouldn’t get left behind again. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine, Briggs. You may have done irreparable damage by ignoring this problem.”
I glance at Solano, wondering just how much he told the manager because there is no “may have” in this situation. My arm is shot—pretty much has been since August—and even if I get the surgery to repair the torn ligaments, I’ll probably be dealing with scar tissue and limited mobility the rest of my life. I’m pretty sure that’s part of the reason I’ve been ignoring the problem for so long. The minute I admit the problem exists is the minute I’m officially done.
“So, what now?” Fujimura asks, rubbing his temples. “You still have a year on your contract. Can you play?”
“Yes,” I say at the same time Solano emphatically says, “No.” He glares at me. “You tore a tendon, Briggs. That’s not a minor thing.”
I cringe. “Barely tore it. Maybe.” But he and I both know that continuing to pitch with the tear has only made it worse. What he doesn’t know is that I played several weeks before he even found out about the injury. The only reason he knows about it is because that last Series game nearly did me in. He forced me to go to the clinic for the MRI the next day, though I almost didn’t go. “I’m fine.”
Fujimura glances between us. “Normally, I’d trust Solano’s opinion, but you just won us a Series with a bum arm, Briggs. You clearly know your own limits. If you say you can play, then you’ll play, but I’m finding us a new starting pitcher no matter what you do. We have a small rotation as it is.”
He’s practically asking me if I plan to retire, but for some reason I can’t say one way or the other. This shouldn’t be a difficult decision. I might be able to throw a few good pitches, but what use can I really be? I could barely hold Darcy in my arms last night without the pain creeping in. And yet I keep my mouth shut.
Whatever I’m trying to prove, it’s going to be my end.
“So?” Fujimura says, looking between me and Solano again as he waits for a definitive answer on whether I’ll be one of the starting pitchers next season.
If only I had one to give. “I’ll let you know,” I mutter, rising to my feet before anyone can guilt me into making a decision I’m clearly not ready to make.
“Briggs.” Fujimura pierces me with his dark eyes. He took a chance on a twenty-year-old kid back when the Red-tails drafted me, and I like to think I was worth the risk. But I can see in his eyes that he’s not ready to let me go, which makes this all so much harder. “Sooner than later, if you please.”
Nodding, I slip out of his office and take a moment in the empty hallway to breathe. To think. Solano is right, and I will barely be able to play next season. But how can I abandon theguys? They made me a team captain for a reason, and I’m more than just a pitcher to some of them. A few of us have played together from the beginning, brothers brought together by a game we all love. And I’m supposed to just walk away without warning?
Heart sinking, I trudge to my locker to see if Darcy made it to Albuquerque safely because I need something at least moderately happy, even if that something is a couple hundred miles away. Sure enough, I’ve got a few texts from Darcy, and a bit of the tightness eases in my chest at the sight of her name.
Darcy: I took a pit stop in a tiny town just because I was bored out of my mind, and look at this little guy!
She sent a picture of a chipmunk chowing down on a cracker.
Darcy: He shared my snack because he was too cute not to give him something. I’m pretty sure I’m the reason all of the national parks have those signs to not feed the wildlife.
Darcy: Well, I got a flat tire. #unlucky
Darcy: Good thing my dad taught me what to do in this situation. (Call AAA. That’s what he taught me.)
