Page 40 of Pitch Perfect (Boys of Summer 1)

He offered her his hand again and said, “Tucker Lloyd.”

The doctor smiled and gave him a polite handshake before saying, “I’d better let you get to your girlfriend before I’m accused of fraternizing with the enemy.” She smiled and flashed him the back of her clipboard, where a White Sox decal was stuck. She looked slightly less tired than she had a minute before. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lloyd. But you’ll excuse me if I don’t wish you a good season.”

And she was gone.

Any room with Vincent Kasper in it was too small.

He had the kind of personality that could swell to fill a space and suck up all the air, leaving those around him breathless. It wasn’t so much that he demanded attention; it was more like one didn’t have a choice but to give it to him when he was around.

But now Emmy had discovered a room that made him look very, very small. Lying in a hospital bed with tubes in his arms and a lightweight blanket tucked around his knees and only a thin hospital gown spread too tight over his big belly, he looked…human. Emmy’s father had always been an indestructible baseball god, the kind of person nothing bad—not counting divorce—could ever happen to.

“Emmett?” His voice was reedy and groggy in the just-woke-up way old men have. It made her think about his age, and about how close this close call really was.

“Hi, Daddy.” She edged closer to the bed and gave his toes a squeeze. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry.” Vin smiled, his usually smooth, round baby face looking somewhat strange with a new growth of white stubble. In Vin’s later years he’d begun to remind her of a clean-shaven Santa Claus. Now his red face appeared to be a symptom of something other than his jovial nature.

“Rice cakes and broth,” Emmy replied.

“Drywall.”

Emmy skirted the bed and sat next to him with her back to the door. “How are you feeling, really?”

“Oh, you know me, baby girl. Strong as an ox.”

She rolled her eyes and picked up his hand, avoiding the IV line tucked in behind his knuckles. “You gave me a good scare, you know?” Her voice snagged in her throat.

“You skipped out on a game to see me.”

“Dad. I’d have skipped out on a season for you.”

He gripped her hand and smiled softly, like the gesture hurt him and he was pretending it didn’t. “I’m really proud of you,” he said.

“Daddy…”

“No, let me finish. I, well, I don’t know when I’ll get another chance like this.”

Emmy blinked back tears and fought the urge to stop her father from speaking. As if holding him back from saying what he wanted would keep him alive long enough to say it sometime in the future.

“I never tell you enough, and I don’t think you know. You done good, kid, and I’m damn proud of you.”

The tears fell this time, sliding down her cheeks in hot paths and dripping off her chin onto her lap. “Thank you.”

“And who’s this?” Vin’s gaze focused over her shoulder to the door. Emmy hadn’t heard Tucker come in. “Emmy, I believe you have a castaway.”

“Dad, this is Tucker.”

“Of course it is. Tucker Lloyd. I have an official rule book from 2008 with your picture on the cover.”

“I was a bit younger then, sir.”

“We all were.”

Tucker stayed near the door, eyeballing the empty bed next to Vin’s as if it might bite him. Emmy wasn’t sure if his apparent anxiety had something to do with his past surgery—which had been relatively minor by surgical standards—or was based in a deeper fear. A lot of people were afraid of hospitals, but it had never occurred to her Tucker might be one of them. He usually seemed tough and unflappable.

One foot in the door of a hospital room and he was flapping.

She liked it when he showed her his human side.

---