Catching Hell: A Hot Contemporary Romance (2 page)

The impact sounded like a side of meat dropping onto a steel table. Zach’s retinas registered the carnage before his mind was consciously aware:

The Philadelphia catcher, knocked back on his ass, sliding all the way behind home plate.

The ump, his hand already folding into a fist, his thumb extended, calling Tucker out.

The kid, jaw set, legs extended, sliding in hard.

The ankle, twisted to an impossible angle, 180 degrees from normal.

The crowd, frozen in immediate silence, still on their feet from cheering their hero home.

The kid again, screaming through clenched teeth, curled into himself, stretching for his foot, craning his neck to see something he should never see.

Zach hollered for the trainer even as he threw himself to his knees beside Tucker’s head. “Look at me,” he shouted, desperate to make contact through the kid’s wall of pain.

Tucker whined in high-pitched agony, writhing like a speared fish. The motion was the worse possible thing he could do; he was twisting his foot even more, forcing it further in directions it was never meant to move.
 

Zach swallowed hard, banishing the bile from his throat before he planted his hands on the kid’s shoulders. “Tucker! They’re coming out now.” Nothing. The kid couldn’t hear him. Zach leaned in, putting half his weight on Tucker’s chest. “Cody,” he snapped. “Stop!”

Even though it seemed like a century had passed since the collision, the ballplayer’s clock inside Zach’s head told him it had scarcely been thirty seconds. The trainer was already shouldering Zach aside, waving out another one of the team’s medics. As the medical professionals executed their quick triage, Zach shifted toward Cody’s head. His fingers were firm on the other man’s chin as he forced the kid to meet his eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he said, power-driving certainty into his tone. “Let them do their work.”

But Zach knew the kid wasn’t going to be fine. He was out for the season, at least. Maybe forever. An ankle like that, his foot at that impossible angle…That had to mean surgery, pins, a plate…

“How bad is it?” Cody gritted, involuntary tears mixing with the red dirt of the playing field.

“They’ll take care of you,” Zach said, unwilling to tell a complete lie.

The trainers pushed him out of the way before Tucker could demand more information. The two sturdy men wedged their shoulders beneath Cody’s armpits, pulling the kid into a standing position by brute strength. As Zach watched, Cody tried to touch his toe to the ground, but he gave up as the pain bleached his face to a transparent sheet. The trainers hustled him off the field before the kid could try again.

Zach whirled on the Philly catcher, who was hovering several steps behind the plate. “You were blocking the goddamn plate!”

“I made a baseball play.”

The adrenaline buzz in Zach’s ears ratcheted up an octave. “Asshole! You didn’t give him a chance!”

“Cocksu—”

Zach didn’t wait to hear the rest of the retort. He planted both hands on the other guy’s chest, pushing hard to make sure he got his momentum past the insulating pads.
 

The other guy’s eyes flashed in surprise, the emotion quickly replaced by a shit-eating grin. His fist sailed out of mid-air, connecting squarely with Zach’s jaw.
 

Zach’s own left hook was automatic.

He barely saw the benches empty. He was only marginally aware of the men at his back, his teammates pushing against their Philadelphia counterparts. A couple of Rockets threw their own punches, but he couldn’t tell if his guys were actually escalating the fight or merely retaliating against Philly’s aggression.

Umps wasted no time wading into the scrum. Zach had enough presence of mind to edge away from the black uniforms. Nevertheless, it took Coach standing in front of him, shouting directly in his face to get him to stop shoving against the piece of shit Philadelphia catcher’s chest protector. He looked toward home plate just in time to see an ump pointing at him, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

Zach was tossed.

For the first time in his fifteen-year career, he’d started a fight on the field. Sure, he’d joined in melees before, supporting his teammates when they’d been driven too far by one opponent or another. But he’d never been the one to deliver the first punch.
 

What the hell. There were some records that were meant to be broken.

Now it was time to hit the showers, leave the shambles of a game knowing that Coach was going to be red-hot about bringing in his back-up catcher for the rest of the game. Tucker’s bat was out, and Zach’s too. And there were still eight and two thirds innings to play.
 

Shit.
 

At least he could go straight to the hospital. Tucker should have a friendly face beside him when he learned the full extent of the bad news. Zach didn’t look at his teammates as he stalked through the dugout on his way to the locker room.

* * *

The emergency room was a zoo. Cody Tucker had the piss-poor luck to shred his ankle on the night of a three-car collision that resulted in two patients with massive chest trauma and another with open head wounds that left the EMTs looking green. A gunshot wound from a drunken backyard hunting expedition, complete with a wailing woman who had never meant for anything bad to happen, only added to the insanity.

The Rockets’ trainers were vocal enough to get Tucker into a curtained examination area, and a doctor ordered the start of an IV drip, along with something for the pain. After that they were all reduced to a long wait. The kid just stared at the wall, sweat soaking through his uni with the stink of despair. Despite Zach’s best efforts, Cody had seen the damage. He knew what he was in for.
 

The rest of the team started showing up around eleven, showered and subdued by a brutal loss to Philadelphia. They paced and swore and demanded that the docs change their priorities. Just breathing, the guys shrank the emergency room waiting area. Seething with impatience, they made the entire hospital seem smaller than a postage stamp.

Zach steeled himself to go play team captain, to knock the guys into order. Just as he ducked under the polyester curtain, though, Anna Benson strode into the room.

In any other context, he might have taken her for a fragile child. She was thin as a greyhound, poured into her skinny jeans and a curvy Rockets T-shirt. She’d pulled on a hooded sweatshirt against the nighttime chill, but she’d pushed the too-long sleeves up to her elbows, exposing wrists that looked like they might snap in a strong wind. Her wide eyes, ocean-blue beneath the fluorescent lights, made her look like one of those animated heroines from some kids’ cartoon. Her cheekbones seemed sharp enough to slice open his palm.

But Anna Benson wasn’t a little girl any more.

She took about fifteen seconds to locate the triage nurse. Crossing to the desk with a minimum of fuss, she engaged in a quick, efficient exchange of information. Her jaw tightened. The nurse obviously didn’t have good news.

But that didn’t stop Anna. She turned back to the chaos of the overflowing waiting room. The guys still hadn’t noticed her; they were too busy devouring all the oxygen in the space. Anna raised her hands above her head and clapped three times. “Enough!” she shouted, her voice sawing through the fug of locker-room speculation.

She pressed her advantage with the instinctive drive of a shark. “Gentlemen! Thank you for coming to Raleigh Memorial. My grandfather and I appreciate your showing support for Cody. I just spoke with the nurse, and she confirmed that Cody’s in good hands. But it’s going to be hours, maybe days before we know anything specific. It’s after midnight, and you have to report to the park in less than twelve hours. Show your respect by giving the doctors the space they need to do what’s best for Cody. Go home and get some sleep, so you can put Philly in their place tomorrow!”

She hit the perfect tone. She let the guys know they were valued. She made them understand that she was worried—as much as they were, maybe more. She gave them a way to fight back, to get a ballplayer’s professional revenge.

And the team gave way before her leadership. One by one, the guys filed past her. She spoke to each of them, touching a shoulder here, shaking a hand there. She met each man’s eyes, assuring him his contribution was noted and appreciated.

And when the last ballplayer slipped out to the parking lot, Anna turned that cool intensity back to the triage nurse, demanding to know where Cody could be found, what Anna could do to expedite getting him out of the emergency room and into a less hectic standard room. As the nurse bent to her task, Zach ducked back into the curtained alcove, finally believing that this godforsaken night might be taking a turn for the better.

* * *

Anna leaned her head against the window in the hospital waiting room, finding solace in the touch of the cool glass. When she closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath, she teetered on the edge of sleep. Reluctantly, she pushed herself upright. Delaying wasn’t going to make this phone call any easier. She wished Gramps hadn’t made her swear she’d report in.

Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she realized it was nearly 2:30 in the morning. She’d better wait. Gramps needed his sleep.

Who was she kidding? Marty Benson wouldn’t be asleep. He constantly complained that he never got more than four hours of sleep—on a
normal
night. And this was hardly a normal night—not when Cody Tucker’s career hung in the balance. She steeled herself and made the call.
 

He answered on the first ring. “What does the fu— fussbudget doctor have to say?”

The familiar, commanding tone was a balm on Anna’s frayed nerves. She stood up straight and reported, “It’s too soon to know for sure. The orthopedist won’t have a full plan until Tuesday at the earliest. They need the initial swelling to go down.”

“But they took their god— blessed X-rays?”

“It’s definitely broken. The tendons and ligaments are fully compromised.” She took a deep breath, knowing the blow she was dealing to her grandfather. Cody was one of the Rockets’ key pieces—the team’s not-so-secret weapon for making it to the post-season. “No one at the hospital is saying anything for certain, but our trainers looked at the scans. It’ll be a miracle if he plays next year. More likely, it’ll take him two to get back on the field.”
 

And there’s no telling if he’ll ever be the same.
She didn’t add that last sentence. She didn’t have to. Silence stretched long enough that she had to ask, “Gramps?”

“I heard you,” the old man said peevishly, sounding every one of his eighty-one years.

She pressed on, trying to make it all better. “I phoned his family. They were watching the game; they saw it happen. They’ll be on the first flight out from Boston tomorrow morning.” She waited, wishing there was something more she could say, anything she could do to make the world slip back into order. Finally, she whispered, “I’m sorry, Gramps.”

At least his familiar snort of disdain made her feel a little less lost. “It’s not your fault, Anna-cakes. But you’re the one who’ll have to clean this up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sit down with Gregory tomorrow to figure out what the team is going to do.”

What they would do? They needed a new first baseman, immediately. The kids in their farm system were great prospects, but there wasn’t anyone ready to step up to playing full time. They needed a man who could make up for Cody’s bat in the order, along with his amazing fielding skills. The Rockets needed an MVP-calibre player, whatever premium it cost to get him.
 

That would be a tall order under ordinary circumstances. But this year? With the team already up against its salary cap? Her grandfather was asking for the impossible. “Gramps, the team is really shaken up. They need to see you out front on this.”

“Nonsense. The team needs to know there’s continuity. A firm hand on the reins, now and in the future.”

“But who do you think we can possibly get for—?”

“Anna, that co— cobbler-headed night nurse you insisted on hiring for me is giving me the stink-eye. Get some sleep. You’ll have this all figured out in the morning.”

Dismayed, she managed to make a few polite noises, wishing her grandfather a good night, for whatever was left of it. After he hung up, though, she slumped into the nearest chair. How could he possibly put her in charge of a disaster like this? She might have the Rockets’ best interest at heart in everything she did, but she was a twenty-five-year-old woman who had never done battle with the big boys in the major-league salary wars.

She stretched her legs out and rested her head on the back of the upholstered seat. As soon as she closed her eyes, the room began to whirl around her.

God, she was tired. She’d nagged the emergency room staff until they transferred Cody upstairs, to a relatively quiet room here on the orthopedic floor. Once her player was wheeled upstairs, she’d watched over the polite debate between the Rockets’ trainers and the Raleigh Memorial doctors and their eventual agreement on the best way to keep his foot elevated, making him as comfortable as possible while they waited to assess the full extent of the damage. She’d checked in with the major media websites, made sure that the injury and ensuing brawl were being covered in as fair a light as possible. Speed-typing on her phone, she had fielded all thirty-four of the URGENT emails in her inbox and a dozen texts that insisted they couldn’t be ignored.

Now there was nothing left to do but wait.
 

Aside from a quick conversation in the emergency room, she’d managed to avoid actually looking at Cody, seeing the forlorn expression of loss in the injured player’s eyes. She couldn’t afford that luxury any longer, though. It would be cruel to leave the man alone until his family arrived. She’d sit with him for what was left of the night. With any luck, she’d have time to grab a shower before she had to meet with Small.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself down the hallway. This would be difficult. Exhausting. Emotionally draining. But it was the least she could do for a man who had given his best for the Rockets. One last fortifying breath, and she pushed open the door to Cody’s room.