The Waiting Game
Eddie sat out under a tree, fingering the cell phone in his pocket.
Waiting tasted like the memory of too much bourbon. Like ashes in his mouth and bugs crawling under his skin. Like everything bad Eddie could think of and then have nightmares about. Like cold sweat and being tired and not sleeping.
Jason had been gone too long. Too, too long.
The man they'd left behind to watch him, the thug Trevor was usually around watching him. Never gone too far for too long. But there'd be a chance, Eddie knew it. He just had to wait.
Eddie wasn't going to drink. He wasn't. That would be too much like giving up and giving in and Jason was going to come back so he wouldn't do that. Jason would come back and he'd be disappointed if Eddie started drinking again. Eddie wasn't going to disappoint him like that.
It was a matter of waiting. Finding the right time to call Evan. Eddie could wait.
But then one day it wasn't a matter of waiting anymore. Trevor found Eddie at the kitchen table, twisted Eddie's arm behind his back and dragged him to his feet. Grinned and said that Jason had fucked up big time and Eddie was going to be the lesson.
Eddie'd thought all this time that really, really everything would be okay. Jason would come back, it'd all blow over, because this sort of thing didn't really happen. Not to him.
But then Trevor took his arm - no no no not that one not my pitching arm you can't do this you cannot do this not to me I need this I need this I need this - and pulled and twisted and snapped until Eddie was on his knees and his eyes were stinging and he was screaming.
Trevor laughed and let go, knocked him over the head and said he'd be back and Eddie better not do anything stupid and tell the cops or Jason'd get worse, so much fucking worse and they'd make sure he got the bits that were left.
It was gone. All gone. Nothing was okay.
For a few minutes, while Eddie was on the floor and cradling his useless arm, he forgot about Jason and waiting and not knowing what was happening and what would happen. For a few blessed merciful minutes, it was just him in a state of shock and loss.
And then he shuddered and knew he had to call someone, had to at least try to salvage something. As long as he didn't actually look at his arm, he could think that maybe it would be okay, he'd be out a few months but he could still finish out his career, it wouldn't just be over like that.
Because when he looked down, he knew. It wasn't just a break. His arm wouldn't be the same after this, wouldn't pitch the same and he didn't have the time to relearn it all.
Jason was gone and baseball was gone beyond a doubt. Eddie gritted his teeth and pulled Jason's cell phone out of his pocket with his good hand, called Chuck and told him to come over, there'd been an accident, his arm was screwed, yes it was serious, it was really fucking serious. Hung up and sat there waiting, not moving because if he did something in him (not in his arm, in him) that was shattered and sharp would cut him up and he'd bleed out right there. Right there on the floor.
Chuck came, found him, stared at his arm in shock and got it together enough to ease him to his feet and bundle him out to the car. Drove to the hospital and demanded someone treat him straight away, didn't they know who he was. Eddie watched, listened to the doctors talk about ligaments and tendons, about fractures, about surgery. Wished he felt like it was happening to someone else. Wished it was happening to someone else.
It took hours of getting x-rays, of splints, of casts and doctors explaining procedures to him before Eddie got a bit of peace.
The reporters came. Eddie was in a private room but every time the door opened he could see flashes of cameras, even from inside the curtain around his bed. Chuck came in and told him that the new guy, Trevor, was standing outside the door.
It's not such a big goddamn deal, Eddie told himself. Hell, this was the last season anyway. It's no fucking loss. Told himself that and ignored the tears sliding over his cheeks. It's not so bad. Chuck dropped his eyes, patted his leg and said he'd be back, he had to go feed the vultures. When he opened the door to go out, Eddie could hear reporters already firing questions at him.
A doctor came in and told him what he already knew. No more pitching. Surgery was needed, physiotherapy once his arm was out of the cast to get most of the range of movement back. Eddie nodded and asked when he could go home.
He wished Jason was there and then remembered, feeling so stupid, that Jason was in Essex, Jason might've been even worse off than him.
Chuck drove Eddie back to his house and was going to come in to keep an eye on him. Eddie was pretty out of it on the pain meds they'd given him at the hospital but he still stiffened when Trevor half carried him inside the house. He could've walked but then Trevor wouldn't have had the chance to gloat about how good it was hearing bones snap.
Eddie fingered the cell phone in his pocket and waited. Maybe Trevor thought Eddie was cowed by what he'd done and was too afraid to try anything, maybe he thought Eddie was too tired and drugged up to do anything, but he didn't watch him as closely. As soon as Trevor was out of hearing distance, Eddie made the call. Called Jason's boss Evan and told him in a slurred voice where Jason was, what was going on, how they'd hurt Jason if they knew he was doing this and Jason couldn't get hurt, okay? Eddie needed Jason.
And then he waited again.
He couldn't practise pitching to distract himself anymore. Not with one arm in a cast, not with pins in his elbow, not when it only varied from dull aching to sharp pains. No numbness for Eddie. It felt too good. He'd taken a couple of the pain pills but it was too tempting to keep taking them.
There was just waiting. Waiting and imagining how this could all go wrong, how Jason could be hurt because of what he did, how he could be killed.
Another man came, a Russian. He introduced himself sotto voice and Eddie nodded, forgetting his name immediately and pointing to the next room where Trevor was watching television. He sat and listened to Trevor scream and felt sick. Flexed his arm and replaced the nausea with pain. It wasn't much improvement.
It lasted a long time, or at least seemed that way to Eddie.
The man took Trevor, still alive, out to his car and stuffed him into the trunk. Came back and said they had Jason, he was safe and would be back in the country as soon as possible. Eddie nodded again and waited for the man to go.
He watched old games, ached and wanted so desperately to take just one of the meds so he wouldn't care that he'd never ever feel as pure as he did when he was pitching a good game, that waiting for Jason to reappear was like being on the rack. He went to see more doctors and when he came back from one, Jason was home.
Jason was back. Jason was back and safe and nothing was the same anymore.
Waiting tasted like the memory of too much bourbon. Like ashes in his mouth and bugs crawling under his skin. Like everything bad Eddie could think of and then have nightmares about. Like cold sweat and being tired and not sleeping.
Jason had been gone too long. Too, too long.
The man they'd left behind to watch him, the thug Trevor was usually around watching him. Never gone too far for too long. But there'd be a chance, Eddie knew it. He just had to wait.
Eddie wasn't going to drink. He wasn't. That would be too much like giving up and giving in and Jason was going to come back so he wouldn't do that. Jason would come back and he'd be disappointed if Eddie started drinking again. Eddie wasn't going to disappoint him like that.
It was a matter of waiting. Finding the right time to call Evan. Eddie could wait.
But then one day it wasn't a matter of waiting anymore. Trevor found Eddie at the kitchen table, twisted Eddie's arm behind his back and dragged him to his feet. Grinned and said that Jason had fucked up big time and Eddie was going to be the lesson.
Eddie'd thought all this time that really, really everything would be okay. Jason would come back, it'd all blow over, because this sort of thing didn't really happen. Not to him.
But then Trevor took his arm - no no no not that one not my pitching arm you can't do this you cannot do this not to me I need this I need this I need this - and pulled and twisted and snapped until Eddie was on his knees and his eyes were stinging and he was screaming.
Trevor laughed and let go, knocked him over the head and said he'd be back and Eddie better not do anything stupid and tell the cops or Jason'd get worse, so much fucking worse and they'd make sure he got the bits that were left.
It was gone. All gone. Nothing was okay.
For a few minutes, while Eddie was on the floor and cradling his useless arm, he forgot about Jason and waiting and not knowing what was happening and what would happen. For a few blessed merciful minutes, it was just him in a state of shock and loss.
And then he shuddered and knew he had to call someone, had to at least try to salvage something. As long as he didn't actually look at his arm, he could think that maybe it would be okay, he'd be out a few months but he could still finish out his career, it wouldn't just be over like that.
Because when he looked down, he knew. It wasn't just a break. His arm wouldn't be the same after this, wouldn't pitch the same and he didn't have the time to relearn it all.
Jason was gone and baseball was gone beyond a doubt. Eddie gritted his teeth and pulled Jason's cell phone out of his pocket with his good hand, called Chuck and told him to come over, there'd been an accident, his arm was screwed, yes it was serious, it was really fucking serious. Hung up and sat there waiting, not moving because if he did something in him (not in his arm, in him) that was shattered and sharp would cut him up and he'd bleed out right there. Right there on the floor.
Chuck came, found him, stared at his arm in shock and got it together enough to ease him to his feet and bundle him out to the car. Drove to the hospital and demanded someone treat him straight away, didn't they know who he was. Eddie watched, listened to the doctors talk about ligaments and tendons, about fractures, about surgery. Wished he felt like it was happening to someone else. Wished it was happening to someone else.
It took hours of getting x-rays, of splints, of casts and doctors explaining procedures to him before Eddie got a bit of peace.
The reporters came. Eddie was in a private room but every time the door opened he could see flashes of cameras, even from inside the curtain around his bed. Chuck came in and told him that the new guy, Trevor, was standing outside the door.
It's not such a big goddamn deal, Eddie told himself. Hell, this was the last season anyway. It's no fucking loss. Told himself that and ignored the tears sliding over his cheeks. It's not so bad. Chuck dropped his eyes, patted his leg and said he'd be back, he had to go feed the vultures. When he opened the door to go out, Eddie could hear reporters already firing questions at him.
A doctor came in and told him what he already knew. No more pitching. Surgery was needed, physiotherapy once his arm was out of the cast to get most of the range of movement back. Eddie nodded and asked when he could go home.
He wished Jason was there and then remembered, feeling so stupid, that Jason was in Essex, Jason might've been even worse off than him.
Chuck drove Eddie back to his house and was going to come in to keep an eye on him. Eddie was pretty out of it on the pain meds they'd given him at the hospital but he still stiffened when Trevor half carried him inside the house. He could've walked but then Trevor wouldn't have had the chance to gloat about how good it was hearing bones snap.
Eddie fingered the cell phone in his pocket and waited. Maybe Trevor thought Eddie was cowed by what he'd done and was too afraid to try anything, maybe he thought Eddie was too tired and drugged up to do anything, but he didn't watch him as closely. As soon as Trevor was out of hearing distance, Eddie made the call. Called Jason's boss Evan and told him in a slurred voice where Jason was, what was going on, how they'd hurt Jason if they knew he was doing this and Jason couldn't get hurt, okay? Eddie needed Jason.
And then he waited again.
He couldn't practise pitching to distract himself anymore. Not with one arm in a cast, not with pins in his elbow, not when it only varied from dull aching to sharp pains. No numbness for Eddie. It felt too good. He'd taken a couple of the pain pills but it was too tempting to keep taking them.
There was just waiting. Waiting and imagining how this could all go wrong, how Jason could be hurt because of what he did, how he could be killed.
Another man came, a Russian. He introduced himself sotto voice and Eddie nodded, forgetting his name immediately and pointing to the next room where Trevor was watching television. He sat and listened to Trevor scream and felt sick. Flexed his arm and replaced the nausea with pain. It wasn't much improvement.
It lasted a long time, or at least seemed that way to Eddie.
The man took Trevor, still alive, out to his car and stuffed him into the trunk. Came back and said they had Jason, he was safe and would be back in the country as soon as possible. Eddie nodded again and waited for the man to go.
He watched old games, ached and wanted so desperately to take just one of the meds so he wouldn't care that he'd never ever feel as pure as he did when he was pitching a good game, that waiting for Jason to reappear was like being on the rack. He went to see more doctors and when he came back from one, Jason was home.
Jason was back. Jason was back and safe and nothing was the same anymore.