Chapter 25 #2
However, as soon as I walk in, I want to turn around and go back to my apartment.
It’s so dark I can barely see my hand in front of me and the place smells like stale beer.
The women are dressed in heels and tight clothing while the bar is filled with men wearing hockey or football jerseys.
I spot a few New York Lions jerseys and smile when I see Guerrero's name on the back. He took the news that I’m seeing Casey pretty well.
He hasn’t tried to call or text me since.
Despite his flirty ways, he was always a gentleman.
“Sage!” Lily calls from across the room. She’s sitting at a table with four other women. She waves me over and introduces me to her friends. “We ordered some apps, they should be here soon.”
“Sounds great.” I hang my knit purse over my chair and take a subtle look at the women at the table.
Everyone is under thirty, but they look a lot older.
Well, not exactly older, maybe more sophisticated with their blazers over jeans and blouses.
One girl is even wearing a tight black dress and Louboutin heels. Maybe she came straight from work.
“Excuse me,” I say to the server. “Can you ask the manager to put the L.A. Jets game on?”
“Sure, just give me a minute.”
“So, what do you do?” asks one of Lily’s friends. I don’t recall her name but she’s the one wearing the black dress.
“Oh, um, I work with Lily at the hospital.”
“Yeah, she mentioned that. But what do you do at the hospital?”
“I’m a research assistant in the physical therapy department.”
“She’s more than that,” says Lily. “She’s Dr. Liu’s favorite. He asks for her opinion more often than some of the doctors on our floor.”
Lily’s friend raises her eyebrows, and she takes a sip of her Dirty Martini. “I’m a lawyer,” she says. “If you ever need representation, Lily knows where to find me.” Then she looks me up and down. “But I get the feeling you don’t get into much trouble.”
No. That would be Frankie. But I thank her anyway.
The bartender changes the channel, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest. Casey’s face is on the screen, not live, just his picture.
The commentators are talking about this being his first game back from a major injury and everyone is unsure if he’ll be able to pitch the way he did before he left.
“It’s not easy to come back after being away for so long,” says the one in the blue suit.
“I think Tucker’s going to have a hard time tonight, if the coaches even let him play. ”
“You’re really into the game, huh?” asks another of Lily’s friends. I nod, not taking my eyes off the screen. “That man could take my panties off with just one look from those icy blues.”
I don’t dare to tell her that his lips are so much better than his eyes. “They’re nice,” I say instead.
“So, where do you live?” asks the lawyer. I still can’t remember her name.
“Oh, I’m over in SoHo.”
Again, those darn eyebrows rise. “SoHo? Really? Lily tells me you’re from a small town. Didn’t expect you to be living in SoHo.”
“Where did you expect me to live?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“Oh, I don’t know. The rent for a tiny New York apartment is a lot higher than most houses in Upstate New York.”
I couldn’t say if that was true or not, but I don’t think she cares about being corrected. “Well, I guess I got lucky.”
“I guess you did.”
She bites into one of the olives and slides it into her mouth with her teeth.
I ignore her stare and focus back on the game instead.
The appetizers arrive shortly afterward, and I don’t bother with any of them.
The game is a close one and many of the other bar patrons have gotten into it now too.
The ladies order their mains and I order one too.
By the time the food arrives, it’s the bottom of the seventh and the commentators are talking about Casey again.
“Coach has him warming up. I don’t know, Tim. I still don’t think this is a good idea.”
“I agree with you, Dennis. I think putting Tucker in a must win situation might be too much for a guy who’s been on the Injury List for nearly three months.”
“Shit, if the Jets put Tucker in, they’re idiots,” says one of the guys at the bar. “He hasn’t played since that ball knocked him out cold. Scariest shit I’ve seen in a long time.”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t do it, either,” says his friend. “They should put Garcia in. At least he’s healthy.”
Casey is healthy, I want to scream but bite my nails instead. Come on, baby. You’ve got this.
But the guys are right and the coach puts Garcia in instead of Casey. His face doesn’t show it, but I know he must be disappointed.
“Sage, do you want some dessert?” asks Lily.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
“You would think you’ve got money on this game or something,” says one of the women.
I don’t have money on this game. I have something much more valuable than that invested. My heart.
It’s the top of the ninth inning. If Garcia can get these three batters out, the game is over and the Jets go on to play in the World Series.
But the first batter Garcia faces hits the ball hard into center field for a base hit. He doesn’t have much luck with the second batter either as he hits a double into left field. Fortunately, he strikes out the next guy but then walks the one after that.
“Shit. Garcia isn’t looking good. They should pull him out.”
The coach signals the bullpen and the crowd goes wild. He’s calling on Casey to pitch.
“Well, we’re about to find out if Tucker is ready to play in the big leagues again,” says one of the commentators. “There’s probably never been a bigger moment than this in his career.”
The lights in the Jets’ stadium go down and Casey’s pitching song comes on. He doesn’t jog out of the bullpen but walks confidently to the mound instead. He’s taking his time, grounding himself, and preparing for this moment. Just like we talked about.
I practice some mindful breathing and hope I don’t pass out while I watch Casey pitch.
Garcia has put the team in a bad position. The bases are loaded and only one out. If Casey lets even one run in, the Jets will have to tie it up in the bottom of the ninth. But if he can get two outs here, they win and go to the World Series.
“Come on,” I whisper.
“Are the Jets winning?” asks Lily. “That’s who you’re rooting for, right?”
“They are. They just have to hold onto their lead.”
After a few warmup pitches, the umpire signals for the next batter. He stares down Casey and Casey doesn’t flinch. His shoulders are straight, his focus is unwavering; he looks ready.
“And here comes the first pitch from Casey Tucker, and it’s a strike,” shouts the commentator.
“Yeah, that’s a pretty good fastball right there,” says the other commentator.
Casey throws the next pitch, and the batter fouls it off. “Oh, that one was close. Any closer to the middle and that ball would have left the ballpark. I think Tucker may have gotten lucky with that one.”
Casey gets ready for the next pitch. It’s a 0-2 count. The batter must swing and not risk looking at strike three, a cardinal sin in baseball even in little league.
“Here comes the next pitch… a ground ball to short… Vesia is out at second… and can they turn this into a double play? Yes, they get Green out at first.”
“Yes!” I scream while jumping out of my chair. A few guys at the bar look back at me but I don’t care. Casey did it. He got them out of the inning with only four pitches. Incredible.
“Does this mean they won?” asks Lily.
“Yes,” I say, nearly breathless. “They won. And they’re going to the World Series.”