Chapter Nineteen
One of the most important lessons Razor got from her mother was how to navigate the highs and lows of life.
She remembered one night when she was five years old, and she’d sleepily stumbled down the hall to find her mom at the dining table, crying and praying.
Like any good daughter, Razor sat down beside her and pulled her into a hug.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” she’d asked. “Why are you sad?”
Her mom had pulled back and clarified. “I’m not sad. I’m worried.”
Razor finally noticed the papers strewn on the table, some with big red letters reading past due. She didn’t know much about bills and payments at the time, but she knew enough that big, red lettering wasn’t a good sign.
“Is this why you were praying?”
Her mom nodded. “I asked God to show me that I was doing the right thing.”
“And did he answer?”
Her mom looked at the papers and exhaled long. “Not yet, sweetie. But he will. This is just one low I have to endure. Because in the lows, there are lessons that allow us to truly appreciate the highs.”
That was all she said before straightening all the papers and helping Razor back to bed.
A few weeks later, her mom got a good job working in administration at the local hospital, and all the red bills went away.
Her mom’s prayer had been answered. Same thing again when her mom decided to leave her job and buy Slugfest. The beginning was rough, but Mom always said The good days are coming.
A week later, the plan for the new highway was announced.
From then on, whenever Razor had a bad day or a bad week—sometimes a bad month—she’d think about her mom’s words: There’s going to be highs and lows in life, sweetie.
As bad as something feels, it’s going to get better, I promise.
And she was right. Bad was always followed by good.
Unfortunately, Mom didn’t mention that good was also followed by bad.
The week after she and Summer had mutinied turned out to be stellar.
From having dinner with Ashton, to all week in practice, it was if the stars were aligning, finally, to reward them with the success they’d worked so hard for.
The good vibe continued into Henderson for a weekend series.
The whole team was pumped to see how she and Summer utilized their new autonomy in a game situation.
Even Nancy appeared supportive. When they went into the seventh with a 4–1 lead, Razor was feeling about as good as she’d felt all season.
And then, darkness.
Razor’s chest felt tight. She couldn’t breathe. Her ears rang. What the hell happened?
“Razor!”
Someone yelled her name. The voice sounded distant and echoey.
Razor slowly opened her eyes to see Ashton’s face framed in a halo of gold. She looked like an angel. An angel whose face was etched with concern.
Razor moved to sit up and was immediately forced back down. She saw Ashton’s hands on her chest. That explained the pressure. She tried to sit up again. This time she groaned as pain roared through her torso.
“Stop moving. You’ll injure yourself more.”
Ashton’s voice was firm and authoritative. Razor wanted to assure her she was okay, but the exertion of her previous action left her breathless.
“What happened?” she gasped.
Ashton pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Runner charged home and cleated you in the ribs. You hit your head on the dirt.”
She sighed. Now she remembered. The runner tried to steal home on a sac fly and came in hard, meeting Razor at the plate as she caught the ball.
She wiggled her fingers under her glove and felt the ridges of the seams. Thank God she’d hung on.
She tried to roll onto her side, but Ashton’s hands pressed harder into her chest.
“I told you to stop moving. The ambulance is on its way.”
“I don’t need an ambulance.”
“Yes, you do. You may have broken ribs and a possible concussion. Just lie still, please.”
Razor relented and lay back down. She looked toward the dugout and noticed all the concerned stares.
Summer was crying while Harper consoled her.
Courtney talked animatedly to the umpire, probably giving him an earful about why it was illegal to come in cleats up.
Sirens pierced her brain. Soon, the sound of wheels on dirt and the appearance of two paramedics drew everyone’s attention.
Ashton moved out of their way but stayed close.
Razor answered their questions and waited patiently as they went through their checklists.
“What happened here today?” a paramedic asked as he slipped the stethoscope under Razor’s chest guard.
“I held on to the ball. That means we won,” she whispered.
He laughed and wrapped the stethoscope around his neck. “I mean how did you get hurt?”
Ashton stepped forward. “A runner slid into home plate. The cleats hit her in the side, and she hit her head on the ground.”
The paramedic nodded and felt around Razor’s left side.
“Does that hurt?”
She winced when he squeezed. “Are you serious?”
He smiled.
“Razor, he needs verbal confirmation,” Ashton said.
“Fine. Yes, it hurts.”
He stood up and addressed Ashton and Courtney. “I don’t think her ribs are broken, but we’ll take some X-rays to be certain, as well as check for concussion.”
“I understand. Thank you,” Courtney replied.
He squatted back down.
“We’re going to take you to the urgent care down the road. If everything is okay, you’ll be released into the care of your coach.”
“Fine,” Razor huffed.
Ashton and Courtney carefully removed Razor’s gear, and then the paramedics loaded her onto the stretcher and proceeded to fill out the field report.
“I’m going with her,” Ashton stated. “She shouldn’t be alone.”
Courtney nodded. “You’re right. Go and keep me updated.”
The paramedics finished their paperwork, then quickly rolled her off the field. A round of applause went up from the crowd as they exited to the waiting ambulance. When Razor was loaded up and settled, Ashton clasped her hand.
“Sorry I got hurt.”
Ashton shrugged. “It happens.”
“Sorry you got stuck with me.”
Ashton pushed the hair back from Razor’s face and caressed her cheek. “I’m not.”
Razor smiled. “There you go, touching me again.”
If there was a response, Razor didn’t hear it. She let the light fade and closed her eyes to rest.
* * *
Six hours passed from the time they’d left the field until Razor was discharged with a diagnosis of bruised ribs and a mild concussion and an instruction sheet on concussion symptoms, plus a prescription for arnica.
Ashton ran to the pharmacy next door to grab her prescription, and they arrived back at the hotel in time for the team dinner.
Even though Razor was still in a lot of pain, she hung out long enough to eat some soup and learn about the 6–2 loss in the second game.
Back in her room, Razor stood at the bathroom mirror in her sports bra and boy shorts, studying the bruises on her rib cage.
She pressed her fingertips on the sensitive flesh and winced at the same time as the electronic beep signaled the lock on her hotel room door had been disengaged.
Summer appeared in the doorway with a plastic bag full of ice.
“I got you an ice pack.”
“Thanks.”
Razor reached for the bag and clenched her teeth as pain traveled down her side. Summer rushed in and steadied her, then placed the bag on the counter.
“Need some help?”
Razor nodded, unable to form words over the searing pain.
Summer grabbed the ACE bandage and ice off the counter and held the pack under Razor’s breast while she wrapped it up. By the time they finished, the ice had completely numbed the injury, giving Razor a reprieve to breathe without pain.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
The timbre of Summer’s voice caught Razor’s attention. She’d been quiet the past few days, ever since she and Ashton ran into her and Harper at Pizza Chef.
“What’s on your mind, Summer?” Razor caught her eye in the mirror’s reflection as she tidied up the counter.
“Nothing. Why?”
“I don’t know. You seem a little down lately. Everything okay at home?”
“Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
“Schoolwork? Any issues with classes?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“What about Harper? Everything okay there?”
Summer dropped her toothbrush into the sink. Their eyes met in the mirror again, and the emotional turmoil tugged at Razor’s heart.
“Why would you ask that?” Summer whispered.
“You seemed nervous the other night at Pizza Chef. Did y’all have a fight?”
Summer’s gaze dropped to the counter. “You could say that,” she mumbled, then turned abruptly. “Do you need me to hang around tonight?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“My biology midterm is coming up, and I’d planned to study with Harper. But if you need me to stay, I can.”
Razor studied her. “Do you really need to study? Or do you need to apologize?”
Summer hugged her torso and looked away. “Both.”
Her body language was tense, and Razor felt if she pushed any more, it would result in a blowup, so she just nodded. “You do what you need to do. But can you help me to bed first?”
Summer sprang into action and helped Razor get settled with pillows propped, remote in hand, and Tylenol on the nightstand.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. Now go.”
Summer gave a thumbs-up and banged the door shut in her haste.
Razor leaned back gingerly against the pillows and willed her body to relax. She hoped Summer and Harper resolved their issues. And if she had to subject herself to HGTV for it to happen…
She clicked on the television and saw a bald guy on the screen talking about renovating a hotel in the Bahamas. Letting the sounds of the ocean and soothing music seep into her brain, she sank farther into the pillows and let the chaos of the day fade away.
* * *
Ashton sat on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. She should be studying, or grading the latest assignments from her classes, or even going over the instructions emailed to her by the IRB and her dissertation chair.
But she knew she wouldn’t be able to focus on any of it.
All she could focus on was the nightmarish image of Razor lying motionless on the ground.
She’d sprinted out of the dugout, panicked. She knew she must’ve looked hysterical, but she didn’t care. She’d stopped just short of crying in the urgent care exam room and managed to stay professional. But now, alone in her room, she sobbed uncontrollably.
It’s okay. Razor is fine.
The mantra seemed to work. Her breathing evened out, and her tears subsided. Then a knock on the door jolted her.
“Just a minute,” she shouted.
Ashton crawled off the bed and grabbed her backpack out of her chair in search of a Kleenex when she heard a distinct rattle.
Confused, she shook the bag to confirm the sound, unzipped the larger compartment, and dug the telltale prescription bag out from the bottom.
Sure enough, she had Razor’s ointment and hospital grade ibuprofen. Damn.
The knocking at the door resumed, more insistently now. Ashton dropped the backpack, grabbed her room key, headed toward the door, and found Nancy on the other side.
“Hey,” Ashton said, surprised to see her there.
“Hey yourself. I wanted to see how you were doing. You were pretty upset after Razor went down.”
Ashton felt heat in her cheeks and studied her shoes. “I feel embarrassed by my reaction. Running out like I was out of control.”
“It’s a good thing you did with how long Razor was unconscious,” Nancy said. “I thought you could use a distraction. Maybe head to the bar downstairs?”
Ashton slumped against the door. “I’d love to, but I forgot to give Razor her meds, and she’s definitely going to want them soon.”
“Okay. I’ll go with you, and we can head down to the bar afterward.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just meet you there. Should be a quick in and out because I’m sure Razor isn’t up for visitors right now.”
Nancy chuckled. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Okay, I’ll see you down there.”
“Great.”
Ashton watched Nancy walk down the hall, then quickly left in the other direction.
The whole elevator ride up, she justified her actions as a concerned coach making sure Razor was okay.
That partial truth worked until she stood outside Razor’s door, when images of Razor lying motionless on the dirt seeped back in and all the rationalizing was gone.
She had to see Razor. Alive and well. Period.