Chapter 23 #2
Then I reached over and grabbed the phone next to the bed, even though it made me a little dizzy; I dialed my mom’s number first. When she didn’t answer, I left her a voice mail, and then called my dad who I knew would have been watching the game at home.
Dad could have been in church and still found a way to watch my game. He always did.
“Hello?” he practically shouted into the phone.
“Dad, it’s me, Sal.”
That time he did yell, away from the phone at least, saying something that sounded like “It’s her!” in Spanish. “Are you okay?” he asked in that worried tone only fathers were capable of.
“Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just a concussion,” I assured him.
He spat out some more curse words in Spanish, and I could faintly hear my mom in the background telling him to control himself. “I almost fainted, you can ask your mom,” he exaggerated. “You’re really okay? No brain damage?”
“No brain damage, I promise I’m all right. I wanted to call and tell you before you booked a plane ticket here. I’ll survive.”
Dad let out an audible exhale. “Gracias a Dios. You get that hardhead from your mother—”
Mom screeched something in the background, and I had to fight the urge to laugh.
“Save your jokes for tomorrow. I don’t have my phone on me, but I’ll make sure to call you as soon as I get my things back.
If you need anything, I’m staying at the…
” I looked around and gave him the name of the hospital printed on the whiteboard in front of the bed.
“I really am okay though, so don’t worry, and tell Mom I tried to call her, but she didn’t answer. ”
“Si, está bien. Call me as soon as they release you. I love you. If you need me, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I smiled on the other end. “Thanks, Dad. Love you. Bye.”
My dad said goodbye in return, and we hung up.
With nothing else to do, I turned on the television and watched what was left of a movie about house-sized tarantulas.
About an hour later, a few knocks tapped at the door before I heard who could only be Harlow and Jenny arguing on the other side.
They, and by “they” I meant Harlow, didn’t wait for me to welcome them inside.
The defender pushed the door open and strolled in the room, followed by Jenny and three of my other teammates.
Har looked around the room. “This is fancy.”
“Hi, Har, Jenny.” I greeted the other girls who came along with them too.
Jenny came to sit on the bed with big bright eyes. “You scared the devil out of me.” She grabbed my hand gently. “I thought you were dead.”
Harlow chuffed as she sat by my feet and let the other girls take the chairs. “I knew you were fine.”
“They told us you have a concussion,” one of the girls said.
“A moderate one,” I told them.
The wince was visible around the room. They all knew what it meant, and none of them tried to feed me kind words. The situation sucked.
“Yeah, it blows.” I sighed. “I’m not even going to bother asking if I’m playing the next game; it’ll just piss me off when they tell me ‘no’ to my face.”
Jenny squeezed my hand. “What matters is that you’re okay. Did they make sure you don’t have any hemorrhaging?”
How could you not smile at that?
The girls stayed for almost an hour, making me smile and fight back laughs as we joked around about random things that had nothing to do with the Pipers.
They finally promised to see me the next day, if I was on time for the flight, and Jenny assured me she had taken my things back to our room.
As they got up and started to head out, Harlow leaned in and whispered, “You want me to do something about Mel?”
Oh dear God.
I patted her cheek and totally lost it. “No, Har. It’s all right. Thank you.”
She eyed me. “If you’re sure….”
“I’m sure. Thanks though, I really do appreciate it.”
Harlow eyed me suspiciously as she walked out, as if expecting me to change my mind and ask her to exact vengeance on my behalf.
I suddenly realized I wouldn’t just be leaving the Pipers.
For the first time since I’d decided I didn’t have any choice but to go somewhere else, the reality of leaving two of my closest friends for the last few years really got to me.
Having to make new friends and get in well with new teammates wasn’t that daunting. I’d done it over and over again throughout my life, but if I stayed with the WPL, I wouldn’t get to play with them anymore anyway, would I?
I swallowed the melancholy down and reminded myself that I needed to do what was best for me. Right.
“Knock, knock,” Gardner called out in the middle of pushing the door open.
“Come in,” I called out.
His graying head was the first thing I noticed. He was still wearing the same suit and tie from the game.
I kept an eye on the door, expecting Kulti to come in after him, but there was no one there. Well, that was disappointing.
“I’m happy to see your head is still attached,” he said gently, taking a seat.
I smiled at him, only halfway feeling it. Since the Franz thing, I hadn’t been sure how to act around Gardner. I doubted he knew, and I especially doubted he had anything to do with their decision to trade me, but there was no way to know for sure. “Hey, thanks for coming.”
“I had to come check on you, kid. Phyllis and everyone else send their best wishes.” But they hadn’t wanted to come. Okay. It wasn’t like I wanted them to visit anyway. “How are you feeling?”
I shrugged my shoulders lightly. “Fine. A little frustrated, but it’s okay.”
“I wouldn’t expect any different from you.” He grinned.
“Tell me how the game went,” I asked.
Gardner only stayed for a bit. He kept eyeing his watch until he finally sat up straight.
“I need to get going; there’s a few things I need to do before we leave tomorrow.
The hospital staff knows to give me a ring once they know for sure when you’re getting released, but give me a call too so that we have someone here to pick you up. ”
“Write your number down for me, will you? Jenny has my cell.”
He jotted it down on the same paper Sheena had used earlier. “Feel better. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He left, and I was alone again.
I didn’t let myself think of Kulti and why he hadn’t come to check on me yet.
I watched a little more television, grateful I actually could without my head hurting worse, had a visit from a nurse, and finally gave up hope that the German was coming to check on me around eight o’clock.
I mean, we were just friends. He wasn’t my boyfriend or anything.
Plus, I was sure he’d found out from someone else that I was fine.
I got off the bed and headed to the bathroom where I showered, put on the same underwear and scrubs they’d let me wear since I’d declined a gown, and went back out.
The instant the bathroom door opened, I knew someone else was in the room.
I could see the green and black running shoes on the mattress.
Sure enough, in the chair closest to the bed was a surly, scowling German with his feet propped up, a fruit bouquet on his lap, and the remote on the armrest. The television was set to the Sports Network. Kulti’s head, the hair still as closely cut as always, turned slowly in my direction.
“Taco,” he greeted me.
“Berlin.” I rounded the chair and went to sit on the edge of the bed, facing him.
Kulti’s lids were low as he regarded my face, plucking a piece of star-shaped pineapple from the big bouquet on his lap.
He didn’t look amused or particularly happy to see me either.
“What’s your problem?” I asked him when he continued staring.
He crossed one foot over the other, put a strawberry in his mouth, and kept right on scrutinizing me.
All right. I eyed what was left of the fruit. “Did you bring that for me?”
Those green-brown eyes stayed steady as he took a piece of kale, put it between his lips, and chewed.
When I stuck my hand out to pluck a chocolate-covered strawberry, he moved the bouquet out of my reach.
“Seriously?”
He blinked.
“What’s up your butt?” I asked.
He swallowed the kale in his mouth and kept his face even. “I called you.”
It was my turn to blink. “I was too busy being carted out on a stretcher to drop by the locker room and grab my phone,” I deadpanned.
“I see.” He put a piece of pineapple in his mouth.
“Is that why you’re mad?”
“I’m not mad.”
“You’re mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
“Rey, I’m not blind. You’re pissed off. Just tell me what you’re mad about. The team won.”
Kulti turned, set the arrangement on the table behind him, and sat back sniffling drily. His eyes flicked up to the television screen, and his nostrils flared as he tipped his chin up. “Look.”
I had to turn my entire body toward the television mounted up on the wall. The two familiar anchors for Sports Room were going through their highlights of the day. I caught the end of number four: an amazing double play during a baseball game.
“Number three today is from a Women’s Professional League game. Sal Casillas, of the Houston Pipers, took the term ‘header’ to a different level during a second round playoff game.”
The clip began with me jumping, surrounded by three opposing players. It showed Melanie, the girl who had elbowed me, circling around at the last minute and jumping up high too. Then it happened.
Holy crap, my head hurt at the replay of her arm shooting back and my head snapping forward, followed by the shot of me crumbling to the ground like I was dead.
“Oooh,” one of the anchor’s disembodied voice filled in the action. “That hurt me.”
The footage kept going, showing Melanie being shoved away by Harlow as a referee ran up to see what was happening.
Out of the corner of the screen, two male bodies were seen running onto the field, one overpowering the other in less than a second, long legs pumping faster and faster in a sprint that could have set a world record.
The man slid to his knees across the turf, hunching over the body—me—on the ground.