All Wound Up
Page 81
It was bad enough he’d totally fucked up his personal life. He at least needed to get his professional one back on track.
Grant had texted and told him that he and Katrina and the kids were coming to the game, so he’d at least have family in his corner tonight.
And right now, that counted for something.
AUBRY REFUSED TO LOOK AT THE CLOCK. THEY’D HAD several emergencies come in, she’d been running from room to room, and time had gotten away from her. She and Katie barely had time to exchange looks of utter agony as their hands were filled with broken bones, cuts and abrasions from a multi-vehicle accident.
Fortunately, there were no fatalities. By the time they had everyone either discharged or admitted, she was exhausted. She grabbed something to drink and stepped into the break room, where a couple of the attendings and some of the residents had tonight’s baseball game on television.
Tucker was pitching. It was the top of the fifth inning. She was still torn about going to the game.
What was he going to say to her that hadn’t already been said?
Or, rather, not said? He’d made his feelings and his choices abundantly clear to her. And despite the pain in her heart, deep down she understood.
Career came first. It had to. He was building his career, and she had gotten in the way.
Of course she first and foremost blamed her father for interfering in her life, but when push came to shove, the decision had been Tucker’s.
But then again, she wanted closure, and maybe that’s what Tucker was looking to give her.
The official breakup conversation.
No. He wouldn’t do that at the stadium. He’d come to her house to break up with her. She might not understand a lot of things about him, but she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t officially break up with her at the Rivers’ stadium.
Which made her wonder why he wanted her to come to the game? What did he want to talk about that couldn’t wait?
She tried to sit in one of the corner chairs just to catch a breath and hydrate, but the announcer talked about the pitches Tucker was throwing, how every one of his curveballs was hitting the mark. Part of her tuned it out, but another part of her glanced at the score and realized the Rivers were up by two runs.
And they were in the top of the fifth inning, and the other team hadn’t had a hit yet.
She stood, slowly making her way toward the television.
“What do you think, Aubry?” David asked her. “Do you think it’s possible that Cassidy will throw a—”
She stopped him before he could get the words out. “Oh, my God, David. Don’t say it. It’s bad luck.”
“You don’t really believe in that, do you?” Dr. Chen asked.
He’d barely acknowledged her outside of their interactions during the workday. And she’d certainly never stood side by side with him watching a baseball game.
“In medicine? No. In baseball? Absolutely. So if you’d like Tucker to . . . you know, then no one say a word about it. You can think it and hope for it in your minds, but for God’s sake, don’t say it out loud.”
And for the very first time in—ever—Dr. Chen smiled at her.
She started toward the other room where the lockers were located, but stopped at the doorway. “I’m out for the night.”
“Headed to the ballpark to catch the rest of the game?” one of the residents asked.
She didn’t even try to hide it. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t want to miss this.”
She and Tucker might be on the outs. They might even be over. But if there was even a chance he would . . . you know . . . there was no way she wouldn’t be there to support him.
She hurriedly changed clothes and dashed to her car, grateful the hospital wasn’t too far from the stadium and that she had a pass for VIP parking. She showed her pass to the gate attendant, then went downstairs instead of up. There were always extra seats available where the staff and wives sat above the batter’s box. That’s where she wanted to sit tonight.
She didn’t want to sit in the owner’s box. One, because her father was there. Two, because she wanted to sit with the crowd, to feel that anticipation, that level of excitement with everyone in the stadium, instead of being removed from it.
She said a quick hello to everyone, then found herself a vacant seat in between Liz Riley and Shawnelle Coleman.
“I thought you’d be in the owner’s box with my dad,” she said to Liz.
“The action’s better down here. And . . . you know,” she said, motioning to the field with her head. “There’s some exciting action going on out there.”
“Yes, I saw it from the lounge at the hospital. I got here as fast as I could.”
“You’re here at the best time,” Shawnelle said. “It’s getting really good now. He’s given up a few walks so far tonight, but not . . . the other thing.”
She’d missed an inning and the other team still hadn’t had a hit. She swallowed hard as she felt the anticipation and excitement of the crowd, but there was also a kind of revered hush, as if the crowd didn’t want to do anything to mess up Tucker’s concentration. Baseball fans knew what was happening—what could happen—but they also knew not to say the words out loud, not even to each other in the stands. No one wanted to jinx Tucker.
Tucker took the mound at the top of the seventh and Aubry tried to gauge his mood as he warmed up, wondering if he was tense or if there was anything else on his mind. She recalled their text conversation before the game, actually pulled out her phone to look it over, hoping she hadn’t said anything to upset him.
Grant had texted and told him that he and Katrina and the kids were coming to the game, so he’d at least have family in his corner tonight.
And right now, that counted for something.
AUBRY REFUSED TO LOOK AT THE CLOCK. THEY’D HAD several emergencies come in, she’d been running from room to room, and time had gotten away from her. She and Katie barely had time to exchange looks of utter agony as their hands were filled with broken bones, cuts and abrasions from a multi-vehicle accident.
Fortunately, there were no fatalities. By the time they had everyone either discharged or admitted, she was exhausted. She grabbed something to drink and stepped into the break room, where a couple of the attendings and some of the residents had tonight’s baseball game on television.
Tucker was pitching. It was the top of the fifth inning. She was still torn about going to the game.
What was he going to say to her that hadn’t already been said?
Or, rather, not said? He’d made his feelings and his choices abundantly clear to her. And despite the pain in her heart, deep down she understood.
Career came first. It had to. He was building his career, and she had gotten in the way.
Of course she first and foremost blamed her father for interfering in her life, but when push came to shove, the decision had been Tucker’s.
But then again, she wanted closure, and maybe that’s what Tucker was looking to give her.
The official breakup conversation.
No. He wouldn’t do that at the stadium. He’d come to her house to break up with her. She might not understand a lot of things about him, but she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t officially break up with her at the Rivers’ stadium.
Which made her wonder why he wanted her to come to the game? What did he want to talk about that couldn’t wait?
She tried to sit in one of the corner chairs just to catch a breath and hydrate, but the announcer talked about the pitches Tucker was throwing, how every one of his curveballs was hitting the mark. Part of her tuned it out, but another part of her glanced at the score and realized the Rivers were up by two runs.
And they were in the top of the fifth inning, and the other team hadn’t had a hit yet.
She stood, slowly making her way toward the television.
“What do you think, Aubry?” David asked her. “Do you think it’s possible that Cassidy will throw a—”
She stopped him before he could get the words out. “Oh, my God, David. Don’t say it. It’s bad luck.”
“You don’t really believe in that, do you?” Dr. Chen asked.
He’d barely acknowledged her outside of their interactions during the workday. And she’d certainly never stood side by side with him watching a baseball game.
“In medicine? No. In baseball? Absolutely. So if you’d like Tucker to . . . you know, then no one say a word about it. You can think it and hope for it in your minds, but for God’s sake, don’t say it out loud.”
And for the very first time in—ever—Dr. Chen smiled at her.
She started toward the other room where the lockers were located, but stopped at the doorway. “I’m out for the night.”
“Headed to the ballpark to catch the rest of the game?” one of the residents asked.
She didn’t even try to hide it. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t want to miss this.”
She and Tucker might be on the outs. They might even be over. But if there was even a chance he would . . . you know . . . there was no way she wouldn’t be there to support him.
She hurriedly changed clothes and dashed to her car, grateful the hospital wasn’t too far from the stadium and that she had a pass for VIP parking. She showed her pass to the gate attendant, then went downstairs instead of up. There were always extra seats available where the staff and wives sat above the batter’s box. That’s where she wanted to sit tonight.
She didn’t want to sit in the owner’s box. One, because her father was there. Two, because she wanted to sit with the crowd, to feel that anticipation, that level of excitement with everyone in the stadium, instead of being removed from it.
She said a quick hello to everyone, then found herself a vacant seat in between Liz Riley and Shawnelle Coleman.
“I thought you’d be in the owner’s box with my dad,” she said to Liz.
“The action’s better down here. And . . . you know,” she said, motioning to the field with her head. “There’s some exciting action going on out there.”
“Yes, I saw it from the lounge at the hospital. I got here as fast as I could.”
“You’re here at the best time,” Shawnelle said. “It’s getting really good now. He’s given up a few walks so far tonight, but not . . . the other thing.”
She’d missed an inning and the other team still hadn’t had a hit. She swallowed hard as she felt the anticipation and excitement of the crowd, but there was also a kind of revered hush, as if the crowd didn’t want to do anything to mess up Tucker’s concentration. Baseball fans knew what was happening—what could happen—but they also knew not to say the words out loud, not even to each other in the stands. No one wanted to jinx Tucker.
Tucker took the mound at the top of the seventh and Aubry tried to gauge his mood as he warmed up, wondering if he was tense or if there was anything else on his mind. She recalled their text conversation before the game, actually pulled out her phone to look it over, hoping she hadn’t said anything to upset him.
