Play at the Plate

Author's Note: I was going to write nine chapters of this story. It felt right for a baseball story. But I decided I like the characters too much. So I wrote more. I'm sure you readers won't mind.

1. All characters are 18+

2. No characters resemble real people

3. Enjoy the fiction

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Baseball Ch. 9 - Play at the Plate

It was now mid-season of my fourth year with the LeHigh Valley IronPigs. I was the regular starting catcher, and Chuck the manager trusted me completely with his coaching staff. I had also become somewhat of a role model in the clubhouse, as I'd been to the majors for a few short stints now. It seemed the Phillies liked knowing I was waiting in the wings, though not enough to bring me up full time.

Casey was gradually taking over the front office. Bob was still the GM, but he was fully aware that Casey was the heir to his job. He mentored her in everything she needed to know, and she soaked up knowledge like a sponge. At only 25, she was destined to be one of the youngest female GMs in the history of professional sports.

We were also still engaged. I know, three years is a long engagement. Lani, Casey's best friend and soon-to-be maid of honor, was consistently on our cases to pick a date. "The longer you wait, the more ideas I'm going to come up with," she once said as a threat.

Lani was in a weird relationship herself. It started with that Gala date with Landon. She had originally called him a bore. Then they became friends. They'd chat at friendly events, like birthday or holiday parties. It took over a year for them to go out again. She still thought he was kinda boring, but it seemed like they were dating on-and-off, currently off. It was like watching a glacier move, especially when you compared it to my first few months with Casey.

I'd always known that there was a chance I'd be traded; not even Casey's father had any control over that. But by some luck, that hadn't happened yet. Even better, the two guys who despised me most were traded away. Jimmy Wilson, the backup catcher who was a general jerk to me, got sent to the Tigers organization. They assigned him to Double A, which must have done something to knock that chip off his shoulder. When I ran into him earlier this year, he was back in Triple A, playing for Toledo, and he was far friendlier to me than he'd ever been as my teammate.

Dirk Pence, our center fielder, was sent to Jacksonville. He was trying to make it into the majors but was blocked by three talented outfielders in the major league team in Miami. When I saw him earlier this year, he was still an asshole to me. That's fine, I don't need him to be my friend. I'd hear from other guys that even though he was a serial player and cheater, he really did like Lani and was pissed when he got dumped. It didn't take him a lot of brainwork for him to figure out I had a hand in exposing his out-of-town affairs, so he held that eternal grudge for me.

The other big organizational change for the IronPigs was that Mike Karnes, our seasoned veteran pitcher, had retired as a player. He had been passed up to the majors and back so many times we had all lost count. He was now the pitching coach, working under Chuck. Mike and I always got along, and the pitchers were thriving with him as their coach as me as their catcher.

----

My original tiny apartment had only been leased through October during my first season. In order to stay with Casey, she had me move in with her and Lani. But that made things slightly awkward between the two roommates. It didn't help that the two bedrooms were adjacent. Lani claimed at first that it didn't bother her, that she could barely hear us. Then she finally told Casey to "bite a goddamn pillow or something", and we knew it was bothering her.

So we got a new place, luckily enough, across the street from her old place. The building was newer. The bedrooms still had their own bathrooms, but they were on opposite ends of the apartment. Even better, there was a small den, separate from the living room, that allowed us to spread out and have more private space. Casey also declared that, with a sleeper sofa in there, it could serve as a guest room for when Morgan came to visit. She loved my sister, and that was yet another of the many reasons I loved her.

Mid-July, I got the call up to the majors again. It would be my fifth short trip in four years. Anything to help the team. Occasionally, I'd wish I could get traded, so I'd have a better shot at the major leagues full-time, but that would just complicate things with me and Casey, so I learned to put those wishes aside. I was truthfully happy. But still...

Casey was always sad to see me go, and always happy I had the chance. As she helped me pack, she reminded me of things she always reminds me of. "Remember to call me every night."

"Yup."

"And no going out to sleazy bars with sleazy women."

"Yes, dear."

Casey frowned at my sarcasm. We heard Lani laugh from the living area. "You guys are like an old married couple already. You nag him and he says 'yes dear.' Just marry him already."

"Well it'll have to wait a couple weeks at least," I said. "I'm flying to Miami today."

Lani appeared at the bedroom door. "Ooh. Can I come?" She looked to Casey. "Can we go to Miami?"

Casey sighed. "I wish. I have work to do."

"Yeah, I do too. But tomorrow's Friday! Can we fly down for the Saturday game?"

"No. I still have to work this weekend."

Lani shrugged. "I don't. You don't mind if I crash in your hotel room, right, Slugger?" she asked me, fully aware that Casey would not allow that.

Casey grabbed Lani's arm and led her away, pushing her out the door, and locking it. "How much time do you have before your flight," she asked me, licking her lips. She eyed me hungrily like a predator stalking its prey.

"I have to leave here in half an hour, and I still have more to pack."

"That's long enough," she said, coming at me.

"Long enough for what?" I said teasingly.

She pushed me onto the bed. "Long enough for me to remind you what you're coming home to." She kissed me, and shoved her hand into my shorts.

In no time, she had my pants at my ankles and had my dick in her mouth. She knew I thought it was hot to see her looking at me when she blew me, so that's what she did. I watched her pretty green eyes as her mouth worked her magic. "God, Casey, what did I do to deserve you," I groaned.

She stopped for just a moment. "Remember the first time I did this to you?"

"Yes, before that road trip. You made me swear to come back to you."

"I think it worked, didn't it?" She said smiling, jacking me with her right hand.

I pointed at her left hand, resting in my thigh, displaying the diamond ring. "Well I think I'm pretty invested by now."

"Would you like to come in my mouth?" she asked ever so sweetly. I nodded. "Swear it again."

"I promise to come back and love you, and fuck you, and marry you." I told her.

She put me back in her mouth and really sucked, pulling me into her throat. "Oh God," I moaned, and it didn't take long after that for me to spurt into her mouth. She licked me clean, then went to the bathroom to rinse her mouth. I pulled my pants back up, grabbed a few more things to pack, and was zipping up my bag when she returned.

"I love you," I told her. "When I get back, let's figure out our wedding."

She grinned. "I was hoping for exactly that. I love you too."

----

I arrived in Miami that evening and scheduled to play that Saturday. Some of the Phillies guys I already knew, either from my occasional stints or from when they were IronPigs. Ken Jackson and Drake Walters, two pitchers I'd worked with a lot in Triple A, had both been brought up and were doing fine with the big club. They greeted me as old friends.

"Did you hear who else is in town?" Ken asked on Friday night. "Our dear friend Dirk."

"Dirk Pence is here?"

He nodded. "Finally got the call up from the Marlins."

"Huh. I think he still hates me."

"Well yeah," he said. "I don't think anything can stop that now."

The few times I'd interacted with Dirk since his trade were at home plate during games. I'd be catching and he'd be at bat. He'd always look down on me with a sneer. I could tell that, if it weren't for the umpire standing behind me, he'd have some choice words for me. I always watched extra careful for those at-bats, making sure he didn't swing near my head.

Saturday night, I was batting eighth, right in front of the pitcher. I saw Dirk's name on the lineup for Miami, batting sixth and playing left field, not center. I guessed that the normal left fielder was hurt, or maybe having a day off. The previous night had been Dirk's major league debut, and he'd gone hitless. It was now my job to try to continue that streak.

I succeeded for at least the first half of the game. After seven innings, my Phillies were up by two runs, and Dirk was still hitless. He'd struck out, then flied out to right. Both times, he had sneered at me when he came to the plate, and I'd shrugged. It actually made me feel more at home.

In the eighth inning, Drake came in and fanned all three batters he faced, and pointed to me as he trotted off the mound. "You're the man."

"I'm just catching," I joked, "you're the one doing the work." His breaking balls had gotten better and better, and he was damn near unhittable. He was a potential prospect for the closer role next year.

In the ninth inning, still up by two, the Phillies manager brought in their closer. His fastball was electric... normally. Tonight was not so good. He walked his first batter. Then Dirk came up, sneered at me, and hit a single into left. His first major league hit, and it was off a guy who was normally on fire. I frowned, wondering how many people would blame me. It wasn't a good night.

I had a talk on the mound with him, but he was primarily a Spanish speaker, and his English wasn't so good. My Spanish was basic at best. I tried to calm him the best I could, and went back to the plate. He did strike out the next two hitters, so I guess maybe I did say something right.

That meant the ninth spot was up next, and as expected, the Marlins took out their pitcher for a pinch hitter. It was the normal left fielder, the guy Dirk was playing for. I guess he wasn't hurt after all. The home crowd of Miami went wild when his name was announced.

I got the pitcher to throw two fastballs. The first whizzed by the batter and into my glove, strike one. The second landed in the dirt and almost got by me.

I asked for a changeup next, and it turned out to be a mistake. Changeups are supposed to look like fastballs, but be slower, messing with the hitter's timing. This one did not look like a fastball. It looked like an obvious "hit me" pitch, and oh boy did it get hit. The bat cracked and the ball was rocketed to right-center.

The first runner easily scored from second. Nothing I could do there but watch. The batter was able to turn the corner at first and make it into second base. But Dirk...

Here's what happened, in slow motion. The Marlins' third base coach was throwing up the stop sign. Dirk completely ignored it. He'd always been a speedster. Maybe he thought he could show his worth by outrunning the throw and scoring from first base. Maybe he was greedy.

The ball was in the second baseman's glove as the batter slid into second. The tag there was not in time. But at the same time, Dirk was rounding third and heading for home.

The second baseman saw what was happening and threw to me, as I stood on the baseline, blocking home. I caught it and turned to see Dirk charging at me full speed.

It was at this point I thought I'd see his facial expression change. He might get a look of fear, realizing he'd made a mistake. That didn't happen. All I saw was aggression and confidence and power.

He charged into me, full speed, knocking me over. Because I'd just caught the ball a half second earlier, I must have been turned funny, with my left leg a little tilted. When he hit, his knee hit mine, and I felt a rip. I could almost hear it. I dropped the ball in sheer and utter pain, the kind of pain I'd never felt before, the kind of pain I wouldn't wish on my enemies.

Dirk crawled over me and tapped the plate with his hand. He was safe, and had tied the game. But none of that mattered. Even the home crowd ignored his win in the battle of our wills. There was a gasp by many of them, then they went silent.

There were suddenly two kinds of commotions on the field. One was the managers and trainers from the Phillies rushing to my aid, as I lay on my back, screaming. The other I was vaguely aware of, but I'd find out later it was a few of my teammates going after Dirk for dirty play. The benches had cleared, and lots of players had to hold each other back.

Ken was beside me, with the Phillies manager above me. The trainers put some kind of brace on my knee to stabilize it, then they lifted me onto a cart and wheeled me off the field. One of the trainers rode with me, and whispered, "The crowd is still quiet. Wave to them if you're okay."

I wasn't okay. I didn't wave.

----

Casey took the first available flight to Miami. She arrived early Sunday morning, before visitors were even allowed in. They opened the doors at 6 AM, and she was at my bedside at 6:01. She was clearly a mess. She'd been crying, still wearing the clothes she'd worn the day before. In some ways, she was worse off than I was. She begged me for forgiveness for not being there. It made me chuckle in my drug-numbed state, as there was no possible way for her to get to me any faster.

Technically, my mother was still my next-of-kin, and she'd gotten a call last night. But the Phillies management knew about my relationship with Casey and called her too. Casey had been in communication with my mother and Morgan on her way down. The team was willing to put Casey up in a hotel, but Casey hadn't yet taken them up on her offer. She'd been waiting outside for over an hour until they let her in.

Once we were together again, I relaxed and she was able to calm down. But the moment didn't last long. At 7:00, I was rolled into surgery, leaving Casey in my room. (One upside to getting hurt in the major leagues, you get the best medical care and private hospital rooms.) After surgery, the doctor returned after I'd awoke, and delivered his prognosis. I'll save you the medical details. He didn't think I'd ever play catcher again.

Casey screamed at him. A nurse had to take her away. It was really scary. When she was in the hall, I did ask for a second opinion. I felt I had to. Like Casey, I wasn't ready to believe that. I wasn't ready to give up on my dreams at the age of 26.

Long story short, we went to the Cleveland Clinic, one of the best hospitals in the country, and I had another surgery. Mom and Morgan met us there, and JJ Wentworth even made a flight to visit. The doctor there was more willing to hear us out.

"Here's the facts," she told us. "Your knee was really damaged. It's going to heal, and it's going to take a long time. The more rest you get, the faster it will heal. You're not going to be cleared to do any kind of running or lower-body physical exercise for months."

I nodded. "But maybe I can be ready to play this spring?"

"I doubt it. Even if everything heals perfectly, you still won't be ready to play, especially at catcher. Too much crouching. You won't make the opening day roster. I'm sorry."

I looked at her, gripping Casey's hand. "Will I ever play again?"

She shook her head. "It's too early to tell that, but I don't think so. Maybe if you played a different position. But I think your catching days are over."

I stayed in the hospital for a few more days, then went home to Allentown. I slept most of the next few days, still on some pain killers. I was able to get around the apartment on crutches by myself. If I left the apartment, which was rare, I had a wheelchair. I mostly watched TV and lounged, following the doctor's orders to get plenty of rest. It was when I watched TV that I saw replays of the collision at the plate, and the aftermath that ensued. Apparently Drake chased after Dirk like a madman and had to be restrained. Dirk ended up being immediately sent back to the minors, and suspended for 10 games. It was a slap on the wrist at the time, and it made me angry. We'd hear a few months later, after the season was over, that he was released from his contract. No other teams wanted to pick him up; to do so would be a PR nightmare.

Casey, for her part, was an angel. She was beside me the whole time I was in the hospitals. I had to make her leave most nights, to go sleep in a hotel. She didn't want to leave and said that she could sleep in the chair beside my bed, but listened when I insisted. When we got home, she fed me and made sure I was taking my medication.

After a couple of weeks of being a shut-in, she wheeled me over to the stadium. I spent time in her office, and visiting the guys in the clubhouse, and watching the game from the Wentworths' box. Part of me was glad to be out and about, and watching baseball again. The other part of me just saw it as a cruel reminder of how I got hurt, and how I'd never get to play again.

----

I admit now that I spent so much time in my own head, I missed a lot of what was going on around me. I had stopped doing a lot of the things I normally did. I stopped working out. I stopped cooking and cleaning. I stopped spending time with my friends and stopped calling Mom and Morgan. And the worst crime of all, I stopped doting on my loving fiancee.

Instead, I spent most of the day on the couch. Then, at Lani's complaint that I was kind of in the way, I moved to the den. When we moved in together, the girls' TV had been placed in the living room, and my smaller TV had been put here. At first, Casey made efforts to pull me from my cave of depression, but those efforts became more half-hearted as time went on.

I can't explain my depression, even with my psychology degree. It's hard to put into words. I guess I can best describe it this way: imagine only wanting to do one thing. You've done that one thing every summer since you were five. Now you can't do it. Even if you try, it's painful. There was a huge void in my life.

"Get up. We're having dinner," came Casey's voice from behind me.

I groaned. Casey was consistently on my case to get more physical activity, ever since I got the clearance to. It had been three months since the injury. I was able to get around better, and my knee hurt less. I had traded in my crutches for a cane. The problem was more mental now. I was just not motivated to get off the couch.

I turned to look at her, and was surprised to see her in a fancy black dress, makeup on, hair done up. She looked great. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"You have five minutes. Get dressed," she demanded. I used my cane and picked my ass up off the couch - I'd naturally put on a few pounds - and went into the bedroom. Five minutes wasn't enough time to shave or shower, but I did splash my face with water, comb my hair, dab on a little cologne, and put on nice pants and a button down shirt.

"There," she said when I returned, "don't you feel better already?"

"A bit," I admitted.

"That's the spirit."

I looked around. I'm the five minutes I'd been out of the room, Casey had dimmed the lights and lit candles. On the table was a nice dinner, set up for two. "Lani's out for the evening. We're having a date night, whether you like it or not," she told me.

I smiled a bit at the sentiment. I hadn't been a good fiance lately. Not as good as Casey deserved. She'd put together a nice meal on dishes I didn't recognize. The glasses were the same ones we usually used, but the plates and bowls were new.