Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Now the closer had taken over and wasn’t having quite as much luck.
The Yankees needed one more out, but even Eve recognized the face of the player at bat. That had to mean he was good, right?
Even Skylar and Robbie must have sensed something important was happening, because they were out of the bathroom—a little flushed, to be sure—all of them splitting looks between the field and the television.
Two balls, two strikes.
The pitch came in.
Clonk. The ball zoomed past the pitcher, bounced once, and got snapped up by the shortstop.
Elton stood up. “Oh shit,” Eve heard him say, through the glass—and a second later, she understood why. The runner on third was sprinting for home, toward Madden, who was guarding the plate, his glove up and ready to receive a rapid-fire throw from the shortstop.
Madden caught the ball and put down his shoulder, just in time for the runner to collide with him at full speed, knocking him hard to the ground. So hard that a cloud of brown dust went up. Eve dropped her purse, unable to breathe, pressure building deep in her eye sockets while she stared at the television, waiting for Madden to move.
Was the entire crowd dead silent or had her ears stopped working?
The cloud of dust settled. Madden held up the ball.
He hadn’t dropped it. Yankees win.
Pandemonium erupted, the intensity of which Eve had never experienced in her life and maybe never would again. Elton and Veda came barreling into the suite, wrapping Skylar, Robbie, and Eve in a group hug, everyone screaming and jumping at once.
At least, until they noticed there was a medic being called to home plate.
The five of them watched in horror for ten excruciating minutes as a man stood over Madden, blocking the view of him from the camera. The low drone of the announcer’s voice was the sole sound in the suite until a buzz started somewhere in the vicinity. It took Eve several beats to realize it was her phone vibrating.
She looked at the screen. Unknown number.
“Answer it,” Elton said, squinting at her phone.
Eve tapped the green icon. “Hello?”
“Is this Eve Keller?”
“Yes. This is she.”
“I’m Hank Jones, one of the family coordinators here with the Yankees. You’re down as the emergency contact for Madden Donahue.”
A heavy jolt in her middle. “I am?”
“Yes. I’m sure you’re following the incident at the game. His injury doesn’t appear to be serious, but his shoulder took a hefty blow. They’re transporting him to Mount Sinai as a precaution for a couple of x-rays. Wanted to let you know.”
Eve didn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified, but her body seemed dead set on the latter. Madden in the hospital. It was all too reminiscent of those scary months during high school when she cried herself to sleep every night, terrified she was going to lose him. Apparently, she was housing some leftover trauma, because her knees wouldn’t stop shaking. “Thank you for calling.”
“You got it.”
Eve hung up and looked at the group, who seemed to be holding their collective breath. “They’re taking him to the hospital as a precaution. His shoulder took a serious hit, so they want to do x-rays, but otherwise, he’s okay.” Standing there made her feel useless. “Should I . . . go? Or would I just be in the way?”
“Go,” Elton said. “You’re probably the only one they’ll let in to see him.”
“Why?”
Elton’s lips twitched, but he didn’t respond out loud.
Right. She was Madden’s wife. The hospital would allow family.
“Never mind.” Eve ran a set of fingers through her hair, looking around for her things. What had she brought? Your phone is in your hand. “Oh! Wait, I’m Veda’s ride back to Cumberland.”
“Got it covered,” Elton assured her. “I’m heading home to see Mom and Dad for a night or two, anyway. Veda can ride with me.”
Eve didn’t have time to dwell on the electrified air sizzling between Elton and Veda—she was growing more restless by the second and had to get moving. With a kiss on everyone’s cheek and promises to keep them updated via text, Eve was out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Five
God, I fucking hate hospitals.
Madden gritted his teeth and suffered through another round of prodding by the team doctors, attempting to disassociate, the way he’d done during too many rounds of medical tests at age seventeen. Impossible. For one, there were too many executives in the room relaying the doctors’ diagnosis to the media, the front office, and lord only knew who else needed to know real-time information about his bruised rotator cuff.
“For the discomfort, Mr. Donahue,” one of the nurses said, handing him a little paper cup with white pills inside. Madden handed it back straightaway.
“No, thank you,” he said, as politely as possible, sweating bullets. Too many lights, too many masked faces and voices. Too many goddamn machines. The scene was an echo of his least favorite memory, taking him back to the days of dialysis. When the future was unknown and strangers looked at him with sympathy, unable to tell him when the weakness and pain would come to an end.