The Screw Ball (Indianapolis Lightning Book 3) Page 4

  “Do you want to meet up down at the farmers’ market?” she asks.

  “I’d love to,” I tell her, knowing that it is going to be a beautiful day and I need to restock my fridge with some fresh fruits and veggies. “Does in an hour work for you?” I ask, seeing as how I’m in a towel.

  “That will be perfect. John and I will meet you there,” she says before disconnecting.

  With a place to be, I get moving. I turn on a random play list and connect my phone to my Bluetooth speaker. I pull out a red sun dress to put on, then get to working on my hair. I pull it up and off my neck, braiding it into a twist that will help keep me cool in the hot, late-summer sun. With just a few swipes of mascara and some Chapstick, I’m ready to take on the day. I love it when I have a down day and don’t feel like I have to put on a full face of makeup. I’m not like most girly girls who can’t even go to the gym without a full face of makeup. If I had things my way, I wouldn’t wear it every day to work, but people frown upon looking washed out and tired all the time.

  It doesn’t take me the full hour to get ready, but the farmers’ market is not within walking distance, I’ve got a good ten-to-fifteen-minute drive across town to get there, depending on the traffic, and with Indianapolis traffic, you never know what you’re going to get.

  I circle around, finally finding a parking spot on the street a few blocks away. With free parking on the weekends, street spots are a rarity to come across and it is basically luck to find one. I happen to see the people who just left walking to their car while I was stopped at the light a block away, so I was able to snag it as soon as the light changed, and they pulled away.

  I grab my reusable shopping bags, clipping them onto my cross-body bag I brought with me today. I head the few blocks down to the market, finding a bench to sit on while I wait for Carly and her boyfriend, John, to make it here. I shoot off a text letting her know where she can find me once they find a place to park.

  “Thanks for the invite,” I tell her once we’ve walked down the first row of booths.

  “Of course! I figured if I didn’t get you out of the house, you’d probably get lost in something boring like cleaning the bathroom. Couldn’t pass up this beautiful day and fresh food.” She chuckles, and it is scary how well she knows me.

  “My walk this morning to and from yoga had me ready for some more outdoor time, so this is perfect. Plus, it takes care of restocking my fruits and veggies for the week.”

  “I’m so excited for all the things that are finally available now that we’re nearing the end of summer,” Carly muses as we stop at a few of the booths. A lot of the stands offer the same basic items, all your basic veggies and some fruits. Some offer additional baked goods or local honey, along with hand crafted items at other booths. I quickly fill my bags with fixings for salads and a stir-fry I plan to make later this week, as well as some in-season fruits to have with my breakfasts or to take with me to work for a healthy snack mid-afternoon. If I take healthy options, it usually keeps me from hitting up the breakroom vending machines for a chocolate bar, which my hips definitely don’t need on a daily basis.

  “What are you guys up to tonight?” I ask Carly and John as I sit across from them at a picnic table. The market also features a row of food trucks. Once we were done perusing the booths, it was lunchtime, so we grabbed something.

  “A friend of mine from high school is a comedian and on tour. He’s got a show tonight and we’re going to go see him perform,” John says.

  “Oh, that sounds like fun!”

  “He’s pretty great! Was on one of those comedy shows on TV last year. Made it to the final three contestants before he was sent home,” Carly tells me.

  “Wow, that’s pretty cool. I hope you guys have fun.”

  “What are you doing tonight?” she asks.

  “Not sure yet, I don’t have any plans. I’ll probably prep some meals for the week, then maybe curl up with a book and glass of wine.”

  “You should get a ticket and come with us,” Carly suggests.

  “Oh, I’d never want to crash your date night,” I push back at the idea. I hate feeling like the third wheel when I do things with my friends who are in a relationship.

  “It isn’t crashing if we invite you,” she states.

  “I can text my buddy and see if he knows if any ticket is still available, if you want,” John offers.

  I worry my bottom lip as I think over their offer. On one hand, doing something out of my house and around other people that isn’t work related sounds fun. “What the hell, it doesn’t hurt to ask,” I give in.

  “Yay!” Carly cheers as John’s fingers start to fly across the screen of his phone as he texts his friend.

  “He said the only tickets left are the ones that he can give out, so he’ll leave one at will call for you to get.”

  “Oh, I’m more than willing to pay for it. I didn’t need a free one,” I insist.

  “It isn’t a problem. All venues give him a handful of tickets, they don’t always go to anyone. He said it wasn’t a problem at all.”

  “Will I be able to sit with you guys?” I ask, not really wanting to be by myself or sat with a table full of strangers.

  “Yeah, the place it is at is all general admission tickets, so as long as we arrive together, they’ll seat us together. Plus, with us all having tickets directly from Mike, we might be seated in the front VIP section. He wasn’t sure when I was texting him the other day,” John tells me.

  “Okay, then! What time does the show start?” I ask.

  “Nine, doors open at eight. Want to grab dinner before?” Carly suggests.

  “Absolutely, my treat,” I tell them.

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” John tries to argue.

  “No, I insist. You are letting me crash your date night, you got me a free ticket, so it is the least I can do, really,” I tell him.

  “I’m not going to argue with you, but at least let us pick up the tip or something,” he offers.

  “We’ll see,” I say to pacify him.

  “We were thinking of hitting up The Garage Food Hall. Some of the guys were talking about it at work the other day and said the food there was really good. I looked up the menu and from the sound of it, I’d have to agree with them,” Carly says.

  “Sounds good. Should we plan to meet there at, like, six thirty? That gives us a little cushion of time in case we have to wait for a table,” I suggest.

  “That works for us,” Carly confirms.

  We finish up our lunches before parting ways until it is time to meet again this evening for dinner and the show.

  Seven

  Lucas

  I walk out of the locker room and into the hallway that will lead me to a multitude of places within the facility or out to the players’ parking lot.

  After this morning’s weight session, followed by practice, I’m ready for a hot meal and a decent night’s sleep. We take off in the morning for a week-long road trip that includes four games, so I also need to get packed tonight, as we’re wheels up at eight in the morning.

  “Mr. Black,” I hear my name being called from down the hall. I turn, seeing one of Carmen’s assistants headed my way, so I stop and wait for her to catch up to me.

  “What can I do for you, Carly, is it?” I ask, not missing the eye roll she gives me.

  “Yes, it is Carly,” she says, kind of snotty. Who pissed in this girl’s Cheerios this morning? “We had a request come in from a children’s hospital in Tampa with a request from a patient who is a fan of yours. They were wondering if you’d be willing to come by when the team is in town and see the child. He’s in the middle of a pretty rough chemotherapy regimen and they think it might boost his spirits.”

  “Yeah, can you get it all set up? I should be able to go over on Wednesday morning for a little while as long as you get it cleared with Coach,” I tell her. I’m almost always willing to give my time, especially in a situation like this.

  “Thank
you,” she says, and I think I shocked her at how easily I agreed to the request. Little does she know; I’d never turn a request like this away. The kids don’t deserve to be sick and in the hospital, so if an hour of my time will help them, then why not? “I’ll get everything approved and set up, including a car to take you to and from the hospital, either from the stadium or the hotel, wherever you’ll be at that time,” she says, which is a good thing since the team is always transported by motor coach once we make it to a city. I could always take an Uber, but having a prearranged car is probably for the best.

  “Can you text me the details once you have them finalized?” I ask, knowing that the office has all of the players’ numbers.

  “Of course. Would you like to take anything with you?” she asks. “The team can donate some items for you to give.”

  “Yeah.” I take my baseball cap off, running my fingers through my hair, making me realize I need to fit in a cut today, as well, before I place it on my head backward. “Whatever you can put together will be good. I’ve got some errands to run, but can swing back by before I head home.”

  “I can do that, or I can send it with the equipment manager,” she offers.

  “That works for me,” I tell her, liking that option better.

  “Will do, I’ll still text you once we have everything confirmed with the hospital.”

  “Thanks,” I tell her before we part ways. It’s almost a shame that it wasn’t Carmen who relayed that information to me. I love getting every chance I can to razz her up, but alas, today isn’t one of those days.

  I pull out of the parking lot, my windows all rolled down to let the fresh air in. The early September breeze is finally cooling it down just a little bit outside. We’ve only got a couple weeks left before the post season starts, which I’m looking forward to.

  I’m cruising down the interstate when something catches my eye in the rearview mirror. Fuck, flashing lights on the cop car behind me.

  I flip on my blinker, slowing to a stop on the shoulder of the road. Once stopped, I place my SUV into park, and reach for my registration and insurance card as the officer approaches my car.

  “License and registration,” she requests from the open window.

  I hand over the requested documents. “Can you tell me why you pulled me over, officer?” I ask.

  “Clocked you going eighty-five in a sixty-five zone,” she states, matter-of-factly. “Where are you headed in such a hurry, Mr. Black?” she asks, using my last name after she’s had the chance to look over my information. I can’t see her eyes, as she’s got on polarized sunglasses, so I can’t tell if she knows who I am outside of reading my driver’s license.

  “Just out doing some errands before I head home,” I tell her. “I didn’t realize I was even going that fast, was just kind of moving along with traffic,” I tell her honestly.

  “It is easy to do that sometimes,” she says. “Since I don’t see anything else suspicious, I’m going to let you go with just a warning. Slow it down and pay attention to the posted signs, especially the speed ones,” she tells me, and I sigh in relief that I’m not getting a ticket. One less thing to put me on Carmen’s shit list.

  I make my way out of the hotel and into the waiting town car. Carly came through with all the logistics for the hospital visit. I’ve got a bag filled with items to donate to the young boy who I’m going to see. I can only hope that my visit today and the items I have for him help, even if it’s temporary.

  “The drive to the hospital isn’t long,” the driver tells me as we pull out of the hotel’s parking lot.

  “No problem, I don’t think they’re expecting me for another twenty or so minutes,” I tell the older gentleman.

  He must be used to driving people who don’t want to talk, not that I mind much. I watch as the buildings and palm trees zoom past as we make our way. As he predicted, the drive only took about ten minutes.

  “I’ll drop you at the front doors, then wait for you in the back of the parking lot. On your way down, send me a text,” he states and hands over a business card, “to the number on this card and I’ll pull around and pick you back up at the door I dropped you off at.”

  “Will do,” I tell him, tucking the card into my pocket. I grab the bag the team sent with me before exiting the car and heading inside.

  “Hello, how can I help you?” the older woman at the information desk asks when I approach.

  “Hello, I’m Lucas Black. I’m here to see Tyler Grub, he’s in the pediatric oncology ward. Can you point me in that direction, please?”

  “Of course, Mr. Black,” she says, smiling up at me after she types something into the computer in front of her. “It looks like Mr. Grub is in room 867. The easiest way to that department is to take the elevator around the corner. Once on the eighth floor, you’ll take a left and head down the hall. Once you reach the nurses’ station, they’ll help you further, as it is a secure department, and you have to be let in.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her, flashing her a smile. She might be the same age as my granny, but she still blushes slightly.

  I follow her directions, finding the nurses’ station easily once I make it up to the eighth floor. After talking to the nurse manning the entrance, I’m quickly buzzed in.

  “Tyler’s parents are expecting you; he still has no idea that you are coming today,” the nurse tells me as she escorts me to the correct room.

  “Knock-knock,” she says, pushing the partially ajar door open so we can walk inside the room. “We have a special visitor here for you today, Tyler,” she tells him, moving a privacy curtain out of the way, allowing everyone the ability to see one another.

  “Holy shit!” the kid calls out from his hospital bed. “You-you’re Lucas Black,” he stammers, and I can’t hold back the bark of laughter at his cursing.

  “Tyler!” I hear his mom scold.

  “I am,” I confirm to him, closing the distance to the side of his hospital bed. He shifts slightly, sitting up a little taller. I set the bag of things I brought with me down on the foot of his bed before offering him a fist to bump. “Nice to meet you, man,” I add.

  He looks, shocked and dumbfounded, between me and his parents. I take in the expression on both his mom and dad’s faces and see the absolute look of joy in his mom’s watery smile.

  “Happy birthday, Tyler,” she gets out as tears spill down her cheeks.

  “Is today your birthday?” I ask. I don’t recall that information being relayed to me, but I guess I might have missed it.

  “Yep, what a place to turn sixteen,” he says, motioning around to the hospital room we are in.

  “That’s the way it goes sometimes. How much longer until you’re done with your treatment?” I ask. I think if I get him talking, it might help him relax more.

  “I’ve got three more rounds of chemo. I’ll hopefully get to go home before those are all done. I developed a secondary infection that landed me in here after my last infusion,” he explains.

  “That sucks.” I commiserate with him and he just nods his head in agreement. “You play ball?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “Yeah, outfielder, like you,” he says.

  “Sweet, you hope to go pro?”

  “Don’t think so, I’m nowhere near good enough.”

  “None of that, now, you’ve got to have confidence in your play,” I tell him. “It might be hard work, but if you can kick this cancer’s as—butt,” I say, catching the curse before it is all out and changing up my language, “then you can put in the hard work and follow your dream,” I encourage him.

  “Yeah, maybe. I’ve got to make it out of this hospital, first, then high school,” he states matter-of-factly. I’m sure fighting for your life in this capacity puts everything into perspective really fast. You learn what is and isn’t all that important. Just as you learn who your true friends are in times like these.

  I take the rest of my hour visit to talk shop with Tyler and his family, as well as take
a handful of pictures with them. He was ecstatic with all the things that Carly sent with me to give him. Ended up being a great birthday present for the kid. He had a smile plastered to his face when it was time for me to head back to the team hotel so I could get in a few hours of rest before the game tonight.

  Eight

  Carmen

  “Holy crap,” I murmur, reading over the email for a second time that landed in my in-box a few minutes ago. “He actually can be a stand-up guy.”

  “Who can be a stand-up guy?” Carly asks, taking a seat in the chair across from my desk.

  “The pain in my side,” I tell her, knowing that she’ll understand exactly who I’m referring to.

  “Oh, yeah?” she says, her eyebrows going up. “The hospital trip yesterday?” she asks.

  “You knew about that?” I question.

  “Yeah, the request came through, I thought you knew we set everything up for it,” she says, looking a little nervous.

  “Really?” I ask, looking back to my computer screen.

  “Yeah, one of the nurses from the hospital called a few days ago, laid out everything and said that the parents were trying to come up with a way to surprise him to lift his spirits. I talked to Lucas before they flew out and he said it wasn’t a problem. I even sent a bag of things for him to sign and give the kid,” she tells me.

  “According to the mom’s email, it was his sixteenth birthday,” I tell her, glancing back at the email. “She sent a dozen or so images, as well, and said they were already up on Tyler’s social media pages and he’d tagged the team’s accounts.”

  “We should retweet them,” Carly says, reading my mind.

  “You are good,” I tell her, pulling out my phone so I can sign in and do just that.

  I easily find the post, seeing that it is already gaining quite a lot of comments and shares. Everyone loving the fact that a player would not only go out of his way to go surprise a kid in the hospital, but to also do it while on a road trip. I share the post, tagging Lucas in it, as well, so that he will hopefully also share it.