Out of His League

“Dr. LaValley? She’s presently administering to a patient in surgery.”

“I need to see her. Elizabeth...LaValley,” he enunciated as best he could, but his words were slurring.

“That’s my aunt!” a voice piped up. It was the kid. The boy who’d recognized Jon.

“Brandon,” the nurse said to the boy, “you know you’re supposed to be in the day care center.” She picked up her telephone and made a call.

“Leave him,” Jon muttered weakly. He still felt so...sluggish yet full of purpose. He supposed dreams did that to people.

No, not a dream, a vision. And it was so clear. He had to get out of here. Had to get started.

The kid trotted over to his gurney. Jon blinked at him. Whatever medication they’d pumped him full of, he would be shaky for a while. He squinted, concentrating as hard as he could.

The kid was about eight, Jon estimated, with sandy hair and those sneakers kids wore that lit up when they walked. He shrugged out of his backpack and grabbed for a pen.

“Can I get your autograph?” the kid asked. He was missing one of his front eyeteeth.

Or maybe Jon was hallucinating. “How do you know who I am?”

“Everybody knows Jon Farell. You have twelve wins, eleven losses, a four-point-one-five season ERA, and one hundred forty-two strikeouts.”

Huh. Jon didn’t even know all that. He usually ignored his stats.

Those numbers weren’t great, though. He should be doing better. If he were honest with himself, he’d slacked off this summer. The playoffs had seemed a certainty, so maybe the team had socialized and hung out partying together more than they should have.

He had a vague feeling that had been part of his dream. He wasn’t sure, but he thought they had touched on the topic....

He struggled to sit up.

“Hurry!” the kid whispered. “The nurse is coming back.”

“Maybe you should get your aunt,” Jon said.

“She’s in surgery.” The kid looked at him earnestly. “She’s a famous doctor.”

“When I see her again,” Jon slurred. “I’ll give her an autograph for you to take home.”

“You should drive to her house and give it to her there. I’m eating dinner at her house tonight. I’ll tell her you’re coming to see me.” The kid turned around so his back was to Jon. Dangling from the boy’s backpack was a cardboard address label, freshly filled out in blue ink. “That’s where she lives.”

With Jon’s good hand—his pitching hand, which, thank God, felt fine—he drew the label closer, just out of curiosity. Dr. LaValley’s address was in Medford. Huh. That’s where he’d grown up. The vision meant something, but he’d known that before he even saw where Lizzy lived.

He squinted at her street address. He was vaguely certain it was near the school he’d attended as a kid, but Jon’s GPS would know for sure. He dropped back on the bed.

“Brandon! Leave the patients alone!”

Brandon let the nurse take his hand and lead him away. Jon thought the boy might have winked at him.

He still felt so groggy and confused. A second nurse brought him a plastic cup filled with ginger ale, and a packet of saltine crackers that crinkled in its cellophane wrapper.

“Can you ask Dr. LaValley to come here, please?” he asked, pushing away the crackers. “I have a question for her.”

“Let me know the question, and I’ll get it answered for you.” The nurse was speaking loudly. She didn’t need to. He understood her perfectly.

“I want to talk to her,” he said as clearly as he could. The words weren’t coming out so easily. His throat felt sore. Why was that?

“I’ll tell her that you asked for her,” the nurse said.

“I need to talk to her...about the surgery. About what happened to me...” Damn it, he was getting tired. And his finger was starting to throb.

The nurse walked away. Jon peeled back the sheet that covered him. Swung his bare feet to the cool floor. He could feel himself tottering.

In a split second, two nurses were at his side, swinging him back onto the bed.

“He wants to talk to Dr. LaValley,” one of the nurses said to the other nurse.

“Mr. Farell?” The second nurse was in his face now, talking loudly. “Jon?”

“I want to speak to Dr. LaValley,” he repeated.

“That isn’t possible. She’s in surgery. But she left a message for you. She said to say that the procedure went favorably. She said to emphasize the word favorably.”

That was code: Lizzy didn’t think he had cancer. That was good. That was...

Exactly what he’d asked for in the vision. His wish was coming true.

But he still had his end of the bargain to hold up.

Jon leaned back on the pillow. There was so much he could do to improve himself during the off-season. And now that he was out of surgery, he would get right on it.

CHAPTER THREE

JON DIDN’T LET Brooke accompany him in the elevator up to his penthouse, and he remembered to ask for everything back that he’d given her to hold for him: wallet, keys, medallion. He wanted no excuses for her to contact him later under pretext of forgotten belongings. The sooner he was back to focusing on his baseball career and in the care of Max alone, the better off he would be.

Once in his apartment, he crashed on his pillow and slept off the aftereffects of the surgery. He woke at midafternoon, his mouth dry and his finger throbbing with pain, but he refused to take the painkillers the doctor had insisted he leave the hospital with. Instead, he swallowed two acetaminophen tablets with a huge glass of water, before falling back into bed and lapsing into a sleep that felt like a coma. He didn’t wake again until his phone rang.

“Yeah?” he mumbled into the mouthpiece.

“Jon Farell? This is Dr. Morgan from Wellness Hospital.”

“Yes.” Jon sat up, his heart pounding. He held the phone between his ear and his shoulder while he groped for a pen and pad of paper in the drawer by his bed. He didn’t want to miss anything the surgeon said. “Go ahead,” he said, pulling off the cap to the marker with his teeth.

“We expedited the lab work for you. The tumor is benign. Cancer-free.”

The pen cap fell from Jon’s mouth and bounced off the pad of paper. Thank God. Thank God, thank God, thank God.

“Thank you,” Jon said to the doctor, once he was breathing normally again. “I appreciate your taking the time to call me.”

He also appreciated that they’d rushed his test through the system. Another advantage of playing for a big-market sports team.