Three Months Later …
Engrossed in my work, I fiddled with the key that hung from a chain around my neck, my fingers running across the letters that spelled out STRENGTH across the top. Melissa had given it to me after all the drama with the tabloids and mean fans during Jack’s first season. The rule of the necklace, she told me, was that I should keep it until I saw someone else who needed the message on the key more than I did. I hated the thought of ever giving that special gift away, but had to admit it was a really clever idea.
Sitting in my cubicle, I pored over photos I had recently shot during my last assignment. Nora, my boss, wanted to submit one picture for a highly respected photography award. But as I looked at them, I realized that I couldn’t pick the one.
As usual, I’d become emotionally involved on my assignment, and could no longer see the photo for just what it portrayed. I saw the emotions behind it, the meanings that weren’t necessarily captured through my lens.
When I looked at the photograph of the elderly man desperately clutching a child covered in dirt and blood, I saw the hundreds of other people in the background just as desperate and dirty who didn’t make it into my picture. Just out of view sat houses demolished into piles of debris, and their owners, faces filled with disbelief, digging through the rubble in vain. Several square miles of land that had once held schools, businesses, and homes, were now completely leveled into what could only be described as a war zone. It sounded so cliché, but that description was the most accurate. Mother Nature sometimes brought hell to Earth. And I captured it with my camera.
It was one thing to see devastation on the news or in magazines, but was quite another to walk through the scene and witness the destruction firsthand. There were no words to describe what it was like to feel your feet crunching through the broken glass and debris of what used to be someone’s home. Or what you felt as you saw the shock on people’s faces as they realized that everything they’d ever held dear had vanished into thin air, or been crushed into particles of dust. I’d never felt as helpless as I did the day an elderly woman admitted to me that all her family photos and heirlooms had been lost, and I could do nothing but watch as she crumpled to her knees in grief. There was such raw and exposed pain in those first few days after a tragedy, that I often found it hard to shoot. It was virtually indescribable to witness, and almost unbearable to live through.
It probably didn’t help my career that I didn’t enjoy being intrusive. I wasn’t the type of photographer who pushed into people’s faces, piercing their personal space in hopes of getting the money shot. It didn’t bring me joy to photograph the agony of others. After being with them, experiencing it with them, their pain was forever etched in my memory, and I carried it with me wherever I went. I didn’t see the sense, or what good it brought, to expose that pain for all to see.
But then at some point during the recovery, something almost magical seemed to happen. You could literally feel the change in the thick and dusty air. The immediate shock had worn off and people in the community came together in the most incredible of ways. There was a sense of family and strength that was humbling to witness. Every. Single. Time. The focus shifted from each individual’s loss and transformed into the community’s pulling together as a whole to not only survive, but to come back stronger, more resilient, as a more cohesive whole. Experiencing that transformation was in itself worth all the earlier tears and pain.
That was why it had always been my goal on any assignment to look for the beauty amidst all the heartache. Those tiny moments of peace and happiness, like when two friends see each other for the first time after wondering if the other were dead or alive. When panic turned to elation, that was what I wanted to capture. If I could put hope into a photograph where it looked like none existed, I’d have done my job. At least, I’d have done it the way I wanted to.
“Cassie, come in here.” My phone buzzed to life with Nora’s voice over the intercom.
I pressed the flashing red button and responded, “Be right in.” I rose from my desk and glanced around the workspace. Joey, the guy I had gone on one date with when Jack and I were broken up, moved away a couple of years ago. He got a job offer back in his hometown of Boston and jumped at the opportunity. Jack had wanted to throw a party when he heard that news. Which I never really understood because, really? It wasn’t as if Jack ever had any real competition.
The faces in my office may have changed over the last five years, but the pace remained the same. The floor buzzed with energy of creative people working on layout, designs, and editing. I loved my job and I loved living in this city.
I rapped my knuckles against Nora’s door before twisting the knob and pushing it open. She waved me over and pointed for me to sit, her phone pressed tightly against her ear. I did as she asked and waited patiently. Ever since I moved to New York to accept the job offer with this magazine, Nora had always had my back. She supported me when Jack and I went through hell with Chrystle’s accusations and the backlash that followed. She even offered to do a full spread on our relationship, just to set the record straight.
In the end, we didn’t need to go through with the feature spread because Chrystle’s ex-best friend Vanessa did all the dirty work for us. Vanessa gave an exclusive interview to the magazine and spilled every detail of Chrystle’s plan to use a fake pregnancy to manipulate Jack into marrying her. My reputation got a much needed-boost, and the fans stopped their incessant name-calling and online hatred of me. Actually, the article had proved to be the best publicity for my relationship with Jack, and I had both Nora and Vanessa to thank for that.
“I’ll have them for you by the end of the day. Thanks, Bob.”
Nora dropped the handset onto the phone base, then leaned back and raised an eyebrow at me. “So, did you choose a photograph yet?”
I winced. “I’ve narrowed it down to five. That’s better than yesterday,” I said, thinking back to the thirty pictures I had scattered on the conference room table yesterday afternoon.
“Jesus, Cassie, just pick one! I’m sure they’re all brilliant. Hell, take them home to that hot husband of yours and make him choose,” she said with a hearty laugh.
My mouth dropped open. “I’m not making Jack pick! He’d probably close his eyes and see which one his finger lands on.”
Nora narrowed her eyes at me. “Which is what you’re going to have to do if you don’t choose one by the end of the day.”
“Fine. I’ll pick one,” I said with a slight huff.
Nora pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up against the bridge of her nose while she stared at me with a smirk on her face.
“What are you up to?” I asked warily. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Her smirk turned into a full smile. “I need you to photograph an upcoming feature story.”
I cocked my head to the side, knowing full well we had other photographers to handle that type of shoot. Each photographer had a specialty. Some excelled at taking indoor studio shots with models, but I wasn’t one of them. I worked best with natural light and unconventional settings, pretty much the exact opposite of a posed studio photo. “Like someone local? Who? Why me?”
“Because it’s Trina.”
Now I was the one smiling. Trina was the one Mets players’ girlfriend who actually talked to me the first season Jack played on the team. When we met, she had been dating Jack’s teammate Kyle. She was a model and missed a lot of games due to her travel schedule, but whenever she was there, she was my savior.
“We’re shooting Trina? That’s amazing! What’s the focus of the story?”
Nora waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Something about ‘From Models to Moms in Manhattan.’ I haven’t worked out all the details yet, but she’ll be the focus. And she’ll only work with you.”
As I shook my head in amazement, my mind drifted back to when I’d first met Trina, and the man who became her new husband.
After the fiasco where our driver, Matteo, tried to kiss me and Jack fired him, Jack eventually allowed him to work for us again. In the meantime, Matteo had opened his own car company for exclusive clientele only. Once he began working with us again, Matteo personally only drove and worked for one couple, Jack and me, but his company was rapidly becoming the go-to car service for all the local pro athletes.
Matteo and Trina started dating right after she and Kyle had called it quits. Their wedding ceremony several months later was small, but elegant. Trina claimed the rushed date had to do with Jack’s spring training schedule, so that we could attend the wedding, but I knew the real reason was because she didn’t want to be showing in her wedding pictures. Matteo also insisted that they be legally married before their baby entered this world. I remember him saying, “I could wait and marry you someday, but I’d much rather marry you today. Someday may never come. Today is already here. Please don’t make me wait to make you my wife.”
When Trina had told me she and Matteo were getting married, I nervously asked her if she were certain this was what she wanted. I had clearly gained a deep-seated fear of people marrying for the wrong reasons over the last couple of years; whenever I thought back to the situation with Jack and Chrystle, I shuddered. Putting my fears to rest, Trina had informed me that while they didn’t plan on having a baby first and a wedding second, she didn’t care what order they did things in. They were truly happy and that was all that mattered. And I had to agree because happiness was all I truly wanted for my friends as well.
Nora looked at me over her glasses and raised her eyebrows, obviously waiting for a response.
“The only reason Trina wants to work with me is because if she hates the pictures, she can make me pay for it later,” I said with a giggle.
“You’ll do great. We’ll book a studio with lots of natural light for you, okay?”
I breathed out in relief. “You know me so well.”
“I want pictures of her before and after. Make sure you schedule something with her husband after the baby is born so we can show off the happy family.”
“No problem. Is that it?”
“Go pick out a damn picture already.”
“Fine. But if it sucks and loses, it’s your fault.” I shot Nora a grin as I pushed out of my chair and headed toward the door.
Back at my desk, I was no closer to choosing a photo than I was an hour ago. Glancing up, I spotted one of our interns walking through the elevator doors, balancing two cardboard trays filled with coffee cups.
“Becca,” I shouted and she glanced up, trying not to spill the drinks. “When you get a minute, can you come over here, please?”
She nodded her head as a small smile appeared. Becca was young and still in college, but she had a good eye. And I liked her style.
“Hi, Cassie. You needed me?” Becca sounded nervous and I breathed out a sigh of relief.
“Yes! Thank God you’re here. You have a great eye and I love the way you see things. I need to pick a photo to submit for something, but I can’t choose. I’m too close to the subject matter. Which one do you like best?”
A giant, toothy grin spread across Becca’s youthful face. “I’m honored. Thank you,” she said before hovering over the pictures splayed across my desktop.
It took her all of two seconds to grab a photo and declare it was the one. And I trusted her eye because it meant something in that particular picture stood out above all the others.
“Thank you, Becca. You’re a lifesaver!”
After work, I stepped through the revolving door and onto the crowded sidewalk. Sidestepping the pedestrian traffic, I weaved my way toward the idling black car at the curb. Matteo stood patiently waiting for me next to the car, just like he did every evening. His handsome face broke out into a wide grin as I neared and he held open the passenger door.
“Why are you so smiley?” I asked and he shrugged.
He hopped into the driver’s seat and pulled into traffic. “Life’s good, Cassie. Life is good,” he said in an annoying singsong voice. Matteo’s attitude had been like this ever since he and Trina had hooked up.
“You’re so annoying. Go home to your hot wife.”
“I will. Right after I drop you off at your hot husband’s office,” he said playfully with a wink.
“Ew,” I said with a shudder. “Don’t say Jack’s hot and then wink. It’s weird.”
Unable to respond, he broke out into a huge belly laugh. He was still chortling a little over it as he navigated his way to the field while I scrolled through my personal e-mails on my phone.
A few minutes later, he straightened up and said over his shoulder, “Trina told me about the photo shoot,” which got my attention.
I glanced up to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Yeah. It should be great. You’re in it too, you know?”
Matteo’s posture changed as he shifted nervously in his seat. “I am?”
“Yes. But not until after the baby is born. I’m going to shoot Trina now while she’s showing and then all three of you after.”
“Just make sure you take the most pictures of her. She’s the one who sells magazines, not me,” he offered humbly.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh yeah, ‘cause being forced to look at your mug is really hard on the ladies,” I said with a laugh.
“I knew you wanted me,” he teased and I almost choked.
Rolling my eyes, I shook my head and gave a little snort. “Not this again.”
Since Jack forgave Matteo, acknowledging his hotness no longer made me feel completely awkward. Granted, I wouldn’t be walking around and announcing it to the world anytime soon, but still. It also didn’t hurt that Matteo eventually realized that his feelings for me weren’t based in reality. He figured out quickly that he had gotten caught up in protecting me and caring about me. It muddled his emotions, but once Trina entered the picture, any romantic feelings he thought he had for me were out the window. Thank God for Trina.
The car slowed to a stop as I gathered my things. Matteo reached for the driver’s side handle and I stopped him. “You don’t have to let me out. I got it.” I opened my own door and scooted out before leaning into the open passenger window, “See you later, future cougar prey.”
“Cassie!” Matteo called out in mock indignation as I turned away and walked toward the entry gates of the stadium, laughing. I knew Matteo would love every minute of attention he would get once the article was published.
I scooted into my regular seat next to Tara in the wives’ section, my presence here now a familiar sight amongst the other girlfriends, wives, family, and friends. No longer a girlfriend, the players’ wives accepted me the way they only accepted other wives. And as much as I hated to admit it, being married changed things. I never planned on treating any of the players’ girlfriends the way I was treated, but I acknowledged the difference between being married and not. The social hierarchy existed for a reason, and after seeing the number of girls that came and went with some of these guys, I understood now in a way that had only offended me before.
When I glanced down at the field, the sight of Jack warming up forced my heart to squeeze with pride. His gray sliding pants hugged against the muscles as he lifted his leg into the air before each pitch. The black shirt-style jersey waved in the breeze he created as his arm flew down to release the ball.
I watched as Jack grabbed his hat and tipped it twice, and I couldn’t hide my smile. That was his sign to me. He had started doing it when I couldn’t travel with him on his road trips, which had become more and more frequent with my work. Whenever he pitched, he’d tip his hat twice and his face would light up with a soft smile. He never knew if the cameras were on him or not, but he tipped his hat regardless.
Eventually it became a habit, because he started doing it at the home games as well. Sometimes his eyes would flash to the stands and meet mine. When they did, I swear my heart would stop beating, causing my breath to catch. Every. Single. Time. If anyone noticed, I would have been embarrassed, but no one ever seemed to.
I more than loved this man. My husband. My ball player.
My Jack Fucking Carter.
Even his name still gets me all hot and bothered.
Jack bent over deeply, looking at the catcher through the glove covering half his face. With a shake of his head, he indicated no to whatever pitch the catcher wanted him to throw. Another shake and the catcher called time out, than ran over to Jack, who stood waiting on the mound, kicking the dirt.
After a short conversation, the catcher gave Jack a pat on the ass before jogging to his position behind home plate. The umpire pointed at Jack and Jack’s feet touched the rubber mound. With one fluid motion, the ball left his hand and the batter swung and missed. The ball crashed against the catcher’s glove, the sound of it echoing throughout the stadium as the crowd erupted into cheers and I smiled. I loved watching him play. It seemed silly to call Jack beautiful, but when he played baseball … he was.
Someone yelled from the dugout area, but Jack waved them off with his glove hand. I scooted to the edge of my seat and automatically held my breath, anticipating the pitch. Jack leaned down, eyeing the catcher before nodding his head in agreement with the called pitch. He lowered his glove to his waist before bringing it back up in time with the rising of his knee. His entire body lurched forward with the release of the pitch and the crack of the bat meeting the ball distracted everyone else’s eyes but mine. My eyes stayed loyally focused on the guy I loved.
Because my eyes never left Jack, I witnessed the entire incident. The ball screamed back at him and he reacted as best he could; his body twisted to get out of the way as his pitching hand instinctively reached out to stop the flying ball. I watched as the ball crashed against Jack’s exposed hand before dropping to the ground near his feet.
He scrambled to make the play, but a pained scream tore from his lips as he tried to close his hand around the ball. Face contorted with pain, Jack took a knee and pressed his chin tightly against his chest.
Someone yelled for time out and Jack’s manager bolted onto the field. He helped Jack to his feet and walked him out of view.
“Shit,” I muttered to myself.
“Go, Cassie,” Tara demanded. “Get down to the locker room. That’s where they’re taking him.”
Without a word I nodded, grabbed my things, and hurried toward the staircase that would take me underground. I flew down the last set of stairs to where anyone in the public could go before heading through a private door. Once inside, the air of the cold brick tunnels hit me. The tunnels ran the length of the stadium and unless you’d been under here before, you wouldn’t know they existed. I rounded the corner and jogged up toward the burly security guard.
“Hey, Jimmy, is he here? Did you see them bring Jack off the field?” I asked, my voice distraught.
His forehead creased as he answered, “Jack? No. What happened?”
I released a shaky breath. “He hurt his hand.”
“Really? Damn. I hope he’s okay.” He stepped aside, revealing a small clearing between the guardrails, and I rushed through, walking as fast as my nervous legs would allow.
I followed along with the bricks as they curved gently, noticing the Mets sign attached to the wall up ahead. My pace quickened as I ached to reach the double mahogany doors that read NEW YORK METS CLUBHOUSE.
Another security guard sat in a folding chair next to the entrance, his face pinched with concern. He stood upon my approach. “Cassie. He’s in there with the doc.” The sympathy in his sad eyes rattled me even further, and my mouth went completely dry.
“How did he look, Joe?”
“He was in a lot of pain,” he admitted grimly.
My throat constricted, making it hard to swallow. I realized in that moment that I’d never once considered the possibility of Jack getting hurt. He seemed invincible in a way … like his body was born to play this sport and it would never allow him to be hurt by it. It would never betray him like that.
But it did.
And I found myself scared to death about what this meant for him. Jack without baseball … well, that wasn’t Jack at all. I wouldn’t even know who that person was; I’d never known Jack when baseball wasn’t a huge part of his life. Worry shot through me and I couldn’t stop a nervous shiver.
“Cassie?” Joe’s voice echoed in the tunnel, followed by the sound of him hanging up the rotary phone. Unable to speak, I looked up at him helplessly. “No one else is in there,” he said gently. “You can go in.”
He opened one of the large doors for me and I walked through into the one place at the stadium I’d never been before. I eyed the oversized couch and the carpet patterned with the team’s logo, before my gaze fell on the lockers bearing each player’s name and jersey number, a soft spotlight highlighting each one as if they were museum exhibits. I laughed to myself that the guys called them “lockers” when they looked more like the thin oak closets you would find in hotel rooms.
I found myself longing to photograph the room as each individual detail called to me in ways that only new places can. Occupational habit, I supposed. Or denial, maybe.
“Kitten?” Jack’s voice rang out through the large space, an undertone of pain causing it to sound different somehow.
Snapped back to the present, I called out, “Jack? Where are you?”
“Walk to the back of the room and make a right.”
As I hurried past the row of lockers, number 23 grabbed my attention and I couldn’t resist the impulse to pause for just a second at Jack’s locker since I’d never seen it, and might never have the chance again. His travel bag and street clothes hung inside, waiting for him, and I ran my fingers down the fabric, moving them slightly. Taped against the back wall was a picture of the two of us on our wedding day, flanked by other candid shots of us. I loved how much this man displayed his love for me.
With a slight smile, I headed toward the back of the room and rounded the corner just as the team doctor injected a shot into Jack’s arm to help ease his pain. I noticed that he didn’t even wince.
“I think it’s shattered,” Jack admitted as soon as his dark brown eyes met mine.
SHATTERED.
And in that moment, that’s exactly how my heart felt. I rushed to his side, needing to be as physically close to him in that moment as I could.
“We don’t know that yet,” the doctor interjected. “I’m Dr. Evans.”
I extended my hand to his. “I’m Cassie.”
One look at Jack’s face and my chest ached with the need to protect and comfort him. I stroked his shoulder as I asked, my tone all business, “What do we know?”
“It’s definitely broken, but to what extent I’m not sure yet.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “But it will heal just fine, right? People break their hands all the time.”
Dr. Evans nodded. “True. But we need to make sure it won’t require surgery, or pins or metal plates.”
Pins or metal plates? Oh my God.
Jack swallowed audibly and I continued to prod the doctor, my growing concern overruling all levelheadedness. “And if it does, then what? People have surgery on their hands all the time too. They get better.”
“Yes, Mrs. Carter, they do,” he said with a frown. “But most of those people aren’t major league pitchers.”
My heart sank. “So, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I need to x-ray his hand first and then I’ll have more answers for you.”
Jack’s chin dropped to his chest and I watched his eyes close.
“Do I need to take him to a hospital?” I started to reach for my cell phone to call Matteo.
“No, no. I have a machine in the other room. As the team’s physician, I’m responsible for Jack’s condition and his recovery. It’s my job.”
“Wow. So we don’t have to go anywhere else?” Since I’d never thought this through, I didn’t know how it worked when a major league player was injured. Wrongly, I’d assumed Jack would have to get checked out at regular hospital, like normal people. But then again, the team chartered their own commercial planes to fly them places, so nothing about this lifestyle was normal.
“If I’m on the road with the team, one of my trainers will be here to help you, so no. You should never have to take Jack anywhere other than here.”
The Mets organization cared about Jack’s recovery, so I allowed myself to be comforted by the thought that he would be taken care of by the people who were invested in him the most. It was in their best interest, as well as his, to get him healed.
“If you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Carter, we’ll only be a minute.” The doctor motioned for Jack to follow him into another room. “Let’s go see what we’re dealing with, Jack.”
I paced the floor, one hand tugging at my lips from nervous habit. I wanted to call Dean, but knew he’d ask me questions I didn’t have the answers to. So I waited to call anyone until I had more to tell them. A broken hand was one thing, but having a hand that required surgery was another.
A few minutes later, Jack exited the medical room alone and scooped me into a careful hug. I felt his heart racing as our chests pressed together. “I love you, Kitten.” He gave me a quick kiss, then released me and hopped back onto the exam table. His hand looked painful, his fingers had taken on a purplish tint and were swollen to a ridiculous size. The sight of it made my stomach tighten painfully and I had to turn my gaze away.
“I love you too.” I wanted to say more, but words failed me. Bringing my hand toward my heart, my fingers grazed across the ball chain necklace that lay there. I glanced down at the key attached and moved my fingers to it, rubbing them across the etched letters for comfort.
Between the lies from Chrystle and the brutality from the press and fans, it wasn’t that long ago when I felt like my insides were unraveling. Melissa had given me this necklace when I needed it the most. Imagining that Jack was experiencing the same sort of feelings right about now, I realized this was the right time to pass the necklace on, as was intended.
I reached around the back of my neck, my fingers gripping at the chain before pulling it over my head. When I lowered the necklace around Jack’s neck, he looked up at me, his face pale and strained with pain, and raised his eyebrows at me. The bronze key fell against his sweaty white T-shirt before he glanced down at it. With his uninjured hand, he lifted the key and flipped it to the stamped side, then read its message out loud. “Strength.”
“You need this more than I do,” I said before leaning in and planting a kiss on his scruffy cheek. “We’ll get through this. No matter what the doctor says when he walks through that door, we’ll get through this.”
I tried to sound positive and strong, but my insides were rattled and fraying. If Jack lost baseball because of this, I wasn’t sure he’d ever get over it. His self-image, his hopes and dreams—hell, his whole identity—were wrapped up in the game. If the worst happened, if he could never play again, I had no idea how he’d process that loss.
The sound of the door creaking open caused me to pull my gaze from Jack’s and glance behind me. Footsteps slapped against the floor as Dr. Evans walked in our direction, a smile on his face. “Good news. You don’t need surgery and it’s not shattered.” I exhaled a huge sigh of relief and watched Jack do the same as the doctor continued. “You do have multiple fractures, however, here and here.” He pointed at areas on the x-rays as Jack tensed beside me. “And we need to get you in a cast immediately.”
“How long will I be out?” Jack asked, his face turning even whiter.
“Minimum, six weeks. It could have been a lot worse. Frankly, I’m surprised it isn’t.”
I watched as Jack flexed his jaw and worked to keep his emotions in check. He didn’t like that answer, but there was no answer that Jack would have liked. One day not playing baseball was one day too many for him. Six weeks probably sounded like a death sentence.
“I can’t leave my team for that long.” Jack shook his head as he mumbled, “I can’t let them down like that.”
“Jack, look at me,” I begged. “You’re not letting them down. They’ll understand, and they’ll want you to get better. Six weeks is better than six months, right? Let’s take it one day at a time.”
The pained look in his eyes informed me that these next six weeks were going to be anything but easy.