I might as well have gone home with Eric after my shoulder surgery. He insisted on taking care of me, so when I decided that I wanted to go to my apartment, Eric brought over two suitcases and spread out sheets and blankets to make a bed for himself on my couch.

I called from the bedroom, “There are professionals to take care of people like me.”

“You don’t need a professional. You’ll be up and around and be doing everything you need to do on your own soon. I’m making sure you don’t jump the gun and do something that makes you end up back in the hospital.”

The news from the doctors wasn’t positive. They waited to talk to me about the prognosis until they could lower the level of painkillers enough so that the signs on the wall weren’t moving anymore when I stared at them. My surgeon and a physical therapist came to talk to me at the same time. Their faces were stony and severe when they entered the room.

Eric excused himself and said, “I’ll be out in the waiting room.”

I watched Eric exit into the hall. His shoulders slumped. He knew that it wasn’t good news. I wasn’t sure that I wanted him to leave, but I set my jaw and waited to hear the prognosis.

Doctor Marlowe, my surgeon. said, “We have some good news to share.”

I said, “You could have fooled me by the look on your faces.” I pointed at Cyril, the physical therapist, and said, “That guy looks like he’s preparing for my wake.”

One corner of Cyril’s mouth curled up into a half-smile. “We can guarantee that a wake won’t be necessary for years to come.”

“I’m relieved.”

Doctor Marlowe said, “The good news is that you will be able to use the shoulder. You might need to take special care, but you will be able to lift things, and we’re hoping for the recovery of nearly a full range of movement.”

I tilted my head to the right and said, “That doesn’t sound so bad. Why the long faces? Is there something I’m not thinking about?”

Doctor Marlowe added, “We’re not sure if you will be able to play baseball. You could do pickup games, but we’re not sure your shoulder will ever be stable enough to handle the rigors of the professional game. Another injury like you suffered in New York could render your shoulder useless for any tasks that require movement of the joint.”

I asked, “What about a shoulder replacement? They do those, don’t they?”

Cyril shook his head while the doctor said, “The nature of the injuries left you as a poor candidate for the success of reconstruction. I would recommend against that line of treatment. I discussed it thoroughly with my orthopedic colleagues, and we all agreed.”

I looked from one to the other and said, “So you’re saying it’s over.”

The words felt like a sucker punch to the gut. My heart pounded in my chest. I was only 22 years old. My career couldn’t be over. I had at least fifteen years ahead of me in peak condition.

Doctor Marlowe shook his head. “We can’t guarantee anything. It’s possible that you will make a full recovery, and the shoulder joint will surprise us with its stability. Unfortunately, I believe it’s a matter of medical ethics that I inform you of the likely outcome.”

I stared down at my right arm. Suddenly, it seemed like I had an entirely useless appendage. I squeezed the fingers of my right hand into a fist and then opened them again. I looked up at the doctors. “Is there anything else you want to add? You already told me my career is crashing down. Is there anything you want to pile on top of that?”

Cyril hung his head while Doctor Marlowe added, “We will begin physical therapy very soon within the next three days. That is the best hope of rebuilding a stable joint. Cyril is the best we have in the hospital. If there is any possibility of returning to the baseball diamond with your shoulder, Cyril will make sure it happens.”

I waved my left hand at them. “I think I need to be alone now.” They started to turn around. I said, “Not completely alone. Send Eric back in here. Maybe if I strangle him, I’ll feel better.” I laughed at my black humor.

When Eric walked into the room, he said, “Wow, Chase. When I saw the docs, I was worried that you’d gone into cardiac arrest. They were the picture of doom and gloom.”

I looked up at my best friend. I said, “It’s over.”

He wrinkled his brow. “What’s over? I don’t get it.”

“My baseball career. The doctor said the shoulder wouldn’t be stable enough. I’ll have to quit baseball.”

Eric rubbed his chin. “Are you sure that’s what they said? I talked to them before I came back. They weren’t 100% on anything.”

I pouted. “It might as well have been what they said. They tried to paint a little gilded lining onto a thundercloud.”

“The doc told me he’s worried that’s what will happen. I don’t believe it. I know you, Chase, and you don’t give up. We’ll work with that PT guy, and we’ll whip you back in shape. Before you know it, you’ll be in the All-Star game again. Mark my words!”

I said, “I want to quit.”

Eric reached out to fluff the blankets. He said, “No, you don’t. You’re a star. You’re going to be one of the best outfielders who ever lived. They are already reserving a plaque for you at the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown.”

In a dull monotone, I said, “I’m going to quit.”

I watched as Eric stumbled backward into the chair by the bed. He lowered his head into his hands, and he wept. I watched his shoulders heave. His hands muffled his voice, but I heard him say, “No!”

I wanted to reach out and comfort him, but he was on my right side, and I couldn’t reach far enough with my left. I said, “It’s okay. Seriously, it is okay. There’s so much more that I can do with my life, and I’ve got the best friends in the world. I didn’t say that I’m leaving baseball entirely. I said that I think I need to quit playing on the field. I don’t want to lose the shoulder and arm. You don’t want me to lose it either.”

Eric raised his head and pushed his hair back from his forehead. He asked, “Will you be moving to San Antonio? I guess that makes sense now.”

“I don’t know how to answer that yet. I haven’t talked to Aaron at all. I doubt that he’s planning to stay in San Antonio permanently. He’s only a coach there. He’s not the manager.”

Turning my head, I watched Eric closely. He was disturbed by my comments. I quietly spoke in the announcer’s voice, “The star prospect is stricken by an injury. The sports world reels in shock.”

Eric shook his head. “Yeah, that’s the way they will be. I’ll stick with you whatever you decide, Chase, even if I don’t agree. I’m your friend first. Baseball comes second.”

I asked, “Can you do me a big favor as a friend?”

“Yep, I can. What do you want?”

“Please don’t tell anyone I’m planning to quit before I’m ready to speak out in public. Keep it to yourself, please?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

My vow to remain silent echoed in my head as I fluffed up the pillows on Chase’s bed so he would be more comfortable sitting up with his laptop computer. I said, “The reporters will ask more questions soon. I think that shoulder is healing well. Maybe you can give them an uplifting statement.”