Free Home Run: A Novel by Travis Thrasher

the guilt he felt. Like every drunk driving cliché, Cory had walked away from the collision with the tractor with only some bumps and bruises. A nice square bandage on his forehead was taped over a cut he’d received from the broken glass flying everywhere. He also walked away without getting another DUI, all because of Clay.
    Clay was going to be fine. He looked awful—broken arm and some broken ribs and other bumps and bruises—but the guy on the ambulance was confident that Clay’s injuries weren’t serious.
    ’Course you thought he might be dead the moment you looked at him once the careening car came to a rest and he just sat there hunched over and bleeding.
    Cory had gotten a response from Clay, thankfully. Then when the county cop arrived, Cory was out of the car while Clay still sat inside. The guy’s name was Murphy—that’s what Clay said when he saw him. Clay told him to call an ambulance but made up some excuse about Cory and him being distracted in the car. Murphy recognized Cory, of course, and seemed a bit starstruck.
    Once the ambulance came and Cory climbed in with his brother, he was off the hook. The other cops who didn’t know Clay as well and weren’t as starstruck as Murphy were going to ask questions, but they couldn’t do a thing. Clay said once Cory got in the ambulance and left the scene of the accident, the police could no longer arrest him.
    The last hour after arriving at the hospital had been like the accident itself: a twisting and turning crash that never seemed to stop. Cops were swarming around him.
    “I don’t care who your brother is,” one yelled. “And I don’t give a rip who you are. You should be going to jail.”
    This wasn’t the first time someone had yelled in his face. Cory ignored them all. He had mastered that art.
    His phone vibrated, so he checked the incoming text. Helene.
    I’M OUT FRONT. WHERE ARE YOU ?
    Cory thought about making a wisecrack, then decided against it. Even he knew when to stop joking around. He stood up and began walking to the front of the building. As he moved through the hallway, he could hear steps approaching quickly. The clean, stark look of the hospital seemed to match Karen’s face as she rushed past him in the hallway.
    Cory couldn’t think of anything to say to her as she glared his way and kept walking.
    He went on outside to meet Helene, hoping he wouldn’t run across anybody else he recognized. Or who recognized him.
    Helene smoked a cigarette the way she did everything else, sucking the life out of it with no time to waste and then tossing the butt onto the curb and forgetting about it until she lit up again. Cory hated the ugly habit but knew she hated some of his habits even more.
    “I can’t watch over you 24/7,” she began without even a how are you doing or glad to see you’re okay. “With the new collective bargaining agreement in effect, you’re gonna be dealing with more discipline from the league on top of whatever the Grizzlies decide.”
    “You can’t smoke here.”
    “Watch me.”
    They were in the entrance of the hospital, and Cory glanced at the sliding glass doors leading to the dark night outside. A part of him wanted to dart through them and head back into the shadows. Not just a part of him, but every inch of him.
    “What do I need to do?” he asked his agent.
    “Pray your brother can swing a suspended sentence. And try, try , to stay out of trouble while I cover your butt.”
    He knew that when Helene told him to pray, things were bad. Very, very bad.
    “Clay already bailed me out,” Cory admitted.
    “How?”
    “He knew the county cop. A young guy. Clay said things were fine—that he needed medical attention. He told me to just shut up and act quiet. I went with him in the ambulance.”
    Helene knew how lucky Cory was at times. This wasn’t the first story of this kind he’d told her. She was probably going to say as much when they heard the sound of a group of people coming toward