Field of Blue

By Dan Stout

Bill Sullivan’s MLB pitching career is shattered when he is injured in an accident caused by a drunk driver. Natalie, Bill’s daughter, is in anguish because they had a fight a few hours before the accident. With a fractured hip, leg and back, doctors tell him to forget baseball. Bill vows to comeback, with the help and encouragement of his best friend, Jake, his daughter, his former opponent, and a blossoming new love, Megan.
Bill taps into his old anger at being orphaned while young, attacks his physical rehab. Recovering in the hospital, Bill and his friends, supporters of the Make A Wish Foundation, touch the life of a young fan awaiting surgery to remove a brain tumor.
Bill, Natalie, and Jake take a road trip to visit McCall, a special place in Bill’s childhood that held good memories. A startling discovery is made, and Bill is reunited with part of his past. Returning from the road trip they see a terrible car accident and start CPR, saving the life of an injured teenage girl.
His comeback stalls and Bill is tempted by the promise of illegal performance enhancing drugs. Seeking any treatment and therapy, Bill is soon pitching harder and faster than ever. But his temper and anger terrify Megan and she breaks off the relationship. The League demands a drug test.
Bill and Megan repair their relationship and Bill learns he is going to be a father again. The Make a Wish Foundation asks the Dodgers to help an ill boy, Darren Smith. The team names Darren Smith an Honorary Coach and the baseball world rallies around. Coach Smith motivates the team but is unable to win his fight with cancer.
Bill wins his shot at redemption, securing the Dodgers trip to the World Series. When the fans rush the field to celebrate, Natalie is terribly injured in a freak accident and Bill sacrifices himself trying to save her.
Afterward, paralyzed from the waist down, Bill’s career is over. In the end, the hard luck orphan learns he is not alone, and he is not the only one saved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Stout
• Release date: Mar 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215740989

Dan Stout

Dan Stout writes about fever dreams and half-glimpsed shapes in the shadows. His fiction draws on travels throughout Europe, Asia, and the Pacific Rim as well as an employment history spanning everything from subpoena server to assistant well driller. Dan's stories have appeared in publications such as The Saturday Evening Post, Nature, and Intergalactic Medicine Show.

Book preview

ALSO BY DAN STOUT

Coming Soon

TAUNT

FIELD OF BLUE

A Novel

DAN STOUT

Copyright

Field of Blue is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, businesses, organizations, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2021 by Dan Stout

All rights reserved

Published by Dan Stout

Print ISBN_ 979-8-9852224-2-5

Ebook ISBN 979-8-9852224-1-8

Cover design by Judy Bullard

Contents

ALSO BY DAN STOUT

COMING SOON

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

CHAPTER SIXTY

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

CHAPTER SEVENTY

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

CHAPTER EIGHTY

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

CHAPTER NINETY

CHAPTER NINETY-ONE

CHAPTER NINETY-TWO

CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR

CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE

CHAPTER NINETY-SIX

CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN

CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT

CHAPTER NINETY-NINE

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWO

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THREE

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FOUR

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIVE

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIX

CHAPTER ONE

Saturday Afternoon

I just wasted a year of my life, declared Bill Sullivan bitterly.

Bill’s best friend, Jake Parsons, took a deep breath and let it out, closed the novel he was reading, then his eyes. He wanted to relax; not have the conversation he knew was coming. After taking and releasing another breath Jake opened his eyes, started frowning and looked over at Bill.

What are you talking about?

You know what I’m talking about, hissed Bill.

Bill and Jake, wearing Dodgers ballcaps, were side by side in first class seats. Bill’s daughter Natalie, was directly across the aisle, absorbed with something on her tablet. The three of them were on a flight from Los Angeles to Boise, after the Dodgers had lost the Divisional Series game.

I won’t have another chance at the World Series until next year, all because of that damned rookie, Julio Chavez.

Jake rolled his eyes and slowly shook his head back and forth. Here we go, he thought.

Keeping his voice down, Jake replied. The team lost, Bill. This time it was the hot rookie’s turn, and he had the winning home run.

Bill shot a poisonous look in Jake’s direction yet kept his profanity to himself.

Do you like to lose? Bill asked.

Jake, instantly angry, turned, looked up at his friend, and locked his eyes on Bill’s, until after several seconds the taller man glanced away.

Now is not the time, Bill, Jake said, glancing over at Natalie, so his idiot friend would get the message.

Natalie sighed and closed her tablet, bored with reading. She had heard whispering across the aisle and easily sensed the bad mood her dad was in. Glancing over she caught the staring contest between the two men and quickly looked away.

The flight attendant, Reagan, pushing a beverage cart, stopped in the aisle between Bill and Natalie.

Miss, would you like something to drink?

A diet Coke?

Reagan smiled and handed Natalie a cup with ice and her soft drink.

Thank you, said Natalie.

Gentlemen?

Reagan did not miss the tension between the two men. When the trio boarded, she noticed the Los Angeles Dodger’s baseball caps and the men’s team jackets. She had checked the manifest after departure, noted the three passengers’ names, then asked the pilots, both avid baseball fans, about the men. The pilots had given her a quick brief on the two players, and about the important game that the Dodger’s had lost the evening before.

Bill asked for vodka and orange juice, and Jake wanted a rum and Coke.

Jake looked over. Bill was seething, but keeping his mouth shut. It was not something Bill usually did when angry.

Natalie was ready for the flight to be finished and was glad they were almost to Boise. This was her seventh plane ride to attend games in Los Angeles when her dad was pitching, and until now, they had all been fun.

Jake was staying overnight with her dad, before flying to Denver to see his parents. The three of them were supposed to go to a movie tonight. Natalie was wondering how that would be with him in a bad mood, and she didn’t blame him. Losing a chance to go to the World Series was a crushing blow, and she didn’t have any idea how to make it better.

Natalie loved her dad, but at times was a little afraid of him. He could be a jerk when things did not go his way, although with her he was incredibly generous. He never yelled at her, but they did not have a lot in common, and often ran out of things to talk about. He did have a few cool friends, Jake being one, and did take her to do stuff when he wasn’t practicing, working out or watching game films.

She shot a quick glance at her dad, concerned about his anger, which made her think about his past. Two years ago, her mom, Rachel, had told her what happened, how their relationship had ended poorly and with a lot of pain, and why she thought Natalie’s father would not open up to anyone easily.

"We met in high school when I was a cheerleader, and your dad was a rising star on the Boise High baseball team. I was fifteen and he was sixteen when I became pregnant with you. When Grandpa found out he was furious. He yelled at your dad, made a lot of threats, and started causing problems at the school. A week later, on a Friday, I came home from school and there was a moving van in the driveway. We left for Seattle within minutes. He would not let me call your father and I was devastated.

"Before we moved to Seattle your dad was already making a name for himself pitching. He had thrown pitches at the stadium for the minor league players, and I guess they were shocked by his speed. They included him in some unofficial practice sessions, and his star began to rise.

"Your father received a scholarship to UCLA in California, and we drifted farther apart, since we were not allowed to see each other. After graduation he was drafted into the minor leagues and sent to Albuquerque. He never made much money, but he would send what he could for us, Natalie.

When he was moved up to the Major League, his life became easier, and your grandparents couldn’t stop him from connecting with you. He loves you like crazy, Natalie, but he had a tough start in life. Growing up he had to work like a dog and was given little. He developed into a hard man, so he has difficulty showing anyone love.

The pilot announced they were on final approach and would be landing momentarily jolting Natalie into the present.

Minutes later they were walking through the gate. Natalie was surprised to see her mother and turned to her dad with a frown on her face. I thought we were going to a movie tonight?

Rachel stood silent, but her compressed lips and tight jaw gave away her displeasure.

I texted your mom and asked her to pick you up. I’m in a crappy mood and need to be alone.

You just don’t want me around! stated Natalie, stomping away. She did not look back.

You just hurt your daughter, said Rachel, with a mix of anger and sadness, before leaving to follow Natalie.

You should go talk with Natalie, Bill, suggested Jake mildly.

And you need more batting practice, Jake, responded Bill in anger.

Jake stared at Bill for several seconds. You dumbass!

CHAPTER TWO

Saturday Night

Bill grimaced while vigorously rubbing the back of his neck where it met his skull, trying to ease the small knots of muscle and pain. He rolled his shoulders, trying to get his neck to release. That did not work, so he went back to picking at his food and watching sports news on the big screen televisions. Bill was wearing his ball cap pulled down and slouching in one of the high-backed corner booths of the Ram Pub. One couple recognized him anyway and asked for an autograph. After asking their names he signed the napkin they held out. He smiled but it came off halfhearted.

His server came over. Sorry about the game, Bill. You’ll get ‘em next year, she said. Another beer?

No thanks. One was his limit. He knew what his personality was like after too much alcohol, coupled with too much disappointment.

Earlier in the evening, while working out, he had suddenly stopped and left the gym, returning home because he was not able to maintain his concentration. Back in his condo he had started the game film, fast forwarding to the one pitch that came back and glanced off his ribs. Touching the bruise on the left side of his chest Bill knew he had thrown a high and inside fastball. It was weird because he had not been tired, the pitch had been thrown perfectly, yet the ball had drifted down and over the center of the plate. He watched the pitch in slow motion again, when suddenly, with chills running down his back, Bill realized Chavez should have been able to knock it out of the ballpark. But he hadn’t.

Chavez appeared sure that the ball was going to hit me.

Bill was still angry about the insults from Chavez and the other Cubs batters, and he would retaliate next season. I will break a few ribs, thought Bill. He had shut off the TV, showered, and had headed out for a late-night meal.

He pushed his food away with a sigh. He needed to make things right with Natalie and Jake. He was still depressed and angry, and had reacted poorly, which they hadn’t deserved.

Picking up the phone he sent Jake a text.

BILL: Jake, sorry I was a jerk. Can we talk tomorrow?

Bill took another sip of beer. He loved Natalie and hated her grandfather. Rachel had to be a single parent after she was forced to move to Seattle. They had been in love when Rachel was taken from him to have their child in another city, far away. Rachel’s father had robbed him of the experience of the birth of his daughter.

Bill picked at the label on his beer bottle. Natalie was a beautiful young woman, and he was proud to be her father, although he felt like an imbecile half the time. Often not knowing what to say as he had little idea of what teenage girls liked. It was easier when they were watching a movie, or going shopping, or getting ice cream. He had a lot to learn, and he didn’t want to lose her.

BILL: Natalie, I love you. I am sorry I am not very good at the dad thing, but I can learn. Please hang in there with me and I’ll get better. Can I take you to a movie on Sunday?

Bill sent the text and put the phone down. It was late, and she should be in bed, so he would wait until tomorrow for her answer.

The server cleared his plate and offered him another drink which he turned down. Then his phone vibrated and with a smile he picked up his phone to see what Natalie had sent back.

JAKE: Bill, of course we can talk. I accept your apology, but you’re still an idiot! Smiley face.

Bill smiled briefly, until the sports news coverage shifted to baseball, and he saw that Chavez was being interviewed. The sound was off but closed caption was on.

I will be in Boise tomorrow. I am flying up to volunteer with a kid’s cancer group that I got involved with, when I was with the Boise Hawks. They are having a fundraiser, and I will be there for the kids.

How did it feel to win the game?

It felt great, as you can imagine, and it was wonderful to bring home a win for Chicago!

You got under Sullivan’s skin and hit him with a line drive. How do you think that will affect your future interactions with him?

Chavez did not look happy with the question.

Bill Sullivan is a great player and a fierce competitor. He is dedicated to the game, he is disciplined, and he is a winner in life. I have the utmost respect for him, and his abilities.

But you’re going to Boise, his hometown, right after the Dodger’s loss. Isn’t that pushing things a bit?

Chavez eyes flashed. Annoyed with the reporter, he held up his hands and turned away.

Bill’s mood soured. He dropped cash on the table and left.

I can’t get away from that guy.

Julio Chavez performed a quick survey of the cockpit gauges while the twin engines of the King Air were warming up. Satisfied, he went back to working through the pre-flight checklist until every item was complete. The navigation coordinates to Boise were entered, the weather forecast was calm, and the skies along the route were without clouds for the next few hours.

He was bringing his best friend, Tommy Rodriguez, and another teammate with him for the cancer camp fundraiser. It should be a safe and pleasant flight, and the views of moon while in route would be spectacular.

Flying was another passion he finally had time to indulge in. His father thought it was extravagant but being able to quickly fly where he was needed was helpful. And cruising above fifteen thousand feet helped clear his head. Most of the time the flights were as smooth as a velvet carpet, with a little engine noise thrown in.

Julio told his friends to buckle up. With a smile he keyed the mike and asked the LA tower for clearance to taxi.

Bill caught a green light at Broadway and Front, ready to be home. As he entered the intersection, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his right eye. The old truck, driven by a drunk driver, was doing eighty without headlights, when it hit the passenger side of Sullivan’s Porsche Carrera, just as Bill’s body instinctively tensed from the danger.

Bill was shoved violently left. He had been heading west and the crumpled vehicles spun one hundred and eighty degrees and fifty-five feet south.

Bill’s sports car ended up lying on its side.

Motor oil from broken crankcases drained slowly from underneath both vehicles, spreading across the pavement, mixing with antifreeze, gasoline, and pieces of red and amber plastic, headlight glass and road debris. Wisps of acrid, dark smoke curled lazily off the hot, dead, engines.

Inside the truck, blood was smeared on the windshield and forming a puddle on the floorboard. The driver was not moving.

Bill was struggling to stay conscious.

Everything is still. Why can’t I hear anything?

Bill blinked slowly, his mind struggling to catch up.

He noticed the airbags had deployed, and his turn signal was on.

Why is the little green arrow flashing?

Blink…blink…blink…blink. Ah, now I hear it.

I don’t feel right. Why am I on my side?

He tried to move, squirming in the seat.

I’m screwed up.

Frantic, Bill tried to move, and was slammed with pain. Cold knots settled in his stomach.

I’m hurt.

Bill stopped moving, exhausted, and trying to determine the extent of his injuries. Bits of glass and road pebbles poked his shoulder. He was having trouble breathing.

Somebody’s running my way.

HEY! Are you alright? Call 911! Call 911 now!

CHAPTER THREE

Thirty-six hours earlier.

Bill Sullivan, wrapped in late afternoon sunshine, drew a deep breath, the air smelling of fresh mown grass, popcorn, beer, and grilled meats. He could hear the crowd in Dodger Stadium as a muted dull roar, despite his concentration. Eyes shaded underneath his ball cap, Bill surveyed the Chicago Cubs rookie at the plate, with an angry hawk-like intensity.

He rolled the baseball over and over in his hand, until his fingers were exactly placed, wanting every pitch to be perfect. Bill was twenty-eight years old, at the top of his game, and in peak physical condition. Standing six feet five inches tall, and weighing two hundred and ten pounds, he was a baseball throwing machine, graced with curly dark hair, perfect vision, and excellent hand-eye coordination.

The mound and the diamond were properly prepared, the grass cut exactly right, tended, and treated before the game until it looked like green felt. The white lines of the diamond were sharp and clear, since only two batters had gotten to first base. Neither made it to second.

The historic stadium was filled, the fans raucous, angry, and booing, because Bill was holding up the game, by forcing his opponent to wait in the batter’s box. Sullivan didn’t care. The winners would advance to the World Series and the losers would … lose.

"Welcome back folks! I am Ken Hamilton, here with Jim Manning with CBS Sports, live in Dodger Stadium. This is the Divisional Playoff game, between the Dodgers and the Cubs. For those of you just joining us, what a game this is! Sullivan is pitching a two hitter and now Julio Chavez is back at bat. Sullivan gave up a single to Chavez in the early innings and appears determined to strike him out this time around.

And here’s the pitch! That was a high and inside fast ball, and Chavez fouls it into the right stands. This young man is awesome, Jim, very few batters could have even touched that pitch!

He sure is, Ken. The rookie sensation, Julio Chavez, is getting better every game. He spent one year with the Cubs Dominican Republic farm team, before being transferred to the Boise Hawks. Then, late this season, he was moved to the majors, with a batting average of .430. He is crushing most pitchers. If he keeps on this track, he will break the rookie home run record set by Pete Alonso.

That’s right, Jim, but he must get by Sullivan first! Sullivan has a mean streak, and his curve ball is phenomenal. Sullivan has a history of brushing batters off the plate and is deadly accurate. He has hit batters in the hip, and made a few players duck, maybe on purpose, although he’ll never admit it. Chavez has his work cut out for him today.

Sullivan took his time, as he glanced toward the section of stands reserved for player’s family and friends. His daughter was watching, and she was a growing, bright part of his life.

Sullivan shifted his gaze back to the punk at the plate, a nobody, who had one hit, one foul, and was not giving him any respect. This was their first face off game, and Chavez was the only man standing between him and the World Series.

Fans, unhappy with Sullivan’s continued delay, went ballistic with their heckling.

Julio stood patiently. He was that kind of man, and well aware that Sullivan had a massive, explosive ego, and was trying to intimidate him. Julio had done his homework, watched every game film, studied every pitch, and did not trust his opponent. He had studied Sammy Sosa, David Ortiz, Manny Ramirez, and many other great hitters from his home country. Now he was here in the Show, and ready to provide a few lessons of his own.

Ego or not, I’m going to crush Sullivan’s next pitch.

Sullivan looked for the signal from his catcher, Jake Parsons.

Julio decided to give Sullivan a taste of his own medicine and stepped out of the batter’s box. Julio took a few easy practice swings, to make sure he was still loose. He was six feet tall and stocky, weighing in at two hundred pounds of solid muscle and speed. He was twenty-five years old, with golden brown eyes, longish hair, and an infectious grin.

The fans increased the volume of obscenities and heckling, stomping their feet and slapping noise sticks together, urging the two of them to get on with the game.

Julio smacked the bat against his cleats and stepped into the batter’s box. Wearing a huge grin, he lifted the bat and pointed toward the left outer wall. It wasn’t sporting but he wanted under Sullivan’s skin.

The crowd, smelling blood, roared at the challenge symbolically slapped across Sullivan’s face.

Sullivan tried to keep his anger under control, then decided not to. Parsons gave him the signal for another high inside fastball. Sullivan nodded his acceptance and started his wind-up.

Julio focused his attention on the pitcher, knowing Sullivan was dangerous when angry. He dug his cleats into the dirt, blocking out the crowd noise with ease, having a good idea what pitch was headed his way.

Eric Hall saw Chavez still outside the batter’s box on the big screen television.

Look Dad! Sullivan is going to strike him out! I just know it.

I’m sure he will, agreed David Hall, shaking his head.

His tow-headed eight-year-old loved baseball, and especially Bill Sullivan, the hard luck orphan, who had made it big by hard work. Eric was wearing a Dodger’s cap and Sullivan’s number on his child sized jersey. He had at least two hundred baseball cards, including all the current Dodger’s players. All Eric ever wanted was baseball cards, memorabilia, and gear. His walls were covered in posters and pennants. He had more than a dozen signed baseballs, most of them by the local team, the Boise Hawks, and he loved them. He had bats and gloves, baseball sheets and pillowcases, even a baseball clock and bedside lamp. He was easy to buy gifts for.

He is getting in his head, Dad. He’s staring down that rookie, and he’s going to make mincemeat out of him!

I’m sure you’re right, son, replied his dad with a laugh.

I have hotdogs and chips, announced Eric’s mother, Caroline, entering the family room with