Page 3 of Off Pitch (New York Stars #1)

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Knox

“Is there anything you would have done differently today?” the reporter asks.

“Not thrown a changeup,” I say. The media is always so invasive, especially after a game. Even when we win, they’re still scrutinizing my performance, wondering why I pitched a two-run homer in the sixth inning. Because perfection is apparently all I’m allowed. It’s fucking irritating.

“Do you think a knuckleball would’ve been more successful on that pitch?” asks a different reporter, a woman in the back of the room.

“I guess we’ll never know.”

This here is why I’ve earned the nickname of Fort Knox. Like the home of the US gold supply, the namesake of this damn nickname, you can’t break me, mainly because I don’t give a shit about what they think. Why do they need all the details of my life? I’m playing a game; I’m not a goddamn celebrity.

Well, I guess that’s not entirely true.

I’m well-known as one of the best starting pitchers in the league. Every baseball fan knows who I am, but it goes beyond that, too. As of the past couple of years, I’m also known off the field.

That’s partially because of the Fort Knox persona but mainly related to some stupid internet poll. Some tabloid put together a list of attractive male athletes, and for some reason, I made the list.

That damn poll has become the bane of my existence. I just want to play baseball and go home to the solitude of my penthouse. I don’t have that luxury anymore, though. I always see cameras and reporters when I’m out. Just gives me even more of a reason to always stay inside.

That’s a large part of the reason Cole and I get on so well. Neither of us wants the fame surrounding us. We just want to live our lives. Lucky for Cole, he manages to go unnoticed. How? No damn clue considering he’s one of the better bats on the team. Not to mention that he’s the hometown hero, having grown up in Brooklyn. As for me, everywhere I turn, there’s a reporter trying to talk to me or a photographer snapping a picture to submit to some tabloid, all wondering about the unnavigable “Fort Knox.”

“Do you think resting for the next four days will have you ready to start Sunday’s game?” yet another reporter asks.

“Hope so,” I say, standing up and waving my goodbyes as I leave the media room.

Most teams just do post-game interviews on the field. You only deal with one reporter and then head back to the clubhouse. However, Skip says we should foster a better relationship with the media. So, every game I pitch, I’m stuffed into the small media room we have at the stadium, smelling terribly of sweat and body odor before I can get to the clubhouse to take a damn shower.

Lane catches up with me in the hall after he finishes with his line of questioning. “Hey, Spence,” he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “Great game today, huh?”

“Don’t call me Spence,” I say as I shrug his arm off me. “I fucking hate that.”

“Which is exactly why I do it, Spence. Gotta get you riled up somehow.”

I just roll my eyes as I follow Lane into the clubhouse.

Freshly showered with only a terrycloth towel wrapped low on my waist, I walk over to my space in the clubhouse. My jersey is hung up and ready to be cleaned, and I’m ready to head home, binge-watch some Netflix, and order some takeout so I don’t have to cook tonight. Might as well give my arm a rest after throwing out ninety-four pitches today.

As I’m about to drop the towel and get ready to get my ass out of here, I hear a voice behind me. “There you are, Knox. I’ve been looking for you.”

Simon Helbin, my agent.

I turn to face him. “Where else did you think you’d find me right now, Simon? I just got out of the damn shower.”

“We’ll circle back to your attitude in just a moment. But I figure you’ll want to hear from me, seeing as I just got off the phone with one of the execs at Axis.”

“Yeah?” I say, a rare bit of optimism to my tone. “What did they say?”

Axis Athletic Co. is one of the largest global sports apparel companies. Signing an endorsement deal with them is a huge career boost for athletes. They’re currently considering me for a future campaign.

“They said that the grumpy asshole persona has to go before they’ll offer a contract.”

“There’s no fucking way they actually said that, Simon.”

“Not in as many words, but the sentiment was the same.” He takes a seat on the sofa across from my space. I join him now, just the two of us currently in the clubhouse. “They love what you do on the field, you know that, but Axis is a very famous brand. They don’t sign endorsement deals with players they believe could be a liability.”

“How the hell am I a liability?” I reply, the irritation in my voice evident. “I come for practice, play the game, and then go home. I don’t do a damn thing that should worry them.”

“That right there is what they’re worried about.”

I sigh, scrubbing my hand over my face. “Fort Knox is the problem, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Simon responds, letting out a breath. “All of Axis’s clients are role models on and off the field. They want somebody people admire to represent their brand and the company’s integrity.”

“Axis is a goddamn corporation. How much integrity can they actually have?”

Simon pinches his fingers over the bridge of his nose, no doubt questioning his life choices that led to him signing me as a client, though I’ll forever be grateful for him. My career almost ended before it began—I wouldn’t be here without him. “This is part of the problem, Knox. You can’t say things like that if you want people to like you.”

“I don’t care if people like me, Simon. You should know that by now.”

“If you want to get this endorsement, you need Axis to like you. They’re holding off on offering the contract for now. They’ve said they want to see a major improvement from you over the season before they make their final determination on whether to extend the offer or rescind the contract altogether.”

“Fuck me.”

How do I become someone approachable and likable when the media is the bane of my existence? I don’t let people in, especially nosy reporters.

“I’m brainstorming ways to help you through the season. We’re not giving up on this; we just need a solid approach to handling it. You need this endorsement deal.”

“I know,” I say, sighing again as I lean against the sofa.

Once Simon finally left the clubhouse, I threw on a pair of black joggers and a gray T-shirt. Thank fuck the MLB doesn’t make us wear suits to and from a game like the NHL does. Having to wear a suit at least six days a week is something straight out of a nightmare to me.

I grab my jacket from the hanger, throwing it over my shoulder as I step into the hall. Cole is standing right outside chatting to a couple of women—Lucia, one of our trainers, and a blonde in a baseball cap. Even with her back to me, I know who she is—Harlow Pierce, Cole’s sister.

I’d be remiss to say that she’s never crossed my mind during some... alone time when I’m home. She’s fucking stunning. Her wavy hair falls down past her shoulders. She has the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. And her other... assets... are more than enough to continually attract my gaze.

Attractive as she is, though, she’s not my type. She’s way too fucking happy . Like, all the time. She’s the female version of Cole. I could never manage that without going out of my mind.

There’s that, as well as the fact that she runs a blog about the Stars. She’s trying to be seen, while I’m someone who wants to stay in the shadows. Incompatible, if you ask me.

Cole spots me as I shut the clubhouse door behind me. “Hey, man. How are you feeling after our first win?”

I reluctantly make my way over to join them. I might be considered an asshole across the league for my unwillingness to speak to the media, but I do still try to show my friends and teammates some respect.

“Not bad. Good to get a win,” I say, sidling up next to Cole.

“You pitched a great game tonight, Knox,” Harlow says, peering up at me. I forgot how small she is—I’m six-four and easily have a foot on her.

“Uh, thanks,” I reply, running a hand through my hair. “Media doesn’t think so,” I add. If I have to pretend to be approachable, it’ll be easier to do that around people I already know. I don’t know Harlow or Lucia well, but I’m familiar with them since we have the same circle of friends. I might as well get a start on all of this now. Simon will be happy, at least.

“The media is full of dicks looking for a story,” Harlow replies. I actually laugh at that, earning a side eye from Cole since that’s unlike me. “They just wanted to get you worked up so you’d say something they could run with.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Why is Harlow trying to talk me up right now? I’ve known her for years because of Cole, but we’ve exchanged maybe five sentences with each other in that time. So that’s weird. Changing the subject, I turn to Cole. “Lane already leave?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, rubbing his neck. “Sage was tired, and he wanted to get her home. Rory went to help get her down.”

Lane Brooks is our center fielder and the third member of our friend group with Josh Garro. He’s like a damn golden retriever, lapping up the attention and giving the fans everything they crave. He always has women falling at his feet... which is how he ended up a single dad from a one-night stand. But the guy’s a damn good father. And his daughter Sage could melt even the coldest of hearts, including mine.

Skip’s daughter, Rory, is actually Lane’s nanny. Rory was always around the team because of her father, and she has a background in childcare. When Lane unexpectedly became a dad, she jumped right in to help, traveling with Sage and the team around the country for games.

“Oh!” Lucia chimes in. “I need to find Josh before he leaves the stadium. I have to see how his leg held up today to get an idea of what stretches he needs to work on ahead of tomorrow’s game.”

“I’ll come with,” Harlow adds. “I’ll see you for breakfast tomorrow, Cole, and I’ll see you at the game tomorrow, Knox.”

With a wave, they both turn on their heels and head back down the hallway. And I get a view of Harlow’s hips swaying side to side as she struts away. Adding that to my memory bank for later.

“Dude,” Cole says, shoving my shoulder. “Since when does my sister actually talk to you?”

“I have no fucking idea, man.”

“Weird.” He pulls a hoodie over his head—navy with yellow accents and the Stars logo front and center. “Well, I’m heading out. Catch you tomorrow, Fort.”

Cole takes off down the hall and heads the way Harlow and Lucia left. I turn around to head in the opposite direction to find Simon standing right behind me.

“Christ, Simon. What the hell are you doing?”

“You seem friendly with Cole’s sister,” he says, completely ignoring my question.

“That’s the most we’ve ever spoken,” I reply honestly. “She seems nice and all, but I’d hardly say I know her.”

I can see Simon working through something in his head. The gears are turning. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I’m sure that I won’t like it.

“I’ve got some things to work out tonight, but meet me in Conference Room A before the game tomorrow. I’ve got an idea...”