Page 118 of Off Pitch

I can’t watch beyond two innings, though. Knox doesn’t have outings like this, giving up four runs on fifty-nine pitches. The only thing that changed recently for him to perform like this is what happened between us.

The change over the past few days has him so distracted he can’t focus on pitching.

I need space to think for myself, but doing that clearly has a negative impact on him.

So, can I make it through the season without pulling so far away? Can I do that without falling apart in the process?

I don’t know, but I think I’ve got to try for the sake of the team.

After I turn the game off, I put in my earbuds to drown out my thoughts to some upbeat pop music.

It’s not working.

It’s almost nine, and I’m still stuck on how poorly Knox performed tonight. No matter what’s happening between us, I don’t want it to distract him from his own game. He’s builta career on performing well under pressure and stress, and tonight’s performance is so out of character for him.

And almost no one really knows why it’s happening.

But I do.

I know.

It’s because ofme.

The song I’m listening to is cut off by an incoming call.

Lucia’s calling.

Why is Lucia calling? She’s at the game, and she’s technically working.

I answer the call, and Lucia’s voice now rings through my earbuds.

“Harlow! Were you not watching the game?” she shouts from the other end. I don’t know where she is right now, but it sure as hell doesn’t sound like the baseball field.

“I turned it off after the second inning,” I admit. “Knox looked like shit, and it was hard to watch because I know that’s my fault.”

“Well, that tells me why you weren’t blowing up my phone a little while ago.”

“What do you mean, Luc? What happened?”

“Knox went down on one of his pitches in the third. I’m at the hospital with him right now so I could fill his providers in on what happened.”

“What?!” I yell. “Knox was injured tonight?”

“Yeah. It was a non-contact injury, though. He thinks it’s his hamstring, so he’s getting imaging done to determine the severity. Then they’ll figure out if he needs surgery. Dr. Coltrain said he will be out for a bit regardless, though.”

“Fuck,” I say, standing up from my tiny couch. Fatigue is a perfect way to end up with a hamstring strain as a pitcher. And the way Knox has looked like shit the past few days, I’ve no doubt he hasn’t been sleeping. “What hospital?”

“Bellevue,” Lucia says.

“You’re in Kips Bay,” I say back as I slip on my shoes. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

The emergency room is overrun with fans trying to garner any information they can about Knox Spencer’s injury. He’s been here about an hour, and everyone already figured out where he was, completely flooding the waiting room.

I’ll never understand those fans. The ones who show up after an injury or medical emergency, trying to get a glimpse of their favorite athlete in one of their worst moments. Compassion should be shown, and privacy should be given. Unfortunately, that’s not what happens when you’re in the public eye.

Because of that, there’s security posted at the doors leading into the hospital from the waiting room.

“Hi,” I say, somewhat intimidated by the large man in front of me with a stoic expression on his face. “I’m here for Knox Spencer.”

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