Home Run: A Novel Read Free

head and the throbbing pain in his knee. He was already doing something for the former and decided to grab an ice pack for his knee.
    Their relatively new clubhouse was eighty-five thousand square feet of space, with televisions all around and leather couches and love seats in the middle. On some days it still didn’t feel big or luxurious enough. On days when the night games and flights back home seemed endless and it took a lot more to get the body and mind up for the game, Cory felt like he was in an expensive commercial made for someone else.
    “Hey, Brand, how’d you make out with that chick last night?” It was Bruce, their tank of a catcher, asking.
    “Same as always,” Cory said, clicking on the flash of his grin.
    Bruce just shook his head and moved on.
    Yeah, right.
    Cory couldn’t even remember her name, if he had to be honest. It was something ending with ee , like Stephanie or Emily. She’d wanted to come over to his condo, but he hadn’t been that drunk. The last thing he needed during a season like this one was to come home and find some woman boiling a rabbit in his kitchen.
    By the time Helene rushed into the clubhouse in her typical high-caffeinated manner, most of the players had already gone out to the field. The start time for the game was five. Cory was taking his sweet time. Because of the knee. And maybe because he knew what awaited him outside.
    “What’s this I hear about you chatting with Capano last night at the fund-raiser?”
    “Relax, Helene. You’re the only girl for me.” He admired her legs as always and grinned. “Though he did offer me his firstborn.”
    His fashionista agent looked as if she was dressed for a movie premiere and not a Denver Grizzlies home game. Cory laughed at her high heels that seemed to sparkle. Her chocolate skin looked smooth and soft, but Cory knew the rough and tough fighter beneath the sexy exterior.
    Helene barely paid his joke any attention as her thumb worked her iPhone.
    “You’d have to be really drunk to think that was a good deal,” Cory added.
    Which, in fact, I really was.
    “That animal would eat his firstborn if it meant signing a new player.”
    Cory tossed the ice bag on the floor and then rubbed his temple. “Last night was all pretty much a blur. I don’t think I signed anything.”
    Helene ignored his comment. She was like a parent who was physically in the room but hadn’t left her work and office behind. Not that Cory really knew anything about that.
    “How’s the knee?” she asked as her eyes moved from her phone to his leg.
    She was probably noticing how he wasn’t standing. Not yet.
    “It’s never felt better,” he said. “Give me a minute.”
    There were lots of things he spoke about with Helene, but his knee wasn’t one of them. If pressed, he’d tell her the same thing he told everybody else. It was fine. Wonderful.
    A knee doesn’t hit baseballs. A knee doesn’t spend the game in left field waiting for pop-ups. A knee doesn’t really matter unless it’s completely gone.
    Cory knew that Helene had other players on her roster. None as big as Cory Brand, of course. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t find the next young stallion ready to play ball and make everybody millions. She’d gladly hop off the saddle and jump on another if she knew that fame and fortune would follow.
    His eyes followed her shapely figure out the door. With only Benny still left in the clubhouse, Cory stood up and shook his leg to get some feeling back in it. As usual, he could feel the click of cartilage—it was like hearing something not quite right in the engine of your car. Eventually you knew it was going to have to be looked at.
    He sighed and reached for the thermal cup. A bottle of Ketel One was wedged in some clothes in his duffel bag—the first bottle he’d spotted at the condo. He wasn’t picky. He found the vodka and emptied the rest into the Grizzlies cup.
    It took him a quick swallow to drain it.
    He didn’t rush