Page 1 of Curve Balls and Second Chances (Pickwick Pirate Queens #1)

CHAPTER ONE

T hwack!

The red-stitched neon yellow ball lifted off the edge of the bat and sailed straight toward the blazing sun.

Metal bleachers screeched a protest as Rose McAllister watched the play, then stood up, ball cap tugged low over sunglasses to counter the blinding afternoon light. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted across the field.

“Ginny! You gotta watch the ball, hun. That sun’s not gonna catch it for you!”

Out in right field, Ginny half-turned, glove poised, head tilted upward.

The ball landed about five feet behind her, rolling to the fence where Allie , playing backup, scooped it clean and zipped it toward second.

The dugout erupted in a chorus of “ Oooohs !”—half good-natured ribbing, half actual coaching critique.

Rose kept her game face on. Her players knew better than to mistake her humor for leniency. A few had even learned that lesson the hard way. Usually after a few laps around the bases

But you didn’t run the best women’s slow-pitch softball team in Hardin County by being soft.

And she was determined to win the regional competition this year.

A little push now might be the magic ingredient to make that happen.

Last year had been so close she’d been almost physically ill when they’d lost by one run in the end.

She still couldn’t hear the words “pop fly” without wanting to throw something.

“Okay, hustle up!” Rose called. “ Back to positions. Let’s run it again!”

Bats clinked as players swapped spots. Dani jogged to shortstop, flipping her glove in the air and catching it without looking. Maggie ambled toward third with all the enthusiasm of someone heading for a dental appointment.

“Move it, Mags !” Rose barked.

Maggie shot her a look over her shoulder. “ You can’t rush art, Coach .”

Rose smirked despite herself. “ It’s not art if it ends up in the dirt.”

On the next hit, Allie cracked a low liner that zipped right past second base. Dani dove for it, glove outstretched and managed to stop the ball from getting to the outfield, though she landed in a cloud of dust big enough to make the first baseman cough.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Rose shouted. “ Nice stop, Dani !”

“Okay! Let’s switch up players. I want everyone running all the drills.”

Ginny, the team’s youngest player, jogged off the field with a sheepish grin, stopping at the foot of the bleachers. “ Sorry , Coach .”

“Don’t tell me,” Rose said, tossing her an ice-cold bottle of water from the cooler at her feet. “ Just show me you can keep your glove outta your hair next time.”

As Ginny nodded, cracked the bottle of water and trotted to the dugout, Rose turned back toward the field, shielding her eyes from the sun.

Even the hat and sunglasses weren’t cutting the glare.

This late in the afternoon the angle was near impossible to defeat.

Add in the breathless quality of the air and it was a recipe for sweat and short tempers.

The June heat lay over the field like a thick, wet blanket—humid, unrelenting, and familiar in the way only a Southern summer could be. Somewhere beyond the outfield fence, cicadas droned their summer chorus, and a whiff of fresh-cut grass mixed with the dusty scent of the infield.

“Alright, ladies!” Rose called, clapping her hands. “ Let’s run it again—outfielders, talk to each other out there! If you lose it in the sun, call it so the next gal can take over!”

The next batter stepped up, kicking a little red dirt over the white chalk line of the batter’s box.

Rose watched her settle in, the faint tang of leather and dust in the air.

The cicadas had restarted their droning chorus in the trees beyond the fence, blending with the distant hum of boat engines from the lake a half-mile away.

Crack! The ball soared toward deep left.

“Yours, Amber !” someone hollered. Amber charged forward, snagged it mid-bounce, and rifled it to second in one smooth motion.

“Nice hustle!” Rose shouted. She wiped sweat from the back of her neck with a small towel, then perched on the top bleacher rail for a better view.

Bats cracked, gloves popped, and a few muttered curses drifted across the diamond as the infield ran a double-play drill.

This field, these women, this team —they were hers. Steady . Dependable . The things she’d come to rely on as must haves in her life. And she’d built it from scratch over time.

Unlike a certain man whose name she hadn't said out loud in years. The one who’d arrived back in town so unexpectedly last month sending her heart into cartwheels and her stomach dropping to her feet.

All that and she hadn’t laid eyes on him yet.

The past had come home. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

And then, just as the next pitch floated toward home plate, a voice—low, sure, painfully familiar—cut across the summer air.

“Rose.”

The tiny hairs at the base of her neck stood up in response.

She turned.

Speak of the devil. Had her thoughts conjured him up? Even knowing he was back in town and that this meeting was inevitable hadn’t softened the shock.

Acen Wheeler stood at the edge of the dugout, arms crossed over his chest, ball cap tugged low.

His dark hair shorter now, just barely showing along the edges of a ball cap advertising the team he’d played pro for -- and peppered with gray at the temples.

The years had filled him out, broader shoulders, a deeper jawline softened a bit by a close-cut beard—but his eyes were the same sharp, smoky blue.

The same eyes she’d once memorized every shade of, right before he broke her heart.

For a second, she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Time swirled backward as she drowned in that gaze.

A door slammed shut long ago creaked open and the betrayal sprang forward like a hungry cat just waiting for an opportunity to remind her.

Rounding the corner of the building on graduation night.

Excitement fizzing in her blood like champagne.

The future a long, shining, endless road in front of her.

Her brain had taken a minute to compute what her eyes were telling her.

When eyes and brain came to an agreement, Rose swallowed back a sob.

In the shadow of the building, Acen and her friend Briana stood in a tight embrace.

Bodies touching chest to feet and lips locked together.

She’d fled with her tattered dreams scattered on the hard asphalt behind her.

Acen had left for college the next day.

Briana not long after.

And she’d stayed behind in Pickwick Bend .

Until today she hadn’t seen or spoken to Acen in twenty years. Twenty long hard years of building a life totally different from the one she’d imagined before that fateful graduation night.

Then muscle memory kicked in. Never let them see you sweat. She couldn’t remember who’d said that, but it would become her mantra around this man.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said, folding her arms and tilting her chin, grateful that her own eyes were hidden by the dark sunglasses she wore. Oh , so casual. That’s how to play this moment. But her heart fluttered against her ribs. Good thing no one could see that. “ Thought I smelled regret.”

His mouth tugged into a half-smile. “ Still got that fire, huh?”

She eased down the bleacher steps and moved closer, just enough for her team to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping from behind the fence. Even though she could almost feel the wind generated from so many sets of ears flapping to catch every word. “ What are you doing here?”

“Riley didn’t tell you?” Acen asked, eyebrows raised.

“Riley tells me plenty. Doesn’t mean I listen.” She hoped the lie didn’t sound as loud to everyone listening as it did to her. She’d known. Her twin brother would never have let her come face-to-face with Acen unprepared.

“I’m back,” he said simply, and somehow that felt like a threat and a confession all at once.

“Back for how long?”

“Indefinitely. I’m moving in with my dad for a bit. Helping out with some things. He’s getting older and it’s harder for him to handle everything these days.”

She nodded as she studied him, heart tight in her chest. He looked older. Tired . Still … dangerous in the way that only a first love could be.

“Well,” she said finally, stepping around him toward her equipment bag lying on the bench behind him. “ Welcome back.” She pointed over her shoulder. “ The parking lot’s that way.”

He didn’t leave. Of course he didn’t. When had anything ever come easy for her?

“You still coaching?” he asked, gesturing to the field.

“Looks like it.”

“You were always good at bossing people around.”

Rose zipped her bag slowly, deliberately. “ And you were always good at pretending you liked being told what to do.”

That half-smile again. She hated how it twisted in her chest.

Before she could say something she’d regret—or something she’d want to repeat—her best friend Tasha came jogging over, glancing between them. Her eyes full of concern.

“You okay, Rose ?” she asked, suspiciously chipper.

“Peachy,” Rose said. “ We’re just being polite. And Acen was just leaving.”

Acen gave Tasha a nod. “ Good to see you, Tash .”

“You too,” she said carefully. Then , to Rose : “ Want me to bring the bats to your truck?”

Rose threw Acen one last glance. “ That would be great.”

“That’s a wrap, ladies!” She said to the group crowded into the dugout. “ Great practice. Get some rest. You’re gonna to need it.” A chorus of groans met that statement.

As she and Tasha walked away, summer scorched grass crackling beneath their feet, Tasha whispered under her breath, “ Wow . Time has been good to Acen Wheeler for sure.”

“Unfortunately,” Rose muttered, hoping Tasha would drop the subject.

“Girl. If he were any hotter, I’d need a permit to look at him in public.”

Rose didn’t smile. Not even a little. Instead , she threw her bag into the back of the beat-up pickup she’d gotten for a steal of a deal at an auction years ago and had put over a hundred thousand miles on over the years.

“Catch you later at the coffee shop,” she said to Tasha .

“ I’ll be open late tonight for the tourist season.

Cindy is probably ready to head home by now.

” She’d hired Cindy to take care of the coffee shop when she needed to be at practice and games during the summer.

It worked well for both of them. Cindy got to earn some extra money and mingle with the public and Rose got to be with her beloved ball team.

She ran her hand slowly along the scuffed blue paint of the door of the truck. The same color as Acen’s eyes . Whispered her brain. Good grief. Please don’t let everything start reminding her of him. That was a distraction she did not need in her life with the regional playoff games about to start.

In their one conversation about the man, Riley had told her Acen had never married.

Not that she cared. But it threw her off balance in a way that she didn’t like.

And that today her heart had responded so easily to him after all the silence.

Especially since their relationship had ended with no explanation.

She’d tried to get something out of Briana back then. Back when Briana still deigned to come home for a family visit once a year. But Briana had been silent as the tomb. Defensive and edgy. Understandable since she’d more or less stolen Rose’s longtime boyfriend.

And, just like that, their long-standing friendship had vanished. Along with Briana herself. She’d stopped visiting after a few years.

Had Acen and Briana been together in those years of silence?

A big part of her didn’t want to know. Liar , whispered her brain.

She desperately wanted to understand what had happened all those years ago.

Just so she could finally put it all to bed in her head.

Sure , that’s why ” her traitor brain chimed in.

She climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door--- hard. To shut up her brain and its smart remarks.