Page 14 of Curve Balls and Second Chances (Pickwick Pirate Queens #1)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

B y the time Rose got to the field for Thursday night practice, the air was thick—summer heat mingling with something heavier.

The June evening pressed close, sticky as molasses, and the cicadas had already struck up their ragged orchestra from the trees lining the outfield fence.

The sky was still painted with late sunlight, streaks of pink and orange bleeding into blue, but the light had a tired quality, like even the heavens were worn out.

Her players were already warming up. Usually that meant laughter, easy banter, a few good-natured shoves as gloves popped and balls smacked leather.

Tonight , though, the sound was subdued.

Voices dropped lower, movements slowed, and eyes - too many of them - kept flicking between Rose and the outfield as though the girls were waiting for a storm to roll in.

Rose chalked it up to gossip fatigue. The town had been buzzing all week, her name bouncing around diner booths and church foyers like a pinball nobody could stop.

Apparently , every waitress and cousin-twice-removed had a hot opinion on who Rose McAllister ought to love, forgive, or kick to the curb.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or scream about it.

Glancing around the field, she didn’t see Acen .

Relief washed through her, quick and guilty.

Good . He was giving her time, the space she’d asked for without ever saying it out loud.

The truth he’d dropped in her lap on Tuesday had been heavy enough to bruise.

She still felt the ache of it, like she’d been carrying a weighted bat around since the moment he said it: I didn’t think I was worth fighting for.

And Lord help her, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

But town gossip and news she hadn’t wanted to hear couldn’t be allowed to interfere with their regional championship.

She’d talk to Acen tomorrow. Tell him she wanted to shelve any conversation about the two of them until after the tournament season.

She had her pride. Lord knew that at times that pride had been the only thing that kept her going over the years, but the team could use his extra edge and experience to put them over the top and get the trophy this year.

She just had to figure out a way to keep all the other distractions out of her mind until then.

She blew out a breath and forced her focus to the field.

Clipboard tucked under her arm; she started setting up the batting drills.

Routine helped. Toss balls in the bucket.

Chalk a new line in the dirt. Straighten the net.

Remind Tasha she needed to keep her knees bent.

All the little pieces that made sense when nothing else did.

She was halfway through when Dani jogged over. The girl’s ponytail bounced like it was wired, nervous energy practically sparking off her. Her glove was tucked under one arm, but she fidgeted with the strap as if she couldn’t decide whether to hold it or drop it.

“You okay?” Rose asked, keeping her voice calm.

Dani bit her lip. “ Um . That depends.”

“On what?”

“On how mad you’re gonna be that I didn’t warn you sooner.”

Rose’s eyes narrowed, clipboard shifting against her chest. “ Warn me about?—?”

“Hey, stranger.”

The voice came from behind her.

Rose froze. Her breath stopped short, the air in her lungs turned thick as syrup. That voice hadn’t changed in twenty years. Smoky . Sweet . Practiced , the kind of tone meant to disarm, to charm, to cover sharp edges.

Slowly, because she already knew, Rose turned.

There stood Briana Lewis .

Time hadn’t softened her. If anything, it had carved her sharper.

Her honey-blonde hair, once teased and sprayed into whatever style was in vogue at Pickwick High , was now tucked neatly under a designer ball cap that absolutely did not belong at a rec-league practice.

Her jeans hugged too tight, her top looked catalog-fresh, and her sneakers were white in a way no shoes worn to a dusty field had any right to be.

She didn’t fit the setting, but Briana had always been like that—like she was auditioning for some life just out of reach.

Her smile, though, was the same. Tight as a fishing line right before it snapped.

“What are you doing here?” Rose asked, voice flat.

“I heard you were coaching.” Briana swept a hand toward the girls on the field. “ Thought I’d swing by, see the legendary Pickwick Pirate Queens in action.”

Rose stared at her. “ And you just happened to be back in town after two decades?”

“Property stuff, remote job, kind of a break to reset my life.” Briana gave a casual shrug, too studied to be natural. “ My dad left me the old Lewis place. Figured I’d check in, clean it out, maybe fix it up.”

Rose crossed her arms, the clipboard pressed to her ribs like armor. “ And of all the places you could ‘check in,’ you landed here?”

Briana’s smile faltered. Just a flicker, but Rose caught it. “ Look , Rose . I know we didn’t part on the best of terms.”

“You mean when you made out with my boyfriend behind the gym and told him my brother didn’t want him to be with me?”

Gasps rippled from the players who’d been eavesdropping, though none of them looked surprised. Pickwick loved its old stories, and this one had been whispered like scripture over a lot of years.

Briana’s cheeks flushed, but she lifted her chin. “ That was high school.”

“And you were a traitor,” Rose shot back. Her throat was tight, but her voice was steady. “ That wasn’t teenage drama, Bree . That was betrayal.”

The field went still. Gloves hung loose. Softballs rolled to a stop. Even the cicadas seemed to pause, like the whole world was listening.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” Briana said finally, her voice softer now, stripped of its practiced lilt. “ I came to say I’m sorry.”

Rose blinked, stunned. “ You waited twenty years to apologize?”

Briana swallowed. “ I thought you hated me.”

“I did.”

“Do you still?”

Rose opened her mouth. Closed it again. The truth was slippery. Anger still simmered under her ribs, but so did exhaustion, and grief, and maybe—just maybe—a strange sense of relief hearing Briana finally say the words.

“I don’t know what I feel,” Rose admitted. “ But I don’t need you showing up here like we’re gonna braid each other’s hair and share a lemonade. This team? These girls? They’re my family now. You don’t get to drop back in and stir things up.”

Briana nodded, and for once, she didn’t smile. “ Fair enough. I just wanted to say it. I’m sorry.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned. Her footsteps were slow, but steady, crunching over gravel and grass as she walked back toward the parking lot. Her posture was straight, like she wasn’t used to hearing no.

Rose didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She just stood there, clipboard clutched too tight, heart thudding so hard she could feel it in her wrists. The sun slid lower, bleeding red into the horizon, and her past slinked off into the shadows again.

Practice ended early.

No one could focus after that. Drills turned sloppy, balls sailed wild, and Rose had snapped—almost without meaning to—at Tasha for dropping an easy catch.

The girl’s face had crumpled, and Rose had swallowed her temper down like vinegar.

She waved them off after only an hour, muttering something about the heat.

The second the last cleat cleared the field, Rose sank onto the bleachers. The metal was still warm from the sun, and she let her elbows rest on her knees, head dropping into her hands. She felt wrung out, scraped raw by ghosts she hadn’t asked to face.

“Need backup?”

The voice was familiar.

Riley dropped a cold soda beside her and lowered himself onto the bench with the ease of someone who’d been sitting beside her all their lives. He cracked his own can open, the fizz loud in the humid air.

“Do you ever mind your business?” she muttered without looking up.

“Nope. Not when it comes to my sister.” He took a long swallow. “ So . Briana ?”

“She just showed up.” Rose lifted her head, brushing a stray hair from her face. “ Like we’re gonna hug it out and pretend nothing happened.”

“She always had nerve,” Riley said dryly.

Rose snorted. “ That’s one way to put it.” Her gaze drifted back to the field, the bases still gleaming faintly white in the dusk. “ She said she’s sorry.”

Riley was quiet for a long beat, the kind of silence only siblings could share without discomfort. Then : “ Do you believe her?”

“I don’t know.” Rose wrapped her hands around the soda can but didn’t open it. “ I don’t even know if it matters.”

“It might,” Riley said. His tone was even, but his eyes, sharp and steady, gave away more. “ Especially if she’s not just back for the reasons she’s spreading around town.”

Rose frowned, turning toward him. “ What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead , he leaned back, stretched his legs out, and took another sip like he had all the time in the world. But his gaze wasn’t on her anymore.

It had drifted toward the parking lot.

Rose followed it.

And there, just visible behind a clump of trees, sat Acen’s truck. Quiet . Shadowed . Watching .

Her breath caught.

Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she’d survived the past after all.