Page 27 of Curve Balls and Second Chances (Pickwick Pirate Queens #1)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
T he next few days blurred into a rhythm of planning and watching.
Rose couldn’t walk down Main Street without wondering who Briana had already whispered to.
She couldn’t pour coffee without wondering if someone’s curious glance was rooted in gossip.
Every polite smile felt like it carried a question she didn’t want to answer.
But she wasn’t running, but the waiting game definitely had big drawbacks. She thought an actual sword hanging over her head might be preferable to this invisible assault.
Practice for the next game in the tournament was her savior. Thursday night she stood in the dugout, nerves strung tight as she gave the girls the plays to start off.
The air hummed with late summer heat, the kind that clung to your skin even as the sun sank lower over the horizon.
A sweet breeze blew occasionally across the field stirring up red dust, mixing with the steady thud of balls hitting leather gloves.
Rose breathed it in like medicine. The diamond was familiar ground, a place where problems could shrink to nothing more than bases, bats, and hustle.
“Alright, ladies,” Rose called, clapping her hands together. “ Let’s run double plays until they’re second nature. No hesitation.”
The team scattered into their positions, voices lifting in chatter and encouragement.
Rose’s chest tightened, not from the drill but from the folded note that still sat on her kitchen counter at home.
The words burned through her like acid. She’d thrown herself into work at the coffee shop, then straight into practice, anything to keep her mind from replaying the message.
Acen stood near third base, hat pulled low, his whistle hanging loosely around his neck.
He barked out instructions with an ease that came from years of playing, his eyes flicking toward Rose now and then like he could read her silence.
When one of the girls overthrew to first, he jogged over, corrected her stance, and offered a quick grin.
The team had warmed to him faster than Rose had expected, and watching him move among them—patient, steady, encouraging—pinched something tender inside her.
“Keep your glove down, Maggie ! That ball’s not going to wait for you to get ready!” Rose shouted, her voice sharper than usual. A couple of the girls exchanged wary glances.
Tasha leaned against the dugout railing, sipping from a water bottle, her dark eyes never leaving Rose . She caught the edge in Rose’s tone, the way her jaw stayed tight even when the girls pulled off a flawless double play.
“You alright?” Tasha murmured when Rose passed by to grab her clipboard.
“Fine,” Rose said too quickly, scribbling notes she didn’t need.
“Mm-hmm.” Tasha’s look said she wasn’t buying it.
Rose turned away, focusing on the crack of the bat as one of the girls sent a clean line drive into left field.
The cheer that went up around the field loosened something inside her, but only for a moment.
No matter how hard she tried to drown in the rhythm of the game, Briana’s shadow lingered at the edges.
Acen caught her eye from across the diamond. He tipped his cap, subtle but sure, like a reminder: I’m here. You’re not alone in this fight.
Rose lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and blew her whistle. “ Alright , let’s run it again! Tournament’s not going to wait on us!”
The girls groaned, but they hustled back into position, dust rising around their cleats. Rose clung to the noise, the movement, the smell of the field. For now, at least, she could pretend the only battle that mattered was the one between the bases.
When she lay awake at night, though, doubt crept in. What if Briana beat her to it? What if the version of her secret that hit the streets was the one Briana had been sharpening for years? In a town like Pickwick Bend , reputation wasn’t just something you wore—it was stitched into your name.
The fear was real. But so was her determination.