Page 38 of Curve Balls and Second Chances (Pickwick Pirate Queens #1)

B riana stood in front of Declan’s vet office, her phone pressed to her ear, watching as customers strolled in and out with curious glances. She’d noticed the change too—more people smiling at Rose , more backing away from whispers. The tide was turning.

And that terrified her.

She’d felt in control, tugging strings, sowing doubt like seed scattered on dry ground.

And at first, it had sprouted beautifully.

Sideways looks, whispered questions, Rose flinching like she’d been caught doing something wrong.

That was what Briana lived for, the satisfaction of knowing Rose couldn’t walk ten feet without wondering who was talking about her.

But now? The threads were loosening. Folks were circling back to Rose , smiling in her direction, choosing to see her coffee shop as the heart of the town again instead of the scandal Briana hinted at. It made Briana’s jaw clench. Nothing slipped through her fingers without a fight.

So she dialed the number she’d been avoiding.

When the line clicked, she smiled.

“Hi, Richard ,” she purred, her voice low, syrupy. “ It’s Briana . I know it’s been a long time, but I have a story you might want to print.”

The name rolled off her tongue with practiced ease.

Richard wasn’t just any reporter. He was the type who thrived on town drama, who lived to splash ink across paper that would sit on church pews, diner counters, and gas station shelves by morning.

She’d given him tips before, years ago, and he’d eaten them up like a starving dog.

Briana stepped away from the window and into the shadow of the alley, her heels clicking against the pavement before she stopped. The air smelled faintly of feed and antiseptic drifting from the clinic. She leaned against the brick wall, her tone dropping into a practiced sort of sweet venom.

“It’s about Rose McAllister . And that coffee shop she runs?

Well , let’s just say it’s not the sugar-sweet picture everyone thinks.

She’s throwing a charity event, but what if it’s really about saving face after a scandal?

There’s a lot people don’t know. About her, about her past with Acen Wheeler . Doesn’t that seem… newsworthy?”

She let the silence on the other end stretch; her own reflection caught faintly in the clinic’s darkened glass. Her smile grew sharper. Richard didn’t need much convincing; she could already hear the scratching of his pen in her imagination, could almost see the bold headline .

Her stomach fluttered, equal parts nerves and thrill. This was better than whispers. This was permanence. Print lasted. People clipped articles, tucked them into Bibles , folded them into drawers, carried them like proof.

She paused, then smiled again, pushing sweetness into her voice like cream into bitter coffee.

“Oh, I can get you records. Copies of her old messages. I’m sure someone kept them.”

It was a lie, but a beautiful one, and lies had always served her well. Truth was messy, unpredictable. Lies , however, were art. She could paint them however she wanted, and people would stand back and admire the brushstrokes without ever asking to see the canvas up close.

Her thumb toyed with the edge of her phone as she leaned harder against the wall, heart thrumming. Rose had always been the golden girl, even after being knocked down. Folks liked to root for her, to pretend her scars made her stronger. It was nauseating.

What they didn’t understand. What they refused to understand.

Was that Rose’s survival came at Briana’s expense.

Rose’s strength was always built from the rubble Briana had been buried under.

Perfect Rose from the perfect family. While Briana had struggled in poverty all her growing up years.

Trying harder than anyone else to be someone.

And Rose . Always Rose beating her in everything.

It sickened her to remember the years that she had pretended to be Rose’s friend to get close to everyone else.

Well, no more.

If the town wouldn’t listen to her in whispers, maybe they’d believe it in print.

She closed her eyes for a beat, inhaling the dampness of the shaded alley, letting her heartbeat slow.

A single article could undo everything Rose had built.

People wouldn’t look at her coffee shop with the same warmth anymore.

They’d walk in hesitantly, whispering behind menus, wondering if their lattes were being served with a side of shame.

They’d avoid her eyes at church, tilt their heads with that familiar pity, that smug satisfaction that said we knew she wasn’t perfect.

Briana fed on that kind of shift. It wasn’t enough to win; she needed Rose to lose. Needed her to feel that hollow ache of being left out, looked down on, whispered about.

Her mind darted back to high school, the nights when she and Rose were inseparable, when secrets were shared on quilts in Rose’s room under a ceiling fan that clicked with every turn. Back then, Rose had trusted her. Back then, Rose had loved her like a sister.

And then Acen .

Always Acen .

Briana swallowed hard, heat rising behind her ribs.

He had been hers first. Her hand to hold, her name whispered into the night.

But somehow, Rose had always been between them.

Her laugh too loud, her eyes too bright, her presence impossible to ignore.

And when Acen finally chose? When he finally turned away?

That wound never healed.

Every rumor Briana started, every whisper she nurtured, was just another stitch in the tapestry she’d been weaving. A picture where Rose wasn’t the darling of Pickwick Bend anymore.

She slipped her phone back into her purse and straightened, brushing invisible lint from her blouse. Her smirk lingered.

This was just the beginning.

Because once words were printed, they couldn’t be taken back.

And when the town of Pickwick Bend read her story, Briana knew one thing for certain: Rose McAllister wouldn’t be able to walk down Main Street without feeling the weight of every eye.

Exactly the way Briana wanted it.