Page 45 of Framing the Pitch (Red Dirt Romance #1)

I wake to the clatter of bottles in the bathroom and a handful of Erica’s favorite colorful Spanish swears. I’m out of bed and pushing open the cracked bathroom door to find my friend on her hands and knees, gathering her things into her toiletry bag.

“When did you get back?” I ask, squatting down to help her wrangle the tubes that keep escaping from her frustrated movements.

“Too late,” she mumbles, looking up at me for the first time. Her hair is wet and curly and her eyes are red-rimmed, like she spent her whole shower crying.

“You want to talk about it?” I pass her the things I’ve gathered, and she deposits them into her bag with slumped shoulders.

“Yes. I’ve used my allotment of tears, so it should go better than it did for Alyssa last night.”

Erica follows me back into the room, and I sit on the end of my bed, patting the space next to me. She climbs up and settles on top of the disheveled comforter with crossed legs.

“Full ACL tear.” Erica gives me a minute for the reality of Alyssa’s injury to sink in. “She’s out for the rest of the season, obviously, but they want her to wait a few weeks before they do surgery. She’s supposed to reduce inflammation and go to physical therapy in the meantime.”

“Did the doctors give her a time frame for when she can start playing again?”

While I’ve never experienced an injury as severe as this, I’ve had to recover from plenty of muscle strains and joint sprains, and the first question I always asked after an injury was, “When can I play again?” Because women who make it this far don’t do it because it’s a fun hobby.

It’s our lives, and having it ripped away so suddenly is akin to losing a limb.

Erica shakes her head as she says, “Yes.” The look in her eyes when she looks up makes me want to cry. “Nine to twelve months.”

Even though Alyssa is out of the lineup for the Mayhem, she joins them in the dugout with a set of crutches and a large black brace on her left knee.

Haven starts in the circle for game two against the Mayhem, and while the first time through the batting order is fine, things start falling apart in the third inning. On the Mayhem’s second time through the line up, it’s like they’re making a statement for Alyssa.

She may be out for the season, but the Mayhem is not.

Coach Golding replaces Haven in the fourth inning and lets Erica finish out the game. But her usual spark isn’t there, and we end the game with another loss .

We end the series with a loss.

And our final homestand doesn’t go much better.

Lexi is still day-to-day with the pulled muscle in her arm, so we alternate between Erica and Haven, but the rally the Mayhem started in Oklahoma City continues to steamroll us, and no matter how many late-game hits and upside down rally visors we have, we can’t eke out enough runs for a win.

After six straight losses, the Mayhem edge us out of second place in the league standings.

The Firebirds barely manage to hold their number one seed, but even the Mayhem’s late win streak isn’t enough to dethrone them.

Ending the season in the number three slot means we’ll be going into the first round of the tournament without home field advantage, and we’ll be facing the Mayhem.

But none of us want to think about another game against the Mayhem as the team travels to Phoenix, where the championship tournament will be hosted by the Firebirds.

The ballroom of the hotel all the teams are staying at for the duration of the tournament is packed when Erica and I finally arrive after she took longer than usual to style her hair.

While she spent most of the day yesterday with her sister and family, who all came down to watch the two of them compete in this end-of-season tournament, I was surprised when she announced she was spending all of today with me.

Which pretty much turned into a mini spa day in our hotel room where we did facemasks, watched trashy TV, and Erica painted my nails to match hers. I have a feeling it’s just as much for Erica to take her mind off of her sister not being able to compete as it is to primp for tonight’s party.

Despite my protests that the yellow gel polish Erica picked for me clashed with my skin tone, I had to agree with her once I put on the strapless navy dress I’m wearing to this year’s WFL Awards Ceremony.

With my sky blue heels rounding out my outfit, I look like a very subtle Storm logo, and I snap a quick selfie in the mirror as we’re headed out the door to send to Trace.

Every year, the WFL’s front office compiles a handful of awards to present to the highest achieving players in the league at an awards ceremony, which is a big party the day before the semifinal round games begin.

Not for the first time, I wish Trace could be here with me.

But, while I didn’t know I’d be signing up for this as his girlfriend, I know as his closest friend what his schedule is like once his preseason begins.

Erica slips her arm around mine as we make our way down to the hotel ballroom where the event is taking place this year. Even in her own pair of sky-high heels and with unbound voluminous curls—the reason for our tardiness—the top of her head barely hits above my shoulder.

The décor around the edges of the room is subtle but clearly represents all four teams in the Women’s Fastpitch League.

The tables in the center of the room boast a more neutral palette than the reds, greens, blues, and maroons of the teams, and Erica and I make our way toward the familiar faces of our teammates standing with the unfamiliar faces of their dates.

Erica didn’t mention anything about bringing a date, but by the way her hand is still slipped into the crook of my arm as we weave around tables and chairs and mingle with players from all four teams, as well as members of the front offices, I’d say she’s posing as my date, since Trace is unavailable for the next four weeks.

It’s always fun to see my teammates in something other than their practice jerseys or uniforms. While I—and Coach Golding and Leah Mercer—opted to rock the navy, sky blue, and yellow of our team, most of my teammates fully embraced the opportunity to branch out into other colors.

But something none of us can escape are the mid-bicep and high neck tan lines from our uniforms.

I wave at other familiar faces as Erica and I continue through the room—old teammates, friends, and rivals all sit on even footing tonight as we celebrate the achievements that have been made within the league.

Erica and I stop to talk to a few of our Team USA teammates who have chosen to sit together instead of near their WFL teammates.

And while we’ll step onto the field tomorrow as competitors, tonight, we’re all friends.

A soft tap, tap, tap on the microphone at the front of the room, followed by “Hello?” brings everyone’s attention to the front of the room, where Jamie Maxwell, the league commissioner, is standing, waving a small stack of cards toward the room.

“Now that I have your attention, I’d like to invite you all to take your seats so we can get this show on the road. ”

The quiet sounds of everyone sitting fill the room as chairs slide across the floor and butts are planted on upholstered seats. When a hush falls over the room again, Jamie continues.

“First, I’d like to apologize for needing to use this ancient technology.” She waves her note cards in the air once more for us to see. “The hotel informed me that the teleprompters were misplaced.”

A round of laughter fills the room, setting us all at ease. Jamie taps the cards on her palm, straightening them, and then continues her speech .

“I’d like to welcome you all to the sixth annual Women’s Fastpitch League Awards Ceremony. I’m excited to have so many people who love this sport in the same room together, and I only hope that as this sport grows, the league will grow with it.

“Before we move onto the awards, I would like to personally thank everyone in this room, whether you are an athlete, a coach, an employee, or someone who loves them.” Jamie’s broad smile can be seen from all the way in the back of the room, where most of my teammates are gathered.

“The sacrifices you have made to get here deserve all the recognition in the world.” She pauses while quiet applause fills the room.

“Whether you have dedicated your life to this sport or have dedicated your life to supporting someone in this sport, we appreciate you equally for your contribution to the softball community.”

The next applause is slightly louder and slightly longer, but Jamie’s smile only grows bigger. “I’d like to turn the time over to Mack Driscoll, one of the league’s co-founders, for a few words.”

Jamie steps back from the microphone, ceding the floor to a tall, older gentleman, whom I’ve met a few times in my career with the WFL.

“Thank you, Jamie,” he says with a smile as the commissioner steps to the side of the stage.

“I’d like to echo Jamie and thank all of you for the hard work you’ve put in for this season to be a success.

Each one of you plays a vital part in this intricate machine we’ve created together, and without you, none of this would be possible.

“Due to your efforts as players and the hardworking hands behind the scenes, I’m pleased to announce that within the next two years, we will be adding two new teams to the Women’s Fastpitch League.”

Gasps erupt around us before hushed buzzing chatter fills the room. A smile comes to Mack’s face as he raises his arms to settle us down .

“While we are still working to finalize names and owners and all the finicky little details, I’d like you to all give a round of applause for the two new cities where professional softball will make a home: Huntsville, Alabama and Knoxville, Tennessee.”

The room goes absolutely wild .