Page 46 of Framing the Pitch (Red Dirt Romance #1)
My hands itch to whip out my phone and call Trace to give him the exciting news, both about the new teams and that our plan helped make this a reality , but Erica grabs them and squeezes tightly, sharing the excitement of the whole table.
Mack’s smiling face sweeps over the entire room as he lets the cheers die down naturally.
When the room has nearly settled, he leans back into the microphone.
“While we already have talented teams working to bring these two new franchises to life, it’s imperative that we keep this going.
” He makes a circular gesture with his arms, encompassing the whole room.
“This level of excitement in the players, the coaches, and the fans. Over the next two years, we’ll need your dedication and commitment to get these teams off the ground. ”
A few isolated hoots go through the room. “We at the League offices are so excited for this development, and we are prepared to take these next steps into the future of professional softball in the US.”
The end of Mack Driscoll’s speech is met with another wild round of cheers.
While he steps off the stage to the applause of every player and coach in the Women’s Fastpitch League, a small table is brought in from a side door and awards are lined up on it, ranging from small plaques to large silver trophies.
The room settles, and Jamie Maxwell steps up to the microphone again.
One by one, she reads out the names of the awards and their recipients, inviting each of them to come up and accept their award.
Plaques are given for leaders in batting average, RBIs, home runs, and a handful of other statistics.
Trophies are presented to outstanding players and coaches until only one is left.
“And now, for our final award,” Jamie Maxwell says, smiling into the microphone and flipping to her final cue card. “This year’s Rookie of the Year.”
A hush falls over the crowd as we collectively assume who the recipient will be.
“On behalf of the Women’s Fastpitch League, I am honored to present this award to Alyssa Torres from the Oklahoma City Mayhem.”
Applause sounds throughout the room, but no raucous cheers go up as we watch Alyssa stand and slowly make her way to the front of the room.
Her crutches are gone, but the black framed brace still stretches above and below her knee, supporting the injury that ended her season.
I’m not the only one with tears in her eyes as Alyssa climbs the two steps to the raised stage with slow and deliberate steps.
Jamie lifts the silver trophy from the table and holds it in front of her as Alyssa stops at her side.
While looking at Alyssa, she leans back to the microphone so all of us can hear her next words.
“We know that this season didn’t end how you had imagined, but we are looking forward to seeing what you’ll accomplish in the coming years. ”
Alyssa’s emotional swallow is unmistakable, even from where I’m sitting near the back.
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, as she nods and shakes hands with Jamie before accepting the trophy.
When Alyssa turns to the room and hoists the trophy over her head with one hand, the room erupts with the cheers that had been withheld during her trek to the stage.
The sound doesn’t stop until Alyssa makes it back to her seat, setting the trophy on the table in front of her.
The final words of the awards ceremony, given by Kimberly Beckham-Driscoll—Mack’s wife, co-founder of the WFL, and longtime softball legend—should be ones I pay attention to, seeing as how they’re being given by a woman I admire greatly, but my attention is drawn to the friend at my side.
Erica wipes at the corners of her eyes, trying to stop the tears that continue to flow in a slow, steady stream.
“You okay?” I lean in and whisper inconspicuously.
“Apparently my body was lying when it said it was done crying.” Erica’s quiet laugh is half-choked by the tears she’s trying to staunch. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be fine.”
“If anyone can come back from that injury, it’s Alyssa,” I reassure her, squeezing her bicep. “This is just the beginning for her.”
Erica swallows tightly, giving me a smile as she looks over. “I don’t think she knows it yet, but this will end up being a good thing.”
I nod in agreement, looking across the way at Alyssa one last time before focusing back on the speaker as she closes the awards ceremony.
Tomorrow, the semifinals begin with an early double header, but despite my better judgment, I keep my eyes on my phone screen. Trace may be only one hour behind my time zone, but with the late nights he has at training camp, waiting up for his call is difficult.
Erica’s soft snores have been taunting me for over an hour when my phone finally vibrates in my hand, fully waking me up.
“Hello?” I whisper, putting my phone to my ear .
“Naomi? Hi.” I was expecting Trace’s endearing “Sugar,” but hearing my name in his voice after only getting four texts from him over the last three days is transcendent.
“Trace,” I breathe. My relief floods my body, and I sink further into my bed.
“How was your day?” he asks, like he’s not five hundred miles away.
“Busy,” I admit. “But better now that I’m talking to you.
” It might be cheesy, but just hearing his voice means that I’ll be able to sleep better tonight.
While I watched from the sidelines while his past girlfriends fell into mild depression whenever Trace went away to training camp, I never expected it would be my turn to do the same.
And now that I’m here, I understand. I understand their struggles, but I also understand how important our jobs are to both of us.
Neither of us would be who we are if we weren’t athletes.
Though I wish he could be here to watch me play in my final games this season, I know he’s where he needs to be.
Because when I was just his best friend, there were other equally important people in his life.
But to cross the threshold of being something more, loving someone more, priorities shift and change, and while I know his career is one of the most important things in his life…
I know I’m right up there with it, even if he hasn’t said it.
“What about you?” I ask, shifting to sitting in hopes of not accidentally falling asleep on him.
“Busy,” he replies, but I can hear his smile. I know playing football is as fulfilling for him as softball is for me. “Tell me about your day.”
I spend the next hour giving him a play-by-play of my day, beginning with my “treat yo self” day with Erica and ending with the awards ceremony.
My voice rises in volume when I get to the part about the two new franchises that were announced this evening, but a timely snore from Erica reminds me to lower my voice .
“Knoxville and Huntsville! Can you believe it? Your parents could come to games all the time!”
“Would you want to get traded to a new team? To be closer to them?” Trace asks, but there’s not an ounce of anxiety in his voice.
He’s not worried about what I’ll do, maybe not because he doesn’t know the choice I’ll make when the time comes, but because he knows whatever choice I make will be a good one.
I think about my time with the Storm. While I know we have more flexibility than most sports in deciding where we play thanks to the small league, I know sometimes trades aren’t our decision, and it’s possible that I do get traded when the two new teams fill their rosters.
“No,” I say quietly. “I like where I am. I like the coaches and the team. And while it’s not like you’re my next door neighbor, the long distance part of our relationship will be easier if I’m in Texas.”
Trace’s deep chuckle wraps warmth around my bones.
“Sugar, I’d buy a house in Alaska if you decided to move there.
Wherever you go is where I’ll be. If that means you go to Huntsville or Knoxville”—he snorts a little, and I smother my laugh so I don’t wake up Erica—“then I will find a way to be there with you. Even if we have to look at that awful orange all the time.”
I sigh, knowing in my bones that he’s serious. “Even if you can’t wear your old hat out in public?” I tease, knowing that asking a Crimson Tide man to move to the land of the Tennessee Volunteers is basically the equivalent of asking him to jump off a bridge.
“Even then”—Trace’s voice deepens—“because it’s not about where we live or where you compete. What matters is we’re there together.”
Peace wraps around me, and I sink into the feeling of being loved.
Maybe he hasn’t said it to me yet, but I know, deep in my bones, that he does.
And when I see him again after my season is over—after he comes home from training camp—I’ll make sure he knows without a shadow of a doubt that I love him, too.