Rose set her jaw.“Focus!Grounders, let’s move!”
Acen didn’t lookBriana’sway.Notonce.Hecrouched low, glove ready, voice sharp as he barked encouragement.“Squareup!That’sit,Dani!Useyour hips,Ginny, don’t arm-swing!”
They both ignoredBriana, and the others followed their lead.Pushingtheir limits.Practicingwith their whole heart.
Rose gathered the women at home plate, sweat shining on their foreheads, laughter bubbling in their throats.“Y’alldid good today,” she said, letting her voice carry.“Realgood.Keepplaying like this, we’ll give thatMadisonCountyteam a run for their money.”
The women cheered, some clapping each other on the back, others chugging water like it was liquid gold.
Rose stood at the edge of the dugout with her clipboard, pretending to jot down notes when really she was trying not to let her temper flare.GivingBrianaa chance to slink away.
When she looked up,Brianawas still there.
Still leaning on those bleachers like she had every right to waltz back intoPickwickBendand act like she owned the place.Hersunglasses glinted with the last of the evening sun, her hair glossy, her smile sharp enough to cut.
The women noticed.Ofcourse they did.
Ginny leaned close, dropping her voice low as she pretended to tie her shoe.“That’sher, right?”
Rose didn’t answer.
Dani, never one to whisper when hollering would do, asked outright, “Coach, that yourBriana?”
“MyBriana?”Rosebarked, heat rising in her cheeks.“She’snot my anything.”
The dugout went quiet for a beat, untilTashapiped up with a grin, “Well, she sure isn’t here to cheer for us.Shelooks like she took a wrong turn on her way toMemphis.Thatoutfit isn’t for a ball field for sure.”
That broke the tension, sending a ripple of laughter through the women.Evenso, the air was thick, like the whole town’s gossip was pressing against the chain-link fence.
Acen hadn’t said a word.Hejust kept raking the dirt around home plate, smoothing out the grooves where the women had dug in their cleats.Hisshoulders were tight, though, his jaw set.Rosecould read him better than she cared to admit.Hewas holding back.
“Alright, ladies,”Rosesaid, clapping her hands.“Beforey’all go, we’re running one more drill.Scrimmage.Halffielders, half batters.Let’ssee if we can pull it together under pressure.”
Groans rose, but so did grins.Competitionalways lit a fire.
“Line up,”Acencalled, his voice carrying steady over the chatter.
The practice cracked to life—Tashasnagging a line drive with a little too much flair,Danisliding into second like she thoughtESPNmight be watching,Ginnybarking encouragement one second and complaining about the heat the next.
Rose’s heart settled in its familiar rhythm.Thesound of bat against ball, the smell of dust and leather, the laughter that followed every fumble.
ButBrianadidn’t leave.Shestayed, arms crossed, watching like she was studying a playbook only she knew.
And that burned.
BecauseRosecould feel her eyes.Andshe knew—just knew—thatBrianawas waiting for her to crack.
“Nice hustle!”Rosecalled, maybe a little louder than necessary, whenDanimade it to third.
“Keep your elbow up,Ginny!”Acenhollered, his focus locked on the batter.
For a brief moment,Rosecaught his gaze.Hewasn’t looking atBriana.Hewasn’t distracted.Hewas in it—with her, with the team.AndLordhelp her, that steadied something in her chest.
Still, when the scrimmage ended and the women collapsed in the dugout with water bottles and red cheeks,Brianafinally made her move.
She sauntered down the bleachers, heels clicking against the metal, and stopped right at the edge of the field.
“Well,” she said, her voice sugar-sweet but edged with steel.“Thisis cute.Y’allreally do take this little hobby seriously.”
