“Declan’s sharp,”Acensaid.“He’llfigure it out.He’salready wary of her.”
Rose shook her head.“Notif she twists the story beforeIget a chance to stop her.Youboth know how quick folks around here are to believe the worst.Ifshe paints me as weak, reckless, manipulative…”Hervoice cracked.“That’sthe version of me people will remember.”
Anger burned inRiley’seyes.“Whyare you even trying to be reasonable about this.She’sout for blood and it’s yours she’s after.Youhave to take her down regardless of anything else.She’strying to ruin you.”
Her twin was ready to takeBrianadown and damn the consequences to anyone else
Acen opened his mouth, butRosestopped whatever he’d been about to say by placing her hand onRiley’sarm."Don't,Riley.Don’tbe like her.Don’truin everything for the sake of being the one that wins at any cost.I’mnot that kind of person.Neverhave been and don’t intend to letBrianabe the one that makes me become that kind of person.ButIalso don’t intend to let her ruin everythingI’vebuilt for myself here.”
Tasha leaned back in her chair, arms crossed.“Sowhat’s the plan?Yougoing to out her?Callher out at church or the softball field and make a scene?”
“No,”Rosesaid firmly.“That’sexactly what she wants—more drama.Anotherstory to spin.”
“Then what?”Tashapressed.
Rose exhaled, her hands tightening around her coffee mug.“Idon’t know yet.Weneed to find some way to prove she’s been lying, scheming, manipulating.She’ssmart, but she’s also cocky.Eventually, she’ll trip.Andwhen she does, we’ll be ready.”
Acen leaned forward, steady and solid beside her.“She’scounting on your silence,Rosie.Butshe doesn’t get to use your past like a hammer.Notif we stand together.”
For a moment,Rosejust looked at him.Yearsof grief and anger swirled inside her, but beneath it all, there was something steadier.Resolve.Shewasn’t carrying this weight alone.
And that was the difference.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
The next few days blurred into a rhythm of planning and watching.Rosecouldn’t walk downMainStreetwithout wondering whoBrianahad already whispered to.Shecouldn’t pour coffee without wondering if someone’s curious glance was rooted in gossip.Everypolite 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.Shethought 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.Thursdaynight 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.Asweet breeze blew occasionally across the field stirring up red dust, mixing with the steady thud of balls hitting leather gloves.Rosebreathed it in like medicine.Thediamond was familiar ground, a place where problems could shrink to nothing more than bases, bats, and hustle.
“Alright, ladies,”Rosecalled, clapping her hands together.“Let’srun double plays until they’re second nature.Nohesitation.”
The team scattered into their positions, voices lifting in chatter and encouragement.Rose’schest tightened, not from the drill but from the folded note that still sat on her kitchen counter at home.Thewords burned through her like acid.She’dthrown 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.Hebarked out instructions with an ease that came from years of playing, his eyes flicking towardRosenow and then like he could read her silence.Whenone of the girls overthrew to first, he jogged over, corrected her stance, and offered a quick grin.Theteam had warmed to him faster thanRosehad expected, and watching him move among them—patient, steady, encouraging—pinched something tender inside her.
“Keep your glove down,Maggie!Thatball’s not going to wait for you to get ready!”Roseshouted, her voice sharper than usual.Acouple of the girls exchanged wary glances.
Tasha leaned against the dugout railing, sipping from a water bottle, her dark eyes never leavingRose.Shecaught the edge inRose’stone, the way her jaw stayed tight even when the girls pulled off a flawless double play.
“You alright?”Tashamurmured whenRosepassed by to grab her clipboard.
“Fine,”Rosesaid too quickly, scribbling notes she didn’t need.
“Mm-hmm.”Tasha’slook 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.Thecheer that went up around the field loosened something inside her, but only for a moment.Nomatter how hard she tried to drown in the rhythm of the game,Briana’sshadow lingered at the edges.
Acen caught her eye from across the diamond.Hetipped his cap, subtle but sure, like a reminder:I’mhere.You’renot alone in this fight.
Rose lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and blew her whistle.“Alright, let’s run it again!Tournament’snot going to wait on us!”
The girls groaned, but they hustled back into position, dust rising around their cleats.Roseclung to the noise, the movement, the smell of the field.Fornow, 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.WhatifBrianabeat her to it?Whatif the version of her secret that hit the streets was the oneBrianahad been sharpening for years?Ina town likePickwickBend, reputation wasn’t just something you wore—it was stitched into your name.
