It was almost too easy.
She leaned back again, the chair groaning in protest.Fora moment, she closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of the rocking soothe her.Shecould almost imagine her mother sitting there, humming softly, hands folded in her lap.ButBrianawasn’t humming hymns.Shewas orchestrating downfall.
And the sweetest part?
She didn’t even have to lie.
Rose had given her the truth years ago, whether she knew it or not.
Briana had just been smart enough to keep it tucked away, waiting for the day it might serve her.Oh, she had enjoyed scaringRoseback in those days.LettingRosethink she was going to tell the whole town her precious little secret.But, even then, she’d known this secret might be an ace up her sleeve someday.Andhow right she’d been to keep it carefully tucked away until the right time.
That day had arrived.
The night deepened around her.Outside, cicadas buzzed, a low, pulsing song.Theair was heavy, thick withJuneheat, pressing against the windows.Briana’sskin prickled with it, but she didn’t move to open a window.Sheliked the closeness, the way it mirrored the pressure she was applying toRose’sworld.
Slow.Suffocating.Inescapable.
She sipped her wine again, lips curving against the glass.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Saturday morning dawned too bright.Semi-finals day.
The softball field was already buzzing by the timeRosepulled her truck into the gravel lot.Heatshimmered above the fields though the sun hadn’t yet reached its peak.
Families hauled coolers and umbrellas across the grass, folding chairs slung over shoulders.Thesmell of grilled hot dogs drifted from the concession stand, mingling with sunscreen and the metallic tang of red dust kicked up by sneakers.
Kids darted across the outfield chasing foul balls, their laughter carrying high and shrill over the low hum of voices.Thebleachers creaked and groaned as neighbors settled in for a long day of games, settling themselves like birds lining a fence.
Rose should’ve felt at home here.She’dbeen playing since she was a teenager, and coaching now gave her the same rush she used to feel rounding third with the crowd roaring.Therhythm of the sport had always steadied her, rooted her, given her something she could count on.Buttoday, as she adjusted her cap and gathered the girls, the stares hit her like pitches to the ribs.
“Eyes on me!”she barked, forcing her voice steady as she walked the lineup through their warmups.
The girls obeyed with enthusiasm, ponytails bobbing as they jogged through drills.Glovessnapped open and shut.Batscracked against soft tosses, echoing like distant firecrackers.Theircheers rang loud, oblivious to the undercurrents twisting through the stands.
ButTashawasn’t fooled.Shesat on the bench, water bottle tucked between her knees, eyes narrowing as she caught the flicker of panic inRose’sgaze.Herfriend’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
She nudgedAcen, who leaned against the dugout rail with his arms crossed, posture loose but eyes sharp.
“She’s rattled,”Tashamurmured.
Acen frowned, the crease deepening between his brows.“Yeah.Isee it.”
He’d been watchingRoseall morning.Howher shoulders hunched tighter than usual, how she avoided looking at the crowd, how she snapped atRileyfor forgetting the batting order.
Rose clapped her hands, trying to infuse energy into her voice.“Let’sgo, ladies!Semi-final starts in ten—let’s make it count!”
The girls cheered, butRose’sthroat burned.
The first inning went smoothly enough.Rosekept her eyes trained on the field, calling signals, clapping encouragement, reminding herself that the game was all that mattered.Hergirls hustled, snagging line drives, sliding into bases, chalk dust flying.
But in the stands, whispers began to stir like wind through dry grass.
Marlene sat in the second row with her church friends, a wide-brimmed hat shading her eyes.Sheleaned in, lowering her voice to just the right pitch.Quietenough to sound conspiratorial, loud enough to ensure the row behind her would catch every word.
“I heard it from someone who’d know,” she said, her lips pursed with reluctant authority.
Her friend’s eyes widened.“No…”
