“Well,Idon’t know for sure,”Marlenewent on, feigning reluctance, “but doesn’t it make you wonder?”
Another woman in a visor clucked her tongue.“Younever can tell about people.”
Gasps and murmurs rippled outward, subtle but steady, like a pebble tossed into a still pond.Headsbent together.Eyebrowsraised.Afew hands covered mouths, though smiles tugged at the corners.
Rose could feel it, even from the dugout.Theweight of their stares pressed between her shoulder blades, heavy as cinder blocks.Everytime she walked toward third base to wave a runner home, she felt eyes pinning her like butterflies to corkboard.
The second inning cracked open with tension.Oneof her girls,Maggiepopped a fly ball into shallow right.Theoutfielder sprinted forward, glove snapping shut just asMaggie’scleats hit the bag at first base.
“Dang it!”Roseclapped her hands, loud and encouraging, masking her own fray of nerves.“Shakeit off,Maggie!We’llget the next one!”
The girls echoed her, chanting their teammate’s name.ButRose’spalms sweated around the clipboard.Sheshifted it against her hip, the metal clip biting into her side.Hereyes darted once toward the stands and immediately wished they hadn’t.
A group of mothers in lawn chairs turned their heads in unison, lips moving, eyes glittering with curiosity.WhenRose’sgaze caught theirs, they didn’t look away.Theysmiled too sweetly, the way one might smile at someone you pitied.
Her throat tightened.
“Coach?”Acen’svoice cut through her haze.
She blinked, jerking her attention back to the game.Acenwas holding up the lineup card, confusion written across his face.“Who’son deck?Youskipped.”
Rose swallowed hard.“Uh—Jessie.Jessie’sup.”
Her voice cracked just enough forAcento notice.HecaughtRiley’sfrown from his position behind the backstop and stepped closer toRose.
Between innings, he finally pulled her aside, hand light on her elbow.“What’sgoing on?”
“Nothing.”Shereached for the clipboard like it was a shield, clutching it against her chest.
“Rose.Don’tlet her get to you.”Hisvoice softened, but his eyes were steady, insistent.“Talkto me.”
Her pulse stuttered under the intensity of his gaze.
“Focus on the game,” she said briskly, forcing her tone back to business.Sheturned, walking toward the dugout before he could press further.
Acen let her go, jaw tightening.Hewasn’t done.
By mid-afternoon, the gossip had matured into something sturdier than whispers.
“That’s whatIheard too,” a man in aMemphisTigerscap said from the top row.
His wife shook her head.“Mercy, if it’s true…”
“Well,”Marlenechimed in again, voice sweet as syrup, “Ijust pray for her.That’sall you can do, isn’t it?Pray.”
But her eyes glittered beneath the brim of her hat.
Another woman leaned closer.“Makessense, though.Explainswhy she never?—”
Rose couldn’t hear the rest, but she didn’t need to.Shecould feel it in the way their voices cut off when she glanced their way.Inthe too-casual way someone laughed too loudly at nothing.
Her team clapped and stomped as they scored a run, cheers echoing across the field.Roseforced a smile, but inside she wanted to scream.Shewanted to whirl on the bleachers and shout,Mindyour business!Keepyour poison to yourself!Shewanted to march up toBrianawherever she was hiding herself today - because of courseBrianawas the source - and demand she rot in her bitterness.
But her girls were watching.AndRosehad always promised herself she’d be better than the people who’d torn her down.
So she clapped harder.Louder.Untilher palms stung.
The game stretched long, every inning sticky with tension.Rosecoached like a woman at war with herself.Hervoice firm, her face impassive, but her body taut as a drawn bow.Everycall, every substitution, every clap of encouragement felt like an act of defiance.
