ThePirateQueens’ pitcher,Tasha, took a breath, rolled her shoulders, and delivered three blazing strikes to the next batter.Thecrowd erupted in cheers, stomping the bleachers so hard the metal rang.
By the time the third out came, theSidewindershad managed one run.Notgreat, but not insurmountable.
“Okay, ladies,”Rosesaid, as her team grabbed bats.“Let’sanswer back.”
Maggie stepped up to the plate, adjusting her helmet, chin high.TheSidewinders’ pitcher smirked, wound up, and let loose that infamous curveball.Maggieswung.Andmissed.Thecrowd groaned.
ButRoseclapped.“Yousaw it!Nowyou know.Reset!”
Second pitch.Crack.Theball sailed over the shortstop’s head, dropping into the grass for a clean single.ThePirateQueens’ dugout exploded in cheers.
By the time the inning ended, both teams had scored once.
The game stretched into a battle of wills.Inningafter inning, bats cracked, gloves snapped, dirt flew.Thecrowd grew louder with every play, children chanting, adults hollering, the old timers slapping knees and muttering about the glory days.
Rose shouted herself hoarse, pacing the dugout, clapping until her palms stung.Shewasn’t just coaching.Shewas willing every ball, every step, every swing to go their way.
Acen’s gaze was steady from the stands, and sometimes, when the tension coiled too tight, she’d glance at him.He’dtip his thermos, nodding as if to say,You’vegot this.
By the top of the seventh, the score was tied 4–4.
The trophy sat gleaming on a table near the announcer’s booth, sunlight catching on its polished surface.
So close, and yet it felt miles away.
TheSidewinderswere up to bat, and their slugger sent a screaming line drive toward center field.Fora heartbeat, the crowd gasped.ButDanisprinted, glove outstretched, and snagged it mid-air, tumbling into the grass.Shepopped up, ball in hand, triumphant.
ThePirateQueensroared, slapping the dugout rail, screaming themselves breathless.Rose’sheart pounded so hard she thought it might bruise her ribs.
Two outs later, they jogged in, bats ready.
“This is it,”Rosetold them, voice shaking with adrenaline.“Bottomof the seventh.Ourhouse.Ourtime.”
Maggie got on base with a sharp single.Thenext batter bunted, moving her to second.Thetension was unbearable—one run could end it.
Then cameDani.Herhelmet tilted forward, eyes narrowed.Sheswung hard on the second pitch.
Crack.
The ball soared high, arcing toward left field.Thecrowd rose to its feet, a single collective breath held tight.TheSidewinderoutfielder sprinted back, back—then stumbled.Theball dropped just past her glove, rolling to the fence.
Maggie tore around third, cleats kicking up dust.Rosescreamed herself hoarse, waving her in.
The throw came late.Maggieslid across home plate, arms outstretched, and the umpire bellowed, “Safe!”
The stadium erupted.Fanspoured from the bleachers, voices merging into a tidal wave of sound.ThePirateQueensleapt from the dugout, gloves tossed, arms flung around each other as they screamed and danced.
Rose stood frozen, tears blurring her eyes as the reality hit.They’ddone it.They’dfinally done it.
Acen was suddenly beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her off the ground.“Youdid it,Coach,” he whispered, voice rough with pride.
“Wedid it,” she corrected, laughing through tears.“Allof us.”
The trophy was carried to the field, shining under the setting sun.Thewomen passed it hand to hand, kissing it, lifting it high as the crowd chanted, “PirateQueens!PirateQueens!”
Rose touched the cool metal, her heart thundering.Notjust from the win, but from everything it meant.Redemption.Belonging.Afuture she could finally believe in.
Acen pressed his forehead to hers as fireworks cracked in the distance, some enthusiastic fan having set them off early.
