Page 22 of Curve Balls and Second Chances
The words hung there, suspended between them like a ball waiting to drop.
Neither moved.
Around them, practice went on.Apop fly soared toward right field, andGinnyshouted forDanito hustle.Tashabarked instructions from behind home plate.Theclatter of bats echoed from the dugout.Lifewent on, ordinary and oblivious, while the ground betweenRoseandAcencracked open.
Finally,Rosestepped back.Herface was unreadable again, shutters closed tight.“Idon’t know what you want from me.”
“I don’t want anything,”Acensaid quietly.“Ijust needed you to know.Whatyou do with it… that’s up to you.”
She nodded once, brisk, like she was calling a play.“Iknow you understand whenIsayIwould prefer you not coach this practice.Ineed some space.”Thenshe turned, her voice rising with practiced authority: “Dani, you’re pitching today.Tasha’scatching.Let’smove.”
And that was it.
She didn’t look back.
Acen stood rooted in the dirt, watching her stride toward the field, clipboard already tapping against her thigh as she barked orders.Shewasn’t angry.Shewasn’t crying.Shewas steady.
That might’ve hurt worst of all.
He didn’t know if he’d made things better or worse.
But at least now, the silence between them wasn’t filled with lies.
It was filled with truth.
And maybe, just maybe, that was a start.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Rose didn’t sleep.
She lay flat on her back, sheets twisted at her ankles, the ceiling fan above spinning in the highest setting making crazy circles like it was mocking her restlessness.Thenight air felt thick as molasses,Juneheat clinging stubborn even with the windows cracked open.Everycicada inPickwickBendseemed to have joined in a chorus outside her window, buzzing loud enough to make her teeth ache.
But it wasn’t the noise keeping her up.
It was his words.
I didn’t thinkIwas worth fighting for.
The sentence kept looping through her chest, an ache that settled deep, like a bruise she hadn’t noticed until someone pressed on it.Shehated how it still hurt.Hatedmore that it still mattered.
Around two, she rolled over, hugging her pillow, but her body felt electric, restless, like her skin didn’t fit right.Atthree, she sat up, stared at the sliver of moonlight spilling across the hardwood floor, and considered calling him just to scream.Byfour, she gave up, shoved the pillow aside, and sat in the quiet darkness, knees pulled up, head in her hands.
When dawn finally bled pink streamers across the sky, she was raw from exhaustion.Hereyes burned, her head pounded, and her heart felt split clean in two.
By the time the sun crested over the trees, she needed air.Shedidn’t even wait for the coffee pot to sputter.Sheslipped into running shorts and aT-shirt, shoved her tangled hair under a ballcap, grabbed her keys, and let her truck rattle down the winding backroad that curved through pines and maples.
The one place she knew she’d get the truth, plain and sharp as a nail, was atAuntJean’s.Agreat aunt on her daddy’s side.ACampbellby birth and aMcAlisterby marriage.Awoman who believed in speaking the truth no matter that it might hurt in the telling.Herselfor anyone else.Notan easy woman to live with, but one to have your back always if she loved you.
Jean’s shotgun house sat on the far side of town, painted sunflower yellow like she dared the sun itself to outshine her.Theporch sagged a little in the middle, but it was covered in pots of herbs, brightly colored clay gnomes, and wild morning glories twisting up the railing like they owned the place.Windchimes dangled everywhere—copper, glass, seashells—and together they clattered and sang, sounding like ghosts arguing in a storm.
Jean was eighty if she was a day, but still strong enough to haul her own firewood, mow her own grass, and whip any man at cards.Shehad skin like creased parchment, eyes sharp as broken glass, and a voice that could hush a room full of rowdy men at theMooseLodge.
Jean opened the door beforeRosecould knock, apron still tied around her waist.“Youlook like you’ve been up all night makin’ bad decisions.”
Rose tried for a smile, but it faltered.
Jean didn’t press.Juststepped aside and waved her in.“Comeon.Coffee’shot.”
