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Chapter Text

Baseball is the most perfect of games, solid, true, pure and precious as diamonds.  If only life were so simple.  Within the baselines anything can happen.  Tides can reverse; oceans can open.  That’s why they say, “The game is never over until the last man is out.”  Colors change, lives can alter, anything is possible in this gentle, flawless, loving game.

-W.P. Kinsella from Shoeless Joe

“Grandma!  Danny won’t let me have the ball!” Arwen called from the backyard on a sunny spring day.

With a sigh, she closed her book and stood up to see what calamity her grandchildren were exacting upon each other.  Sure enough, Arwen was hanging from her older brother Danny’s back, trying to wrestle away a baseball. He passed it to his twin brother Rory in a game of keep-away.

“Let your sister play, too, boys.” 

“She doesn’t even know how to hold her glove.”

“Then show her how, smart ass.”

They were used to foul language from their grandmother, and it didn’t faze them anymore.  She wasn’t the knitting and baking cookies type.  She left that to her daughter, their mother.  How she could have made such a sweet and kind-hearted person, she’d never known. 

On days like this, surrounded by her growing family, she was the luckiest woman in the world. 

She’d been the youngest of a family of boys once, too.  She knew what it was like to have to prove yourself.  She’d spent her childhood fighting to earn their respect, pushing herself out from under their shadow.

“Why bother?  It’s not like she’s ever going play.”  Rory threw the ball back to Danny, over Arwen’s head.

“Your grandmother played in the big leagues, you know.  You should probably listen to her.”  Her husband smiled from his workbench at the back of the shed.  His old eyes twinkling with pride and mischief as he tuned up the engine on the lawn mower.

“Is that true, Gram?”  Arwen asked skeptically.  For a girl of six, she was already wise beyond her years.

And how she loved that man.  She didn’t blame the kids for not believing him.  He was always teasing them.  They never knew when to take him at his word.

“It’s true.  Some of the best days I’ve ever had were spent on the field.  Baseball changed my life.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Lindon, Arda.  March 1943.

Something had to change, Goldie O’Finarfin thought to herself for the hundredth time in as many days, as she sat at the counter of the sporting goods store she owned in downtown Lindon.  She’d inherited it from her brother Roddy after he was killed in combat three years ago.

It provided her with an income and kept her busy, but she didn’t know how much longer she could go on like this.  The war had dragged on for years now, and there wasn’t an end in sight.  Those left behind were trying to carry on, keep life moving forward for the boys when they came home, but Goldie felt like she was drowning.

It had been over a year since she’d last heard from her fiancé, Caleb Sindar.  They’d gotten engaged the day he received his draft notice, a few months after they’d first met at a garden party in the town square. 

He had hair so blond it was almost white, and a contagious smile that made her feel safe.  And loved.

He came from a good family, and his connections helped to wash away the stain of her own family’s troubles.  Her cousins, the O’Feanors, were notorious for their criminal activities and respectable people tended to keep their distance from anyone in their sphere of influence. 

Her parents had moved back to the old country before the war started, after the deaths of her two middle brothers in a tragedy that never seemed to end.  Goldie and Roddy had chosen to stay, not ready to give up on the promise of a better life in this new world. 

When she’d lost him, too, she’d been adrift.  Alone. 

Caleb had kept her tethered, for the brief time they’d been together.  She’d promised to wait for him, hoping the war would be short and he’d be home before she could miss him.  And then they could finally live the rest of their lives in peace.

The army called it MIA.  Missing in action.  His battalion had taken on heavy fire and there were no survivors, but they hadn’t recovered his remains.  He may have been captured and held as a prisoner of war, but they couldn’t confirm either way.  There was a chance they’d never know.  The odds were against him ever being found alive.

It’d been two years since she kissed him goodbye.  Thinking of him as dead felt like a betrayal, but preserving the hope for his return no longer gave her comfort.  How many more years could she just…wait? 

She must’ve sighed loudly, because Ronnie Perry, the 16-year-old orphan who had showed up on their doorstep one day and never left, looked up from stocking the shelves. 

“Want to play catch?”  He knew it helped take her mind off whatever was bothering her.  He was a smart kid, but she didn’t like burdening him with her darker thoughts.  He’d been through a lot for someone so young.  She tried to keep a brave face.

“Sure, it’s a slow day.” 

She grabbed a ball and their mitts from behind the counter and headed for the front door, only to be stopped by a customer in a cheap suit and an unlit cigar in his mouth.

“Can I help you?” she asked, returning to the counter.

“Is Finrod O’Finarfin here?”

People still came around sometimes looking for him.  He’d played professional baseball for the Lindon Lions before he’d enlisted with the rest of his team.  He’d made a name for himself, carved his own path away from the more unsavory members of their family. 

His death had made the local papers, but it wasn’t a national headline.  He was a great ballplayer and his fans loved him.  Everyone loved him. 

“What’s your business with him?”  She didn’t know if this man was a fan, or someone looking to hassle her over some business with their cousins.

“I’m Wally Grey, from the All-Arda Girls Professional Baseball League.  We’re looking to hire him as a manager for one of our teams.”  He had all the pleasantry of a sea worm.

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s because it’s new,” he said slowly, loudly, as if he was talking to a small child. 

“Well then, he’s dead.  And you can leave if you’re going to be rude.”

“Sorry to bother you, sweetheart.”  He tipped his hat and turned to leave.

“Hey, wait a minute.  You said it’s a girls’ league?  Professional?”  She’d been playing on the Immigrants of Aman club team for years, but it was mostly made up of men either too old or too young to fight, and didn’t offer much competition.  The thought of a professional league just for women piqued her interest.

“Tryouts are this weekend in Rhovanion.  Invite only.”

“What do I have to do to get an invite?”  She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips.  The lewd manner in which he licked his teeth was her answer. 

Why did they always have to take it there?  She tried her hardest to dress with propriety, didn’t wear any make-up, and mostly stayed hidden behind the counter, but the comments never ended.

You’re too beautiful to be a widow, Goldie.   

Sindar isn’t coming back.  You don’t want to be alone, do you?

Pretty young thing, you won’t be this way forever.

They thought if they asked enough, they could break her, but it only made her burn harder.

“Be good at baseball, of course.  Why, you what did you have in mind?”  He cocked his head in a way she chose to ignore.

“Roddy was my brother.  I can play.”

Wally took a baseball off the shelf and threw it at her, hard.

Reacting fast, she caught it one handed, and it audibly snapped when it hit her palm.

“That was a stupid thing to do.  You could hurt someone doing that.”  She put the ball back on the shelf and her hands on her hips.

Wally turned to Ronnie.  “She’s really good?”

Ronnie nodded vigorously. 

“I’ll put you on the list.  You’re pretty enough, they’ll probably take you anyway, even if you’re terrible.  I might even get a bonus.”

“Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”  She didn’t have a problem giving attitude back to rude customers.  She’d dealt with worse than him. 

“You’re not seriously thinking about going, are you?”  Ronnie looked at her with concern, after the jerk sauntered out at his own frustratingly slow pace.

“You can take care of this place without me for a few months, can’t you?”

“What if Caleb comes home?  You have a great life here, between the store and his family to keep you safe.  You can’t give this up.” 

“You’re right.  It’s crazy, isn’t it?”  But she couldn’t help but think maybe it wasn’t. 

She didn’t feel safe.  She felt trapped.  She needed to get out of here.  This wasn’t the life she’d dreamed of, even though dreaming felt selfish in the middle of a war.  She was tired of waiting for something to happen. 

For news of him.  For the war to end.  To get married and start her life.  She had no control over any of those things.

She needed to go where things happen.  Even if it was crazy.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

There was only one train a day from Lindon to Trout Bend, Rhovanion, and she had exactly five minutes before it left. 

She’d vacillated for too long, spent too much time closing up the store, writing out a heartfelt letter to Ronnie telling him where the spare key was, and where her emergency stash of cash was in case he got in a jam.  That she’d write as soon as she had a phone number and a new address.

Leaving him behind was the hardest part.  Even though he was just a kid twelve years younger than she was, he was her best and only friend. 

She’d so fully debated both sides of her choice that she might have purposefully made herself late.  If she made the train, it was meant to be.  If she didn’t, she’d have no chance of making the tryout.  Proving that it wasn’t.  She’d turned her ability to race across town into a veritable coin toss of her own design.

She’d stuffed all the gear she thought she’d need in a rucksack and a few staple outfits into a suitcase.  Four pairs of underwear and an extra pair of shoes.  She’d always traveled light.  Her family had survived the crossing from Aman over the Helcaraxe when she was a child with only the clothes on their backs.

She could do this.

As she rounded the corner to the ticket office, she collided with an immovable object, falling backwards over her gear bag and landing in a heap.  Gathering herself off the ground, an arm reached out to help her.

“You should watch where you’re going.” 

She declined to take it and pulled herself up off the linoleum floor.  

“And you shouldn’t take up so much space.  I need a ticket to Trout Bend, please.”  She straightened her skirt and addressed the ticket agent at the booth.

“I was helping this gentleman first, miss.”  The young woman replied, giving her a sideways glance.

As Goldie caught her breath and took in her surroundings, she noted that the gentleman was holding a rag to his bleeding face in one hand and a bottle of liquor sheathed in a brown paper lunch bag in the other.

“That’ll be three dollars, sir.”  The girl fluttered her eyelashes and smiled sweetly.

The poor thing needed some positive guidance in her life if she thought this man was worth her wiles, Goldie thought, as the Gentleman rummaged through his pockets in a feigned attempt to find his wallet.

“I must’ve forgot my—”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Make that two tickets to Trout Bend, please.  Here’s your six dollars.  Thank you.”  Goldie threw a ten-dollar bill at the girl and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her palm.

“No need to curse.  It leaves in two minutes.  I don’t think you’ll make it.”

“Tickets, please.”  Somehow both Goldie and the Gentleman said it in unison as they grabbed the pieces of paper and set off towards the track. 

As they hit the gravel of the train yard at a sprint, she was thankful to be traveling light, but he didn’t even have a wallet to weigh him down and his long legs crossed twice as much ground as hers. 

She spotted their train, and it hadn’t start moving, but the whistle sounded for last call.  She pumped her legs harder and tried to gain some speed.

Shit shit shit.

He was far ahead of her now and she watched him disappear through the door just as the train started to move.  She’d heard of train hoppers who’d travel from yard to yard across the country and he had the look of a vagrant.  He probably did this all the time.

It had started off slow, she could still make it.  Lungs burning, chest heaving, she bore down and willed her legs to keep going as she moved up beside the last car. 

Keeping pace with it, she tossed her heavy rucksack through the door first.  If she lost her balance and fell now, it’d be over.  She followed it with her suitcase, as the train began to pick up speed.

Don’t fall.  Don’t fall.

With just herself left, she angled to grab the railing and get her foot on the bottom step.  Just a little closer—

But her first attempt to grip the railing just missed and she lost her footing.  She was falling.  Failing.

Until a hand caught her by the forearm, and she latched on for dear life, letting it pull her in through the door and dropping her inside the train car with an ungraceful thud.

“You made it.”  The voice was mocking as she looked up at the gentleman-vagrant smirking at her through bloodied lips. 

She choked in breaths from the ground at his feet for the second time in one morning.  This time he didn’t try to help her up, but instead offered her a swig from his bottle of spirits. 

“No, but thank you for your assistance.”  It smelled foul and the top of the bag had spatters of the blood from his face.  He looked like a walking venereal disease, and she picked herself up in an effort to get as far away from him as possible.

She maneuvered around him in the crowded space to retrieve her bags, bumping into him twice when he refused to move.

“I figured I owed you at least that much for the ticket.”  His speech was only slightly slurred.  He wasn’t drunk, but would be if he kept going.

“Did you really lose your wallet, or was that just a line to get a free ride off the dreamy-eyed ticket girl?”

“You’re clever.”  She didn’t need to look at up him to know he was smiling.

“I’m going to find a seat.  Safe travels.”  She dismissed him and departed down the aisle of the crowded train.

“Hank.  You can call me Hank.”  He was following behind her.  “What are you called?”

“Not interested.”  She was tired from carrying her luggage and her feet hurt from running in her saddle shoes.  She just wanted to sit down. 

He let out a laugh, strong and genuine, at her specific retort or her general hostility, she couldn’t tell.

“Can I at least help with your bags?”  He didn’t give up.

“I don’t trust you not to steal them.”

She came to the end of the last car, the very front of the train, and her shoulders slumped forward in defeat. 

There were only two seats left at a small table in the corner.  Together.  Great.

“Looks like we’re stuck with each other.  Try not to look so happy about it.”

“Try not to get your bodily fluids on me.” 

She must’ve surprised him, because his laugh was more of a choke in his throat.

“You’re fucking fun,” he said around an appreciative grin as he sat down, spreading the full length of his legs.  For all his height, he seemed comfortable carrying it.   

She stowed her bags in the nearby compartment and took her seat with a long-suffering sigh.  She felt flushed from her run and knew her hair was curling with the early spring heat.  She didn’t need to look in a mirror to know she was a flustered sight.

“You look like you could use a drink.”  He took a swig from his bottle again, exposing his throat as he tipped his head up.  Unshaven, the chestnut hair tinted with crimson streaks dried almost to black, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. 

“You could use a bath.  What happened to your face?”

“Bar fight.  Is it still bleeding?” 

She nodded and handed him a handkerchief from her purse, embroidered with her initials.  G.A.O.

“What’s the G for?  And don’t say ‘Get lost’ because I ain’t got anywhere else to go.”

“Goldie.  My name’s Goldie.”

“What are you running from, Goldie?”  He spit on her handkerchief to moisten it and wiped blindly at his chin.

“You missed it.  Here, use my compact.”  She gave him her small makeup mirror, not wanting to prolong his inebriated attempts to clean himself, and resisting the urge to do it for him.

“Or are you running to something?” 

“Yeah, a train.”  She didn’t know why she was being so prickly.  Her sarcasm was like a pointy dagger she used to defend herself.  He hadn’t done anything outwardly rude, but he’d set her on edge. 

He smiled at her then, slowly and with an assessing glint to his eye.  When she actually took the time to consider his features properly, with his face in her immediate line of sight and not towering above her, her throat went tight. 

Her lips returned his smile as if by their own accord.  Like recognizing an old friend.

And then she realized why he seemed familiar.

“You’re Hank Smith, from the Southland Sox.  The Blight of Beleriand.”

“I have many names, depending on who you ask.”  He took another long pull of his drink.  The smell of it alone stinging her nose.

“You played with my brother Roddy.  He was a pitcher for Lindon from ’35 to ’40.”

“Roddy O’Finarfin is your brother?  So, you’re from Aman, too?  They sure breed them different over there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Finrod is one of the best pitchers I’ve ever seen.  And you—” He stopped himself, hesitating before continuing.  He scratched at the stubble on his cheek and ran one of his massive hands from his top lip down his neck, as if to rub away a traveling itch.  

She knew what he was about to say.  He was about to go there.  And then this conversation would be over for her.  Any brief connection that they may have had would be severed and she’d ask a stranger to switch seats.

“What about me?”  Defeated, her tone lacked any of its previous fight.  She didn’t know why it hurt, words he didn’t even say.  She was always reduced to something worth looking at.  Why did she think he’d be any different?

“You ran down a moving train, like a thoroughbred in full gallop.”  He raised an eyebrow, daring her to argue.

“Comparing me to a horse?  I’ve never heard that line before.”  Good save, Hank, she thought. 

“How is your brother?  My last game before we all enlisted was against him.  He almost beat us too, but I murdered him with a walk-off dinger on his 3-2 breaking ball in the 9^th inning.”  With another long drink, he was on his way to blacking out.

“He didn’t come back.”  She hated telling people that.  Seeing their grief, or regret for asking.  A screw turning into an old wound that would never heal.

“None of us did.  I’m sorry.”  His voice was clear, any trace of his intoxication momentarily gone.   An irrefutable truth.

“Me too.”

She took a book out of her purse to read, and by the time she looked up, Hank had slumped back in his seat and pulled his hat down over his eyes.

They didn’t speak another word for the rest of the trip. 

Chapter Text

He was still sleeping when the train pulled into the station.  An eight-hour ride and he hadn’t stirred once.  She’d gotten up periodically to stretch her legs, get some food in the lunch car, and make sure he was breathing. 

She wasn’t sure why she even bothered, but they’d been companions by chance, at least for this trip and she felt some responsibility to see that he made it to his destination alive. 

“We’re here.”  She said, tapping the table loudly as she stood up to get her bags. 

Nothing.  He didn’t move or make any sign that he’d heard her.

What the hell was in that bottle?, she wondered. 

She stepped around the table and gently shook his shoulder.  “Hey, you alive in there?”

She retrieved her bags and took her place at the end of the line of passengers waiting to disembark.  When they’d started moving forward, she glanced back and saw that he still hadn’t moved. 

She looked around for a conductor to help her or a glass of water to throw at him, but she couldn’t find either.

Mind your own business, Goldie.  She scolded herself as she put her bags down and walked back over.

She took the hat off his eyes and leaned over to lightly tap his cheek.

“Hank!  Wake up.  Come on, wake up.  We’re the last ones left.  Time to go.”

And then he did wake up, or at least he stirred.  Eyes still closed, he grabbed her hand in one of his, and pulled her down to him with the other.

Their lips collided, hers finding his hot and soft.  Her chest up against his, she had to kick her knee out and prop herself against the edge of the chair to stop from falling onto his lap completely.

She was too surprised to struggle at first, and he took advantage.  He opened her mouth with his tongue, moved it against hers, holding her steady against him.

He should smell worse, was the only thought she could pull together in her addled mind.  It was feral. 

Organic?  Was that even a word?

Same with his taste.  A slight tang of blood, the salt of sweat on his skin, sweetness from the alcohol. 

“Mmmmm.”  He growled against her mouth and raised his hips to meet her.

She sucked back with a gasp and pushed off his chest with both hands. 

“Where you going, darling?”  He slurred, smiling sleepily before she smacked his face with enough force to whip his head around.  Her palm connected to the spot she’d been taught to strike, the side of the head where the cheekbone and temple intersected.

“Asshole.”  She fled the train as fast she could on legs she couldn’t trust not to buckle.  She didn’t look back, didn’t want him to see that she was shaking, tears of betrayal stinging her eyes.  Didn’t want to risk seeing a stupid smirk on his stupid face. 

And she absolutely didn’t need to know if he really was asleep, or if he’d known what he was doing all along.

_________________________________________

The tryouts were a breeze, a glorified practice.  Almost 200 girls were invited and about 70 made the cut.  Despite what Wally had said, most of the girls could play.  This wasn’t a league of beauty queens. 

There was a range of shapes and sizes, races and backgrounds.  Arda was a colorful place and it looked like the scouts had scoured every corner looking for honest talent. 

When they’d asked what her position was, she’d said anything they needed.  She’d learned to play on grass fields with rocks for bases, in cracked parking lots and train yards.  Pick-up games where you took whatever position was free. 

The first kid to the mound got to pitch, and they’d rotate every inning.  Everyone drew straws to play short-stop, or first base, where all the action was.  Otherwise, it would result in fist fights and bloodied shirts you’d have to explain to mama.

She’d been in the outfield a lot, especially if she played with her brothers’ friends.  She hadn’t minded.  It’s where she learned to get on her horse and track fly balls coast-to-coast with precision.  She’d gotten fast, and her arm strong from one-hopping the throw to home from deep centerfield, skipping the cut-off man.

In this new girls’ league, they didn’t have many catchers, so they asked if she’d brought gear.  She’d packed it just in case.  And just like that, she was a catcher. 

She didn’t need to check the roster to know she made the league.  She was confident in her skills, but she was curious as to what team she’d be on.  There were only four:  Mordor Flames, Greenwood Graverobbers, Rhun Rebels, and the Trout Bend Berries.  

She’d hoped against the last one.  She didn’t think she could be a Berry with a straight face.

The schedule went from April to August, five nights a week.  They’d be playing each other a lot in the four-month season.  Plenty of time to get to know each team, their strengths and weaknesses, before the playoffs.

They’d be paid a stipend for room and board, and $75 a week.  For that much money, she could close the store and sell it at a profit, and still send money home to Ronnie. 

And she’d be playing baseball. 

She scanned the rosters to find her name. 

Galadriel O’Finarfin.

Trout Bend Berries.

No problem, she thought.  If there was a heaven, she was in it.  She’d play in a bathing suit if they asked her to.

She checked the remaining list of names to see who she knew on her team.  While she’d mostly kept to herself, she’d paid attention and met a few other girls during the tryout.

Poppy Fellows was a sweetheart of a young pitcher who had a lot of zip on her fastball and decent control.  Her cousin, Nori Foot, was a hot shit, and a decent infield glove who hadn’t missed a single grounder all day.  She’d even anticipated a few bad hops and kept the ball in front of her.

Wynnie Aronds was another pitcher who threw ungodly junk balls that would tie up batters who’d been chasing fastballs all day.  She’d make a great closer. 

Her husband was a soldier on active duty, and she’d brought her son, Theo, along to the tryout.  He was about 13-years-old and sat in the stands, sullenly reading a comic book.

The only other name she knew was Disa Stone, a mother of six under six years-old, and a power hitter with a good glove and an arm that’d be perfect at third base. 

She scanned to see the name of their manager.  They’d tried to scout Finrod, so they must be looking for bigger name professionals who weren’t currently enlisted.  The other teams were managed by older players from the ‘20s and ‘30s.  She’d recognized the names and committed them to memory. 

Strange, she thought.  On their roster, it was listed as TBA.  To be announced.

They had less than a week before their first game.

_________________________________________

Their homefield locker room at Trout Bend Gardens had become their Town Hall. 

As an adult, she’d never been around so many women at once and she was quickly realizing how much she’d been missing it in her life.  Her mom, her aunties and her cousins.  They’d all been scattered apart by tragedy and war.

Her teammates laughed, shared stories of their children, and their husbands and boyfriends, a few girlfriends, parents and dogs.  But most importantly, of themselves.  Their favorite things.  Their hopes and dreams. 

She wasn’t the only woman in the world who had her own plans.  In one short week of living and practicing with her teammates, she didn’t feel selfish for wanting something of her own.  She’d felt validated.  Empowered.

It wasn’t all hand holding and fingernail painting.  They fought and bickered, some were catty and ruthless, others passive aggressive and moody.  But they were a team.  A family.

After that catastrophe on the train, she’d told everyone that she was married, from the league president to the reporters to her new friends.  It gave her a certain cloak of invisibility. 

Married meant she was off limits.  Married meant she didn’t have to try to be attractive or funny or smart.  That perfect mix of beauty and decency.  She could just be herself.

She was Goldie, the catcher from Lindon, with no kids and a man overseas.  Vanilla ice cream.  A plain cheeseburger with ketchup.

It was perfect.

But they still didn’t have a manager.  As the catcher, Goldie was the informal leader on the field, so she’d been guiding practices the best she could.  She had worked out a lineup in her head and figured out the best positions and batting order.

Today was their first game, and she hated to lose.

“Why don’t we have a coach, again?”  Nori complained, dry shaving the length of her leg between her sock and skirt while smoking an illegal cigarette.

Miriel Tarr, their team chaperone who kept them all in line with “league standards”, hadn’t arrived yet.  They could sense her coming a mile away by the clicking of her heels and her floral perfume.  They’d have time to stamp out their cigarettes and dull their conversation before she could catch any one of them.

“Because we’re the fucking Berries.  If anything can go wrong, it will.”  Disa reminded them. 

She was right.  It did seem like they had been set up to be the underdogs.  Every team had their own persona, their own narrative.  The Berries were a team of misfits.  Goldie didn’t quite know where she fit in, but she had all the time in the world to find out.

“Game starts in 10 minutes.  If we don’t have a coach, we go out there and play baseball.  It’s what they pay us for.”  She used her “rude customer” tone.  She found it helpful when keeping the girls on task.

“They’re paying us to put on show.  We’re dancing ponies.”  Poppy, usually quiet, chimed in.

“We’re ball players.  Act like it.  Do you think Ted Williams needed his coach to tell him when to hit and when to take a piss?” 

With that the locker room door crashed open and a six-and-a-half-foot tall shadow staggered in. 

Everyone went still, quiet, like a wolf had found their hen house.

“Is that?”  Someone, somewhere whispered, but it died hanging in the air.

Hank Smith, with squinted eyes and stumbling feet, looked around the room shaking his head in disgust.

Oh, fuck.  Goldie recognized him by smell alone.  And by the shiner that had faded to green just to the side of his left eye. 

Good, she hoped it still hurt.  Hope it left him concussed.  Somehow, he looked even worse than before.  Like he’d spent the week in and out of bars, sleeping outside. 

“Jesus Christ, Hank.  You look like shit, don’t you ever shave?”

His head snapped over to her, but he scrunched up his face in confusion.  Did he not recognize her?  It must’ve been quite the bender, indeed. 

Miriel marched in behind him, heels clicking on the painted cement floor.

“That’s a language violation, Goldie.  First strike.”

“What?”  She started to protest, but the chaperone cut her off with an expectant raise of her eyebrows. “I mean, yes, ma’am.”

“And Mr. Smith, you’re late.  That’s a strike for you as well, plus an extra strike for being blatantly intoxicated.”

“I have a note.”  He gulped out, keeling to one side, burying his hands in his pockets, searching but coming up empty.  Something must’ve lurched in him, because he strode in a hurried jagged line to the toilets, pushing girls out of the way.

The girls looked at each other in confusion.

“That’s our coach?”  Poppy looked petrified.   

He didn’t bother to close the stall door as he bent over, hands against the back wall, and lost the contents of his stomach, missing most of the toilet.  Vomit landing in splashes on the seat and the floor around it.

The girls gagged and turned away.

“Who’s going to clean that up?”  Disa said sternly, with her hands on her hips.  She was more put out by the mess than the utter desecration of it all. 

Must be a mom thing.

“Not us, ladies.  Shake it off.  We have a game to play.  Nori, you’re second base.  Lead us off.”  Goldie took back control, diverting attention to the task at hand.

“Aye-aye, General.”  Nori gave her a mock salute and clapped her hands. “Let’s go, Berries!”

She was about to play her first professional game.  Her team’s name was weak, and her coach was a blackout alcoholic, con man who kissed strangers in his sleep. 

But she was playing baseball.  When she was on that field, nothing else mattered. 

____________________________________

They’d had two weeks of games and their manager, the great Hank Smith, pride of the Southland Sox, six-time league home run champ, was nothing but a washed-up disappointment. 

The girls had taken to calling him Smitty in a gesture of disrespect. 

He’d made it clear he had no desire to coach this team.  He was just here for a paycheck.  He’d come out at the beginning of the game to wave his hat to the crowd, and then sit down in a corner by himself.  Ignoring everyone.  Ignoring her.

He still hadn’t given any indication that he’d remembered her from the train.  It was a memory seared forever into her mind.  She resented that it wasn’t in his as well.

They’d played ten games so far and they’d won seven of them. 

She willed herself to focus on this one.

Goldie was deep in the squat behind home plate, her thighs and calves burning as she held her ready stance.  There were runners on first and third, and her pitcher was getting gassed.  With only one out, they’d be itching to steal. 

The first base runner had a lead so long, she was halfway to second with every pitch.

We have to get out of this inning.

They were beating the Mordor Flames 3-0 in the bottom of the seventh and the team was getting desperate.  They were arguing calls, giving gratuitous shoves in the base path, crowding the strike zone.  The Flames were a shit team, but they were tough.

This batter was the top of their order, a contact hitter with arms like an Ent.  She’d gotten on base twice already with line drives that didn’t stop until they reached the fence.  If they didn’t shut it down here, they could lose this lead fast.

Poppy gave her a look from the mound, shook off her sign for a fastball-high-and-inside.  Damn, she really didn’t have anything left. 

From behind her, the umpire was making moaning noises and sniffing at her hair. 

“You Berries are so sweet.  Juicy.  I could just lick you all over and eat you up.”  He lisped between his missing teeth.  She outwardly gagged in revulsion and inwardly cursed the idiot who named their team. 

Goldie looked over to the dugout, to where she could feel eyes burning through her.  She could always feel him watching her, but whenever she looked back, he’d be asleep or reading his newspaper. 

If she was hoping for any guidance on the game situation, she wouldn’t find it with him.

No problem. I got this.

When Goldie gave her the sign for low-in-the-dirt, Poppy looked confused, but nodded.

As the pitch came in, it bounced off the plate and Goldie blocked it with her glove.  She popped up fast and shot the ball to second base just as the runner started her slide.

Nori, made the tag just as the third base runner closed in on home.  She’d proven herself as a gutsy infielder who trusted her instincts and always knew where the next play was.  Without hesitation, she threw the ball back to Goldie.

This is going to hurt.

Goldie caught the ball in her glove and braced for impact as the runner barreled into her.  They both hit the ground with a thud, the wind completely leaving her chest.  But she had the ball and could hear her teammates cheer and the Mordor home crowd rage as she held it up for the umpire to see.

Eat that, asshole.

As she limped her aching body back to the dugout, she patted Poppy on the back.

“Good inning, Pops.”

“Thank you for saving me out there.”  The young pitcher looked tired, and relieved.

“That was a hell of a throw.  You hurt my hand.”  Nori shook off her glove and flexed her fingers against her reddened palm.

“Way to the read the play.  Glad we pulled it off.”  She sat down at her place on the bench to take off her gear and felt his gaze on her again.  When she looked up, he met her eyes this time.

“Want a suggestion?”

“From someone who wasn’t even watching the game?”

He smirked at her, his green eyes dancing as he leaned in closer.

“You should put some ice on your ass.  A hit like that is going to leave a bruise.”

If he was trying to get a rise out of her, he was wasting his time.  She was tired of getting hit on today, and he was a mess.  He hadn’t shaved since the week before, not that she’d been paying attention, and she could smell the whiskey on his breath. 

She was certainly not thinking of what it would feel like if he followed the trail of abraded skin along her backside with his roughened jaw.

“So, you were watching.”  She grinned back at him, all sweet innocence, as she picked up her bat.  She was up second after Disa and it was time to blow this game wide open.  “Until you decide to start doing your job, keep your suggestions to yourself.”

Nori and Poppy looked on as Goldie sauntered over to the on-deck circle and their manager put his feet up and lounged back to watch with appreciation.

“I love it when Mommy and Daddy fight.  It means Goldie is going to smash the ball hard, as if it was his face.”  Nori clapped excitedly.  “Go back to sleep, Smitty.  Let the General do her thing.”

“Good play, Nori,” he said, from under his cap.

“Since when does he know my name?” 

____________________________________________

The game was getting out of hand now.  Disa had barely made it to second on a moonshot to a gap in left centerfield.  She should’ve been on third, but she runs like a Sherman tank.  One speed.  She also hit more homeruns than anyone in the league, so she could be forgiven for her lack of baserunning prowess.

Goldie pulled a hard grounder up the right field foul line, and the outfielder overthrew her cut off, giving Disa plenty of time to make it home on the error.  Goldie slid into third and beat the tag underneath Ent Woman’s glove.

The Orc-looking umpire didn’t agree.

“OUT!”  He yelled, holding up his bloated fist.

She popped up in resistance.

“Are you blind?!  She didn’t even touch me.  I was under it!”

“Sorry, sweetheart.  Walk your pretty self away so I can watch you go.”

She foolishly looked to the bench for help, but he had his cap over his eyes again.

“This is horseshit.”  The call, this game, him, everything.

The crowd cheered and taunted her as she walked back to the dugout, her elbows skinned and stinging where she slid through the dirt.  Add them to the growing collection of flesh wounds she’d racked up since she’d started.  Pieces of herself she’d left on the battlefield.

The pain on the surface was a welcome distraction from the pain that had burned in her heart back home.

Poppy was the first one to pat her on the back.

“It’s okay, we still got them.  You got the run.  We’re still winning.”

“No one’s ever winning.  It’s a fight until the last batter’s out.”

It was her turn to stand over Smitty with her hands on her hips.

“Thanks for having my back out there.  Anytime you want to stand up for something, that isn’t your next drink, by all means, chime in.”

“You should’ve held at second, instead of charging into third like a spooked pony.”

“Are you—?  I took the heat off Disa so she could score, and it was wide open.  And I was safe.”

“This is a team you have to play smarter, not harder.  They’re not too bright, and you’re not going to out hard them.”

“Oh yeah, Coach?  What about the umpire?  When he’s not making bad calls, he’s—” She’d had enough of his shit, too.

And with that, a strikeout and pop out, the inning was over, and they were back on the field.  She strapped on the last of her leg pads and grabbed her mask.

“He’s what?  Goldie!?”  Smitty called after her, suddenly serious, but she didn’t bother turning around.

_______________________________

It was the bottom of the eighth inning and they were ahead 4-0.  Wynnie was their best closer, and she looked good in warm-ups.  This should be quick, even against their biggest hitters.

The beast that came up to the plate first looked at Goldie like she was meat.  She’d tripled and grounded out to second in earlier innings.  She’d gotten out at home late in the first when she’d tried to steal off a wild pitch that Goldie stretched for and got her in the rundown.  Apparently, she hadn’t let it go.

“I wouldn’t crowd the plate.  She’s wild until she settles down.”

Goldie gave the sign for fastball-high-and-inside and Wynnie nodded with a smile.  She let it go perfectly and the Beast snapped back.

“Strike!”

“If you value what’s left of your face.”

The Beast turned on her with a snarl and Goldie held up her hands in a gesture of feigned passivity.

In the dugout, Smitty was standing up.  Actually standing, arms crossed against his massive chest, watching with interest.

“Calm it down, Catch.”  He called out to her.

Goldie smiled to herself and shook her head. 

“Can you believe this guy?  Hasn’t paid attention to a single game all season and suddenly he’s telling me what to do.”

“You should listen to him.”  The Beast grated out of her snaggled teeth as she got in the box.

“You have a better chance of sucking my—”

“Ball!”  The umpire called from behind her. “That’s a language warning, O’Finarfin.  One more and you’re gone.”

“Language warning?  How about when you described bending me over the plate in the third inning?  That doesn’t count?”  She instigated. 

She could feel the daggers shooting at her from the dugout, sending a shiver of awareness down to her tailbone.  He was warning her, but this was her game.  Her battlefield.  And she was alive.  No one was coming to help her.

She gave Wynnie the sign for off-speed-up-the-middle.  The older pitcher didn’t have the fastest arm, but she had a crazy spin on her changeup that would leave eager batters scrambling.  The Beast swung and missed.

“Strike two!”

“She had you rocked on that one.”

“I liked that pitch.  Have her throw it again.”

“Sure thing.  Here it comes.”

Goldie gave the sign for a curveball.  The batter had backed up a step in the box and was almost on top of her.  She backed up in response until she was touching – shudder – the umpire.  He leaned into her rudely in response, and she could feel a drip of spittle land on her arm.

And that’s when everything went to shit.

She heard Smitty yell “Time!” from the sidelines, but it was too late.  The pitch came in and the batter swung, but instead of hitting the dropping curve, she slammed her bat into Goldie’s glove side wrist. 

Goldie dropped to her knees, too shocked to feel the pain acutely, but aware enough to know it would come.

“Catcher interference, batter take your base!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”  She got up in the umpire’s face, holding her swelling wrist. 

“That’s it, you’re out of here, Goldie!”  The umpire grabbed her by the arm.

Before she could shake off his slimy grip, she saw a familiar shadow passing in the corner of her vision. 

How’d he get there so fast?  His long, muscle-roped arm wrapped around her waist and threw her over his shoulder like an unruly toddler.

“You don’t know when you quit, do you?”  Smitty gritted through a jaw clenched so hard it might snap.

“Put me down!”  She kicked and flailed, but he had her thigh in the vice grip he called a hand six feet off the ground as he walked her back to the dugout.  She’d be bruised where his fingers squeezed tight just below her exposed shiny red undershorts.  Additions to her collection.

When he dumped her onto the bench, she reared back.

“I’m not going to let him—”

He cut her off with the deadliest look she’d ever seen.  She came from a family of stone-cold criminals.  Her uncles had made their fortunes in murder.  They’d have pissed their pants. 

Her stomach dropped.  Maybe she had messed up.

He nodded once, satisfied with her compliance, before returning to the field.  He wasn’t angry with her, she realized.  He was going to fight for her.

He towered over the umpire, taunting him, a finger pointed at his chest.  To his credit, or in testimony of his cluelessness, the umpire pushed back. 

The crowd was cheering like one of the boxing matches she’d snuck into at her uncle’s gym when she was a kid.  Intense and violent.  Exhilarating.  

She thought back to the time she met Caleb’s parents for the first time.

“She’s beautiful, Caleb.  It almost makes up for her lack of a respectable family name.”

They’d said it in front of her, as if she wouldn’t be offended.  Or if she was, it didn’t matter to them.  She thought Caleb would say something to defend her, but he’d smiled warmly, agreed as if it were a compliment.

She remembered how her brothers never came to her aid against a bully.  Roddy only ever lectured her about rising above and being the better person. 

“Pick your battles, Squirt.”

In this moment, she wished she could go back and pick all of them.

The manager from the other team was involved now and she could hear Smitty rattle off a list of infractions that the umpire had missed throughout the game. 

His strike zone was the size of a golf ball.  The bad tags.  The dirty hits and baseline interference. 

He’d been paying attention to all of it.

“You should worry about your harpy of a catcher.  Take her down a notch or two before someone else does it for you.”

With that, Smitty snapped.  If he got his hands on him, he wouldn’t stop until there was blood.

“Hank!”  Goldie called out to him, desperately, just as he’d started to lunge.  He’d get thrown out of the league, probably go to jail, and they would be out a coach.  Maybe even a good one.

He heard her, found her gaze, panting with rage.  For her.

“You’re out of here, too!”  The umpire, whose life she just saved, pointed to the dugout, triumphant.

Without a backward glance, Smitty strode toward her.  He paused, head down as he passed by.

“Thank you.”  He whispered and disappeared into the locker room.

She’d forgotten that she wasn’t the only one standing there.  The girls had come in from the field to gather by the bench amongst the commotion.  They looked at her like she was crazy.  Maybe she was.

“Kill them.”

They cheered and patted her back as she followed him down into the darkness.

“Looks like Mom and Dad are going to make up.”  Nori teased mischievously to her teammates.  “Knock before opening any closed doors, ladies.”

_____________________________________________

He’d turned the lights on and was at the ice box filling a towel when she descended the stairs into the locker room. 

“Is it broken?”

She dropped pieces of equipment in a trail on the ground behind her—mask, hat, leg guards, chest protector—as she walked towards him.  Broken?  What part of her wasn’t broken? 

“I don’t think so.” 

He closed the space between them, with a languid purpose.  Any trace of the fire she’d seen only moments before was gone.  Maybe she’d just imagined it, or maybe he was better at reigning himself in than she was. 

He took in the state of her with a long glance that ran from her skinned knees to her bloodied knuckles, to the shiner that was growing on her chin where she’d taken a stray elbow in a collision at second base in the 4^th inning.

“You’re a fucking mess, aren’t you?”

He had no idea.  And he had no room to talk.  Between the two of them, they were two steps from the bottom.  She’d learned that about herself.  When things were too perfect, too safe, she’d find a way to fight back at it.  Self-destruct.  Jump ship towards something irrational, or unattainable.  It’s what brought her here.

She’d longed to see just how far she could sink to the bottom and still come up for air.  How many times could she fail, die, and come back in one lifetime?  How many times could she live?

“Try playing ball in a skirt sometime.”

The corners of his face crinkled with amusement as he placed the bundle of ice on her injured wrist.  The pain of it couldn’t defeat the wave of desire his easy smile sent through her, the feeling of her hand in his.

Three weeks of trying, and failing, to ignore that kiss on the train.  Three weeks of his irritating indifference.  Three weeks she’d been on an edge that kept getting narrower and narrower. 

He was so close, blowing out her senses.  She saw every reddish-brown hair around his curved lips, felt the heat coming off his broad chest.  He didn’t wear cologne.  It wouldn’t have suited him anyway.  The heady scent of his maleness dominated everything else.  She drank him in, filled herself with it. 

She ached to bury her face in the hollow of his throat, the spot between his Adam’s apple and the patch of hair peeking out from the v-neck collar of his jersey.

His eyes flashed like a hunter, with impossibly long, dark lashes, and fixed on her mouth as she bit at her bottom lip. 

“You’re not going to tell me I’m beautiful?”  She whispered, not trusting her own voice.

“Is that what you want?”

Her breath turned shallow in anticipation of something, anything.  Could he not feel this?  Was she the only one trembling?

She shook her head, “No.”

Look at me, she wanted to say.  Look at me breaking.

“Should I tell you how perfect you are?”  He leaned down, spoke against her ear.

“Don’t you dare.”

His breath let out in a short, laughing huff that tickled her neck.  He did look at her then, finally, and his eyes that had seemed cold and aimless to her before had a singular focus.  They challenged her to take the first step. 

“Tell me what hurts, Galadriel.”

No one called her that anymore.  It was a foreign family name she’d brought from the old country.  No one here even knew what it meant. 

Everyone she loved was gone.  This was her chance to fall.  To prove she could still live.

“Everything.”

She kissed him then, stood on her toes and took his mouth in hers, pulling him down to her by the back of his head, threading her fingers in his too-long hair. 

It was the invitation he’d needed, as he groaned against her mouth and leaned in, picking her up and wrapping her legs around his waist. 

She pushed against his wicked mouth with her tongue, eager to taste the source of every piercing comment that had left his lips.  To kiss away every careless smirk and mocking glance.  To leave her own taste burning in him as repayment.

He’d walked them both into the showers and knelt down to set her on the bench along the wall.  She winced as her sore ass landed on the cold wood. 

“I told you it would bruise.”  He murmured, his forehead touching hers.

Sitting like this, him kneeling in front of her, they were almost the same height.  She leaned back against the wall and put her right cleat against his shoulder, feeling bold and offering him a view.

“How bad is it?”

He arched his dark brow and began untying the laces of her shoe.  He tossed it aside and pulled down her sock, slowly taking it off inch by aching inch, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its place.  

He took the arch of her foot in two hands and kneaded it with his thumbs.  She pulled back with a surprised giggle, but he held it harder and dragged it back to him.

“Don’t fight me, you’ll lose.”

“Don’t tickle me, you’ll lose your nose.”  She bit at her bottom lip again and let her head fall back, suppressing the urge to kick away as he rubbed her tired foot. 

He replaced his hands with his mouth as he kissed the inside of her ankle, scratching her with his unshaven chin and soothing it with his gentle tongue.  He worked his way up her calf, placing her foot over his shoulder to bring his body closer to hers.

She grinned through the haze of sensations.  She never knew she was ticklish at the back of her knee until he stroked it with his callused fingers while he blew cool air onto her scraped knee cap.  It was the type of ticklishness that brought a rush of liquid heat to her center.  At this angle, could he see how wet she was?

He ran the backs of his knuckles, softer than his rough palms, against the raw abrasions at the back of her thigh, while kissing a path along the inside.  She shivered and she sucked in much needed air through her teeth.  How long had she been holding her breath?

When she thought for sure he’d finally touch her in that shuddering juncture that was begging, weeping for his attention, he diverted his hands to the belt buckle at her waist and the buttons on her top.  She pulled her arms out of her dress and let it fall to her waist. 

His face was unreadable as he took in the rise and fall of her chest.  She’d had to bandage around her breasts for extra support.  She sat up straighter and held up her arms as he reached around her to unwrap it.

Free of the bindings, her nipples peaked against the thin silk of her bra.  She fought the mindless urge to cover herself, as if him looking at her this way was more intimate than what he’d just done between her legs.

He took her hand next, ignoring her chipped nail polish and trailing kisses along her scuffed palm, injured wrist, elbow, shoulder, and along her collarbone.  He traced his way back down the other side.

As if by his silent direction, reading his thoughts, she placed her other cleat against his chest.  He untied it and removed her other sock just as methodically.

She wasn’t a virgin, she’d been with a few boys back home, and with Caleb in the months before he left.  This was by far the most sensual thing that had ever happened to her, and he hadn’t even taken off his pants. 

He was tending to her, like a precious thing that needed to be repaired.  With each kiss, with each revering touch, the pain and tension that she’d been carrying slipped away, forgotten. 

“Be free of it.”  He whispered as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders for balance when he’d finished making his rounds on her body.

“It’s going to take a little more than this to fix me, Halbrand.”  It was her turn to use his full name.  She only knew it because she’d followed his career since before he’d earned all his nicknames.  It was written on his rookie season baseball card.

“I’m not done yet.” He shot her one of his smiles that was more a flash of teeth and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.  He cupped his hands under her to remove her soaked undershorts and panties. 

She must’ve been a sight.  Sweaty, dirty and bleeding, splayed out in front of him in nothing but a bra and ruined uniform hanging at her waist.  She’d never felt more herself.

Outside, the crowd erupted in a wave of cheers.

“Still the bottom of the eighth?”  She noted.

“Sounds like they just the lost the lead.”

“They’re walking home.”

He laughed again, this time against her stomach as he sank back down on his knees.

“Jesus, you’re dripping.”

His mouth met the saturated flesh of her blooming folds and she huffed in disbelief.  No one had ever done that before.  Caleb had looked horrified when she’d suggested it. 

“Wait, wait, wait.”  She tried to pull away, but the wall was close behind her, and his arms were wrapped firmly around her hips.

“I told you not to fight me.”  He growled, but paused.

“Just let me adjust.  It’s too much.  Go easy on me.”

“Mmmmm,” he acquiesced hungrily and tried again.  This time, he licked slowly from the bottom of her seem up to the top of her clit. 

She was done fighting, words no longer necessary as she steadied herself against his shoulders.  He’d listened, started gently with long, relentless laps building to a steady rhythm, before turning more urgent. 

His attention focused on the throbbing bud at the center of her arousal.  He sucked at it, tortured it with his tongue, his lips, the merciless stubble of his beard, until it began to hum in an accelerating tempo of its own.

She cried out as a fresh rush of moisture flooded her, and he grunted, greedily drinking it up as he pushed into her aching opening with two long and thick fingers.  Everything went white, then black, as the pulsating at her clit came to a head and she came against his mouth, her channel clenching down on his fingers in waves.

She hadn’t realized she’d been making sounds, moans and whimpers, until she finished shuddering around him and perceived the quietness, the rise and fall of their shared breaths.  A last sigh escaped her as he pulled away and left her empty. 

She rocked her head back against the wall and closed her eyes to enjoy the last of the aftershocks.  Spots danced behind her eyelids, and she wondered if she might’ve lost consciousness for a moment.

He stood and crossed the locker room to check the scoreboard out the high windows. 

“Top of the ninth.  Tied 5-5.  You had enough, yet?”

“What else you got?” She talked a tough game for someone who didn’t think she could stand up.

He turned on the shower and kicked off his shoes. 

Understanding his intent, she quickly unhooked her bra and slid her uniform down over her hips, before rushing to help him with his belt, pants and jersey. 

“I’ve been dying to do this for weeks.” 

“Should have told me.  I was ready to fuck you in the bathroom on the train.”

“Ah, so you do remember.  I thought you’d been too drunk.  Had me confused with someone else.”

“You gave me one hell of a headache.”

“You deserved it.”

Once he was naked, she pushed him under the hot water, grabbed a bar of soap and lathered it up.  She started by washing the parts she could reach, the tops of his shoulders, down his arms.  It was her turn to explore him, run her hands over the hard muscles of his back, chest and stomach.

“A little lower, sweetheart.”  He flashed his teeth again, that mocking grin.

She glanced down at his erection and gaped.  It was absurdly large, just like the rest of him.  Of course it was.  Nothing about him was accommodating, or average.  Her mouth went dry, with desire or panic, she couldn’t tell.  Both? 

The conflict must have shown in her expression, because he tilted her chin up to return her attention to his gaze.

“Go easy on me.”  He repeated her earlier words back to her with a warmth in his green eyes that she hadn’t seen before.  Who was this man who could wear so many faces?  His hair curled when it was wet, giving him a moppy boyishness that clashed with the devil he’d been since she met him.  He almost looked happy.  Was this him, or just another mask? 

She swallowed hard, reached out and ran her fingers along the veined shaft.  It was thick and long, the skin pulled taught and smooth.  He seized her wrist in his hand before she could go any further and turned her around to face the shower wall. 

“Time’s almost up.  You still want to do this?”

She was ready to fall, as many times as it took.  She refused to believe that anything bad could feel this good.  This right.

She nodded as she placed her palms against the tile and spread herself as if in offering. 

She felt his warmth behind her even before he put his hands on her hips, pulling her back against him.  He positioned his cock between her legs and reached around to find her clit still swollen and slick.  It snapped to attention, purring with awareness, at his familiar touch.  Was it possible to hear a man smile behind you?

“You’re making this too much fun.  I’m going to want to keep you like this.”

“I think I might hate you.”

“It’s okay.  There’s a long line, behind the bookies and the fascists.”

He kept his hand on her while he teased the tip of his head along her opening, dipping it into her overflowing need.  She bent down further to improve the angle, moved herself against him, anxious to get him inside her.  An instinct to be filled, completed, her body craving this most basic thing. 

Once he’d wet its full length, he gripped her hips with both hands and pushed into her, patiently as he seemed to do everything, purposefully, to the hilt. 

She swallowed the urge to cry out, feeling herself soften to take him in like an ancient embrace.  The tip hit a nerve inside her that she didn’t even know was there.  If her clit was the source of pleasure outside, he’d found another bottomless well within.  Red hot sparks filled her vision as she arched to bring him even deeper still.

“Ah fuck, I knew you’d take it.  Perfect.  So perfect.”

“You couldn’t resist, could you?”  Her reprimand lacked any conviction, her voice small and shaky.

He set the punishing pace, slowing every few pumps to keep them both on the same page.  He must’ve known she was close to something, because he wrapped an arm up between her breasts and put his hand at her throat. 

He held her against him as he struck harder, hitting that burning core again and again until she bucked and tightened against him with a cry that couldn’t possibly have come from her throat. 

She’d have fallen from the force of her complete annihilation if he wasn’t still holding her tight against him. 

He pulled out of her then and she felt the warm liquid of his seed hit the back of her leg in spurts that match his ragged breaths behind her.  She watched dazedly as it mixed with the water and circled down the drain.

“Thank you.”  She leaned her forehead against the cool, smooth tile.  Thank you?  For what?  Not coming inside her?  Giving her three of the most earthshattering experiences of her life in the span of one inning of baseball?

She didn’t look at him as he washed the last traces of their shared destruction off his spent cock. 

“Next time you need a fight, just ask.”

He wrapped himself in a towel and picked his clothes off the floor on his way out.

______________________________________________

The bus ride home to Trout Bend was quiet, considering the excitement of the day.  The girls had complained about the lack of hot water in the showers, but she blamed it on Mordor’s inability to grasp the concept of indoor plumbing.  A claim bolstered by their abysmal personal hygiene. 

If any of the girls wondered why Goldie’s gear was spread out over the locker room like a trail of breadcrumbs, or why she and Smitty smelled like the same soap, no one voiced it out loud.

She’d walked past him without a sideways glance and sat in her usual seat in the opposite row.  She was just about to kick off her shoes, curl her legs up and go over the game’s stats when a figure hovered above her with a clipboard, floral perfume announcing her presence before Goldie looked up.

“Hi Miriel.”

“You’re both fined. $50 for O’Finarfin, and $100 for you, Smith.  That’s your third strike, Hank.  Next one is a suspension.”

“It was worth every penny.” 

He was going to make her regret this, wasn’t he?  She purposefully looked out the window, knowing he was waiting for her reaction.

“Have them take it out of my check, please.” 

“No, I’ll pay hers, too.”

“No, he won’t.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is, ‘Thank you’.”

Breathe. 

“I appreciate the gesture, but I take full responsibility for my actions and will gladly pay the fine myself.”

“You sure you don’t want to fight about it?”

Miriel looked between the two of them and shook her head.  She was smart, she knew there was more to this, but she wasn’t getting involved.

“I’ll take it out of your check.  That’s strike two.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Miriel moved on to other business as Goldie cracked open a bottle of Coke and took the game’s stat book out of her bag.

“You okay, Goldie?” Theo, Wynnie’s son, plopped down next to her.

“Yeah, kid, why?”

“You weren’t yourself today.  And you’re never this quiet after a loss.” 

“The loss hurts, but I shouldn’t have instigated them like I did.  We might’ve won if I hadn’t lost my temper on that umpire.”

“You did the right thing.  You have to stand up for yourself.  And your team.”

“Thanks for saying that.”  His dark brown puppy eyes were so sincere, she almost believed him.  Kid would be a heartbreaker someday if he didn’t watch out.

“So, let’s go over those pitches again.”  And just like that, his true reason for saddling up next to her was revealed.

“You know, your mom is a really good pitcher.  You should ask her.”

“She doesn’t want me to play baseball.  She wants me to study and become a millionaire so I don’t have to go to war like—”  The boy trailed off, no doubt thinking of his stepdad, who was still stationed overseas. 

That was partly why he’d started clinging to her.  They’d both lost so much, he felt like he could share things with her he couldn’t with his mom.  He feared it would just make her upset.

She enjoyed spending time with him, too.  He’d reminded her of Ronnie.  Her lost boys.

“He’ll be back.  Wherever he is, he’s fighting his way back to you.”

“Like your husband?”

She ignored the choking sound coming from two seats away.  He heard everything now, too?

“No, honey.  He was ambushed in an attack and there were no survivors.  It’s been almost a year.  They just haven’t found his body, yet.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.  Sometimes it helps to talk about the people we love, right?”

He sniffles and blinks back his tears as he stands up to go back to his seat, but she stops him with a hand on his arm.

“You got a ball?”

“Of course.”  He held up the baseball he kept in his pocket.

“You remembered your first lesson.  Good.  That’s how you develop muscle memory.  I want you to hold this thing in your hand until it’s an extension of yourself.  You need to be able to find the seams in three seconds with your eyes closed, in your sleep.  When you’re not holding it, I want you to miss it.”

“Yes, General.”

“So, show me a fastball.”

“Two seam or four seam?”

“You tell me.  Are you Bob Feller or Hal Newhouser?”

Theo looked confused, not following.

“Bob Feller is going to blow the ball by you every time.  He has a four seam that’s lights out.  But Newhouser, has a two seam because he likes the extra movement.  He wants to keep his batters guessing.”

“He had more walks than strikeouts last year.  Feller’s a much better pitcher.”

“Sooner or later, batters are going to catch up to Feller’s speed.  It’s the nature of things.  Newhouser is only going to get better at his control.  And no one’s going to see him coming.”

It was her turn to wait for a reaction.  If the man two seats over was only pretending to be asleep, he’d have something to say about that.  He’d hit a grand slam off Bob Feller in 1939, and had one of the best career averages against him.  And he’d struck out to Newhouser three times in one game in 1940.

She waited.

Not even a tick. 

________________________________________

Goldie woke up the next morning to someone pounding on the door of her room in their rented team house.  There was either a fire, or Disa had lost one of her kids’ macaroni necklaces again. 

She didn’t bother with a cover up.  At this point, they’d all seen each other in different stages of undress.  She hadn’t had any female friends growing up.  Before coming here, she didn’t realize how different women could look from each other.  She thought everyone looked like the pinup calendar from 1940 that still hung in the backwall of her brother’s office. 

Now, she could pick out her teammates in a lineup of just boobs.

She padded to the door in her short, lacy slip style night gown half asleep, and opened it, not ready for whatever was on the other side.

“Do you have the game books?”  A frustratingly masculine voice taunted her into opening her sleep stuck eyes.

“What?”

“You sleep in that?”

“Too many questions.  One at a time.”

“What are you wearing?”

Yes, she’d let herself indulge in pretty things when she slept.  She was the only one who could see it.  No one had been there to comment, to care, for a long time.  It was just for her. 

And there he was, caring.  Commenting.  Naturally.

“You’re being stupid on purpose.  You’ve seen a woman in her underwear before.”

She left the door ajar and went back to bed, pulling the covers over her head.  Her hair was loose from her usual braid, and she could only imagine how wild she must look.  She’d care more if she wasn’t still mostly unconscious.

“Do you have the game book or not?”

“It’s on my desk.”  She sticks a hand out from under the covers to point it out for him.  “Why do you need it?”

“Light reading.”

“At 5 a.m.?”  She pulls the covers off her head to better hear him.

“Batting practice is at seven.  Bus leaves at six.”

“No, practice is at ten today.”

“Sorry, we’re rescheduling, General.  We lost to fucking Mordor yesterday.  This whole team failed and it’s not going to happen again.  You wanted a coach?  I’m in charge now.”  He had the nerve to smile.  In her bedroom.

She sat up, not bothering to pull the covers up over her chest.  They were beyond that.  She’d dreamed about him all night.  A restless and fitful sleep. 

From the looks of him, he hadn’t slept much either.  Good.  But he wasn’t drunk.  And he wasn’t hungover.  He still smelled like soap.  Their soap.

“I didn’t fail.  I’m going back to sleep.  And anything before nine isn’t coaching, it’s tyranny.”

“Want to fight about it?”

He closed the door behind him, found the lock with a click.

“Right now?  Yes, I think I do.”  She said, biting her bottom lip.  Apparently one-half crazy and one-half comatose was like a siren call to Halbrand “Hank” “The Devil” “Smitty” Smith. 

He’d crossed the room and pulled her onto her hands and knees in the bed before she could focus.

“For the record, Newhouser is ten times the pitcher that Bob Feller is.”

“I know that.  That’s what I tried to tell the kid.”

Chapter Text

He was a tyrant. 

She couldn’t breathe and her body burned under the merciless abuse.  And he was laughing.

At her, at all of them, as they did another set of wind-sprints across the ballfield.  Every baserunner he’d deemed inadequate, which turned out to be the whole team, had to run until he said they could stop.

The last one standing didn’t have to do another set at the end of practice, and Goldie was no quitter.  She was slowing down, but she wasn’t going to be the first one to drop, despite the tenderness between her legs.  It felt like sand had found its way into her underpants.

Sex had never hurt afterwards with Caleb.  Honestly, it never really felt like anything at all.  He was usually the one to initiate it, and she’d never turned him down.  She’d think about something enjoyable, something she found arousing.  Maybe he’d laughed at something she said, or put his hand on the small of her back when he helped her into the car. 

He’d stimulate her gently with his fingers, just enough to get in and finish without much fuss, before leaving her to go remove his condom in the bathroom. 

She’d stay in bed, always in bed, never anywhere else, until she heard the shower running, and would bring herself quickly to that first point of relief.  Just enough to take the edge off her desire.  She thought of it like letting the air out of a balloon.

It was pleasant.  He didn’t complain.

“Goldie!  What the hell are you doing?”

She realized, thanks to his correction, that she’d missed the last hatch mark and now had to run twice as far back.  He could go back to not giving a shit anytime now.

He’d taken her twice this morning on the floor of her room—the bed made too much noise—and her favorite night gown was a ravaged mess.  Someone in that house must’ve known how to sew, but it sure wasn’t her.  She just had to think of an excuse as to why the straps, and the lace, had been torn off in such an aggressive way.  An animal attack, maybe?

She’d already lost a pair of underwear somewhere in that Mordor locker room.  She’d be running around naked if she didn’t get this situation under control.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it?  Everything good came at a cost.  A sacrifice.  The best sex she’d ever had left her sore the next day.  And greatness on the field demanded that she push herself to the point of collapse.

To know the light, you must touch the darkness.

She was ready to bathe in it, if it meant that when the light finally came, she’d be content.

When she pulled herself from her own thoughts, she looked around and saw her teammates scattered on the ground like fallen soldiers.

It was just her and Disa left standing.  The thoroughbred and the Sherman tank.  Disa had taken the slow and steady approach.  She was laps behind, but she was still going.

She looked like she wanted to quit, but she was determined.  Stubborn.

“You can’t beat someone who doesn’t give up,” the great Babe Ruth had said.

Disa was from Moria.  She’d drop dead before she’d submit to anyone.  Not wanting to see her get hurt, and knowing this was a losing battle, Goldie stopped on the last line and fell to her knees in surrender.

“Oh, thank God.”  Disa exclaimed and keeled over, throwing up her breakfast at her feet.

Goldie hurried to her side and held her hair back.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll clean it up.”  She croaked out between wet hiccups.

“We’re pro ball players, babe.  We don’t clean up after ourselves at this level.”  Goldie rubbed her shoulder.

“Chat about your makeup later,” Hank clapped his hands, “Split up between outfield and infield.  I need four batters.  Your defensive game awareness is somehow worse than your ability to score runs.”

“We’re number two in the league, Smitty.  We’ve won seven games.  We can’t be that bad.”  Nori chimes in, defensively.

“Yeah, and you fucked up a four-run lead when you lost your best player with only six outs left.  Goldie isn’t the only one on this team and she needs help out there.”

Best player?  She couldn’t help the heat that came to her face.  Thankfully, she was still flushed from her sprints, and she hoped it didn’t show.  

He thought she was good?

“I liked you better when you were sleeping.”  Nori quipped back.

“I don’t think he was sleeping.  More like waiting, to strike.”  Poppy said from the dirt, where she was still lying on flat on her back, as Goldie gave her a hand to pull her up.

“You think I’m tough, you should’ve seen my first manager.  He’d have you all flayed alive, begging for death.”

She’d heard stories of Mel Morgoth.  He was notorious in the major leagues for being as sadistic as he was corrupt.  He’d been banned from coaching and was serving a long prison sentence for racketeering. 

It answered a few questions about Hank’s coaching style. 

She put on her gear and met him at the mound.

“How long’s it been since you threw a baseball?” she asked, putting one in his glove.

“I’ll try not to embarrass myself,” he answered sardonically.  She’d hoped to tease a smile out of him, or at least an argument, but he was all business.  Probably for the best.  He’d already singled her out in front of the other girls.  She didn’t need anyone to think there was something between them.

He threw her a couple of warm up passes.  If this was him rusty, she couldn’t imagine what he’d been like in his prime.  For the rest of the practice, he pitched from the mound and the girls took turns batting and fielding in a scrimmage style of play. 

And it was…fun.

By the end, the girls were tired, but invigorated.  He had a wealth of game knowledge and was able to articulate some of the issues with her teammates in ways that she couldn’t.  He was a natural leader and brought a sense of order to their team of misfits.

They left that practice feeling like a team.

________________________________________________________

Road to Rhun.  End of May 1943.

On the long bus ride to an away game against the Rhun Rebels, he’d sat down in the seat next to hers, taking up all the space with his long legs and pushing her against the window with his wide upper body.

“I need your opinion on something.”  He held up a clipboard and a pencil as he adjusted in his seat.  She looked around to see if anyone else was paying attention.

“On what?”  He’d barely been speaking to her.  Over the last month and a half, they were either fucking or fighting about baseball.  Although, to be honest, they’d been fighting a lot less lately.  They didn’t converse, they didn’t chat.  He didn’t ask for feedback, and he certainly didn’t care about her feelings. 

They’d usually meet in her room first thing in the morning, in the locker room after everyone else had left, or at night in the dark of a tool shed they’d found at the back of the property.  They’d take each other with their mouths, and then he’d fuck her from behind, on all fours, or her riding him backwards. 

It wasn’t simply letting the air out of a balloon.  It was the Hindenburg exploding in the sky.  A beautiful, tragic, disaster, and she was a casualty left raw and ruined, permanently scarred.  She’d craved it like breathing. 

The night before, they’d been in the tool shed, moonlight illuminating them through broken glass windows.  She sat straddling his lap, knees on the cold dirt floor, facing him for the first time.

He trapped her body against his with a hand to one hip and a fist in her hair.  He wrenched her head back, exposing her neck and forcing her to look at the ceiling.

He clamped her down onto him and raised his hips up to her in a fluid motion that brought stars to her eyes and a sharp pang like a steady drum beat in her stomach.

She needed to look at him, to see his face as he pistoned into her.  To witness how she made him feel, to show him how he’d destroyed and rebuilt her again and again with every penetrating wave.

She clawed at his neck and back, pushed at his chest and pulled at his hair to bring his face up to hers, but he was unmovable.  She meant to form words of direction, but they only came out as incoherent pants and throaty moans.

“Mmm…Lemme see…you.  Please!  I need to—"

Instead, he buried his face into her neck and bit down on her shoulder, just hard enough for a sensation at another point of impact between them to send her into orgasm amid her clumsy protests.

Before she was done clenching against him, he pulled her off him roughly and guided her face to his lap with both hands in her hair.  She caught herself from falling with her palms against his thighs.

If she couldn’t feel him come to completion alongside her own, she’d readily let him do it in her mouth.

A fractured little sound escaped her lips as she opened them and took his length in, gliding her tongue over the silky, briny trails of her own ecstasy.  She sucked him deep once, then twice before he went rigid, pulsing as he emptied against the back of her throat with a relieved rush of his breath.

The short caress he offered to the back of her head as she swallowed around him was more of a resigned fall of his clenched hand as he untangled it from her hair.  In surrender or in victory?

She slid away from him and raised the back of her hand to her lips, pushed back the emotion that threatened to pour out of her eyes, as she stood and straightened her skirt down around her.  She fled before a sob could escape her chest and give her away.

He might’ve thought she was holding back a gag, struggling to keep his load down, but she didn’t care.  She’d die of shame if she let him see her tears.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.  It was a thought that had crossed her mind before, but this was the first time he’d made it so clear.

Was he using her, or she was using him?  Both?  Why did it suddenly matter?

You’re a fucking mess, Goldie.  All the sex in the world wasn’t going to change that. 

Any tenderness he may have felt for her had disappeared after that first day in the shower.  Whatever brief softness she may have seen in him was gone, if it was ever there at all, but her body had been responding to his as if by its own chemistry. 

It’s not like she had sought him out for an emotional connection.  She was just lonely.  That hadn’t changed, no matter how hard she’d distracted herself from it.

And he’d been accommodating, in his own way.  He must’ve been satisfied with their arrangement.  If he was still drinking, she hadn’t seen any evidence of it.  He was clear eyed and focused. 

And the Trout Bend Berries were playing baseball with poetry and enthusiasm.  Their hearts and souls.  She should be happy. 

She’d fallen asleep with the door locked behind her.  If he had tried to open it this morning to join her in bed, she hadn’t awoken to hear him turn the knob.

And now he wanted to talk.

“We need to switch around the batting order.  We have six hitters batting over .300.  Less than a strike out a game between you.  I don’t think we should stagger you anymore.  We should go Murder’s Row.”  He pointed to his proposed lineup on the clipboard.

She was familiar with it.  In the old days, the Gondolin Greats had what they called an unbeatable batting order.  Seven hitters in a row that could crush the ball. 

The result being a loaded first inning and potential second inning before coming to any lull in the order.  The lull would be short, leading to another explosive round of run scoring in the middle and later innings.

And it would leave the opposing team’s pitchers worn out early on.  It was a full court press, a win by attrition.  A brutal, merciless offense.

“I mean, sure.  It could work.”  She shrugged her shoulders.

“Care to elaborate?”  He was looking at her expectantly and she found herself clearing her throat under his attention.

“I guess it would depend on their pitching and how the game is going.  It’s not foolproof.  Disa’s been struggling to get a good piece of the offspeed stuff.  And Wynnie has a habit of striking out when she’s down in the count with two outs and runners on.  She’s left the bases loaded at least four times in the last few weeks.  But it’s worth a try.”

“We could move Wynnie to the two spot.”  He paused and made some mental notes, before erasing what he had on the clipboard and rewriting names.  He turned it so she could read it.

“Disa lead off, Wynnie, Nori, then me?  You want me on clean up?”

“You have the best batting average in the league.”

“I didn’t know that.”  She looked down at her fingernails, chipped away at some of the paint the league made them wear.  He was so close, they were touching at their elbows and thighs.  It felt too intimate on the crowded bus.

“You don’t check your own stats?”

“Bad luck.”  She crossed her arms to pull her elbows away from his.  She should be thinking about the game, not about him.  Not about how nice it would feel just to lean into him and put her head on his shoulder. 

She must be getting her period.  That would explain everything.  Why she’d been so needy.

“So, what do you think?”

“It’s smart.  It’ll work.”  She smiled and nodded encouragingly, fixating on a pattern in the bus seat in front of her.  The Rebels were their biggest competition and if they could get a couple more wins against them, they’d be in a dead heat going into the playoffs in August.  Maybe this was the edge they needed.

“Really?”  When she felt his gaze on her, that burning awareness that had pushed her to succeed on the field and melt for him in the dark, she made the mistake of meeting his eyes, expecting to find them calculating.   

Go easy on me.  His previous words crashed into her chest like he’d breathed them into her with his own mouth.  His grassy eyes soft and inquiring.  Had he been seeking her approval?  Or was it remorse over how things had ended the night before?

He was certainly looking at her now.  Careful what you wish for.

“Mmhmm.”  She mumbled, biting her bottom lip.

“You locked your door?”  He whispered, low and earnest. 

He’d tried to get in.  She only nodded, afraid if she spoke it would break the spell.

“Anything you want to say?  Call me an asshole, maybe, if it’d make you feel better?”

“Hey, Goldie!”  Theo jumped up from the seat behind them, shattering the moment between them like the fall of a crystal chandelier. 

When she looked back over to Hank, he lifted his eyebrow and the corner of his lip in tandem.  “Thanks for the advice, General.”

He took his big soft eyes and whatever vulnerability he was about to share with her back to his own seat, leaving her with a chill in the absence of him.

“Hey, kid.”

“Who would you rather have on your team at shortstop, Arky Vaughn or Luke Appling?”

“Umm, good question.”  The kid had clearly been doing his reading.  If he was thinking about baseball, it meant he wasn’t worrying about all the things he couldn’t control.  And it distracted her as well.  From her life back home, her uncertain future, and the many-faced devil who shared nothing of himself, but seemed to value her opinion—

“I’d rather have Appling offensively, but Vaughn has the better glove.”  Hank sat back down next to her, rejoining their discussion. 

Theo was so shocked that Hank was actually talking to him, he stuttered when he spoke.  “You want to join our fantasy league?  I’ll start you a roster.  But you can’t pick yourself.  Goldie already has you as her third baseman.”

“Does she now?”  He grinned, sincerely in a way that pulled an equal or greater grin from her own mouth.  Distracting indeed. 

“I’ll take Vaughn, Theo.  My roster is already loaded with stud hitters.  I need the defense.”  She leaned back against the window and curled her leg up underneath her so that she was facing them better.

By the end of the drive to Rhun, Hank had a full fantasy roster and a 13-year-old kid from the Southlands had a new hero, and one more person to talk baseball with.

__________________________________________________________________

Trout Bend, Rhovanion.  Late June 1943.

They’d played the rest of May and June with the Murderer’s Row lineup and had moved up in the standings to be tied for first place with Rhun.  The crowd at their home stadium was sold out every game and the fans chanted the names of their favorite players like hymns in church.

It was the bottom of the 9^th inning in a night game against the Greenwood Graverobbers, and they were tied 8-8.  It was a grueling match up, each team leaving everything they had on the field.  The crowd was right there with them, staying through the three-hour game to watch their girls fight to the end.

It was past the kids’ bedtimes, and the concession stand had run out of beer in the 7^th inning stretch.  But the lights were on, and they were alive.  The war seemed so far away.

Goldie sauntered up to the plate with her bat on her shoulder. 

There were two outs, and the bases were loaded.  Poppy, Wynnie and Nori were ready to run on anything, with primary leads off their respective bags.  The damp night air turned the perspiration on their hot skin to tendrils of fog.

The crowd hushed when Goldie took her practice swing. 

She held up a hand outside the batter’s box and tapped her bat on the plate.  Once.  Twice.  Three times. And the crowd began to clap with the beat of an unheard song.  A rallying cry.

“Goldie! Goldie! Goldie!”  They chanted.  The owners of the league had wanted a dog and pony show, bread and circus for the peasants while the world fell apart around them.  The girls just wanted to play baseball.  Somehow, in the last few months, they’d found a way to do both.

She flipped the bat over twice, catching it, then bounced it around her back, and then onto the plate again, and back to her hands.  She tapped it against each cleat and squared off against the opposing team’s pitcher.

She’d been throwing first ball fastballs all night.  Did she have the guts to put one front and center on the chance Goldie would sit and watch the first pitch? 

The ball came in, a little low—and with a crack, Goldie sent it out to left field.  She’d known it was a homerun the second it left the bat.  A perfect pitch.  A perfect swing.  Physics and fortune coming together to create magic.

A walk off grand slam to end the game.  Berries - 12.  Graverobbers - 8.

The crowd erupted as she ran the bases, and into the arms of her teammates at home plate.

Her family.  Her home.  Had she ever really known either before?  Would she ever know anything like this again?

She’d been hitting dingers all season, but this one was special.  Moments like this didn’t happen very often.  It made her almost believe in destiny and God and all the forces she couldn’t name.

She couldn’t help but think of her brother, who once burned so bright.  How his journey had ended and hers was just beginning.  She kissed her fingers and held them up to the sky.  She couldn’t see the stars through the stadium lights, but she knew they were there. 

Maybe he was too.

As they did at the end of every home game, her team joined hands and took a bow of thanks to the crowd.  They smiled and waved, blew kisses to the fans before exiting the field. 

Hank was waiting for them in the dugout, arms crossed over his chest, his expression approving, yet stoic as he nodded to each player as they came off the field.  A lord acknowledging his subjects.

Goldie was the last one in, and she tried to avoid him, too overcome by the mixture of joy and sadness to defend herself against whatever sharp comment he had waiting on his lips.

They hadn’t been together since that night before the Rhun roadtrip.  She’d gotten her period as expected, and she’d kept her door locked. 

She’d begun to want something from him that she wasn’t ready for and that he clearly wasn’t prepared to give.  And she’d come here to escape the things she couldn’t control, not run headfirst into them.

He must’ve understood, because he hadn’t mentioned it again. 

No longer fucking or fighting, they’d come to an unspoken ceasefire.  It was as if they were corulers of this victorious team.  Partners in this flawless game.   

Who pretended they hadn’t seen each other naked.  Or whispered the other’s name in a moment of savage surrender.  Tasted the wreckage left behind in their glorious conquest of each other.

Sex with him had been another battlefield on which she’d left pieces of herself.  And yet she still itched to get back to it, bleeding out and laid bare.  Knowing eventually, she’d be gone.  Something new resurrected in her place. 

Fall, sink, swim, live. 

“That was a fucking shot.  I don’t think it landed yet.”  He blocked her path as she descended the stairs towards the locker room door. 

“She should’ve known not to put it up the middle.”  Her sarcasm dagger as her only defense, tears stung at her eyes as she moved to walk around him.

“He’d have been proud of that one, your brother.” 

He could’ve said anything, or nothing at all.  He chose the one thing that could shatter her heart, whatever was left of her resolve.  He was the only one here she’d told about him.  He was the only one who could’ve understood how much this meant to her.

She sniffled and nodded once in passing, but he took her hand and pulled her into his chest.  He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her up as she put herself back together.  Her arms found their way around his waist, her head against his heart as she wet through his shirt with her tears.

“I’m fine.” 

“I know.”  She didn’t know how long they stayed that way, but he didn’t let go until she did.  It was an innocent embrace.  If the fans saw it, they wouldn’t think anything of it.  

But, in that moment, it was everything to her.

“You know how emotional I get about baseball.”  She smiled bravely as she wiped the last of her tears with the back of her hand and craned her neck to look up at his face.

“It’s a beautiful thing.” 

They’re interrupted by the approach of an important looking man in a suit and tie.

“Hank, Goldie.  Hold up a minute.” 

“Commissioner Galad.  Nice to see you out mingling with the poor people.”  Hank shook his hand.  The league owner and commissioner Gil Galad only came to watch when there was press involved.

“What a way to end the game, Goldie.  You’ve given the fans a season they’ll never forget.”  Gil turned to her, ignoring Hank’s comments like a well-trained politician.

“I appreciate that, sir.”  She shied away from the attention and held her hands behind her back demurely.

“And Hank, you look…well.  I trust you’re staying out of trouble.” 

“It always seems to find me anyway.”

“There’s a dinner party coming up this weekend at my mansion.  Celebrities and investors, all that.  We’re trying to drum up further support for next year’s season.  We’d like you both to be there, as faces of the league.”

“Why me?”  Goldie fought the urge to panic.  She wasn’t sure what scared her more.  The party, the mansion, or the celebrities.  All three together were terrifying.

“You’re the Queen of Diamonds.  That’s what we’re calling you.  Our biggest draw.  If you were a man, your stats alone just this season would put you into the hall of fame.”

“Well, you know I’m married, I don’t go to parties.  I’m sure Hank here, the Devil of Doriath, an actual man who will be in the hall of fame, would love to go.”  She smiled sweetly, motioning to him with her hands.

Save me, please.

“I’m busy.  All weekend.”  He shook his head regretfully.

“It’s mandatory.  No excuses.  Your chaperone will approve it on the grounds of a special request.  And Hank, get a decent suit.”  He dismissed them and left without hearing further argument.

“Well, shit.”  Goldie sighed audibly.

“You couldn’t have just hit a little RBI single?  Something small and cute.  Had to make it a barnburner and draw attention to yourself.”  He licked his canine tooth and cocked his head down to her.

“Small and cute?  I’ll try harder next time, Coach.”  She scrunched her nose at him in challenge.  “This was supposed to be our weekend off.  All the girls are going home for the 4^th of July.”

“Looks like we’re stuck with each other, again,” he said, lightly. 

“Try not to look so happy about it.”  She quirked a smile and nudged him with her elbow, remembering the train.  How had that only been a few months ago?  She felt like she’d known him her whole life.

“Try not to get any of your bodily fluids on me.”  He tossed the comment behind him as he led the way into the locker room, and she knew he was smiling.

“You’re funny now?”

She was smiling too.

________________________________________________________________

When she’d told Nori and Poppy about the party, they’d enthusiastically offered to take her shopping before they left on Friday of the holiday weekend.  The department stores of Trout Bend weren’t exactly the boutiques of Eregion Avenue, but they’d sipped lemonades and perused the shops on Main Street under the sunny skies of the early summer day.

She’d felt like Goldilocks and the Three Bears.  Poppy’s taste was too modest, and Nori’s bordered on indecent, and she was aiming for somewhere in between.  She didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to herself.  She wanted to blend in. 

Vanilla ice cream.  Plain cheeseburger.

She must’ve tried on thirty different dresses before they’d decided on a simple black, one-shouldered gown with a cut that flattered her athletic figure.  It was floor length to hide the permanent skinned state of her knees and had a blooming embellishment on the shoulder that covered the fresh bruise from a collision with a Graverobber baserunner the day before.

Due to the neckline and slim fitting profile, she needed special underwear to go along with it.  Something strapless and lacy, with a corseted waist and garters to hold up her pantyhose. 

She looked at herself now in the mirror of her room, wearing only the lingerie.  The girls had all gone home and she had a few hours to get ready before the party.  Her naturally unruly hair was in pins to set the curls she’d meticulously forged out of sheer willpower and setting lotion until her biceps burned from the workout.

She felt ridiculous but had to admit she looked like the sort of woman she saw herself being someday.  Confident and poised.  She’d imagined she’d wear something like this with Caleb when he ran for office and met important dignitaries. 

He’d calm her nerves with a kiss on her cheek and squeeze her hand and mumble something about how perfect she looked next to him.  

He’d remind her who to talk to and who to avoid.  Whose wives were catty and whose were hussies.  He’d fetch her a drink, something not too strong, but just enough to keep her smiling.  He liked it when she smiled.  She was prettier when she smiled.

But Caleb wasn’t here.  Sweet Caleb with his kind eyes and easy smile.  He was gone, lost to a place of darkness and despair.  A place she couldn’t follow. 

She had to do this one alone.  This party.  This life.

The knock at the door tore her out of her melancholy thoughts.  There was only one other person in the house.  One to make mistakes, but not the same one twice, she put on a robe before answering.

He stood fresh from a shower, wearing a white tank and blue cotton boxer shorts.  He had a farmer’s tan on his arms and neck from the long double-header days at the ballfield.  The dark curls that escaped the shirt around his chest were a contrast to the sun-kissed golden hairs at his forearms. 

He held a straight blade in one hand and a blood covered towel in the other.

“Jesus, what happened now?” 

“You ever shave a guy’s beard before?”

“Couldn’t be worse than the mess you’re making.”  She followed him out to the kitchen and sat him down in a chair while she found the blood stopping styptic stick they’d kept under the sink. 

“I can’t stop the shakes today.”  He clenched his hands as if to keep them still.

She’d heard of heavy drinkers who’d get tremors if they went too long without it.  But it’d been weeks since she’d seen him have more than a few beers, and she’d never seen him like this before.

“This is going to sting a bit.”  She used the towel to wipe the blood-stained shaving cream off his face and applied the stick of clotting powder to the shallow cut he’d made on the underside of his jaw.  She blew on it a bit to cool the reaction. 

He shivered, whether he realized it or not, and she saw the goosebumps dapple along his neck and down his arms. “Don’t do that.”  He shifted in his seat.

“I told you it would hurt.”  She applied a fresh coat of shaving cream around his jaw, cheeks and upper lip.

“Just tickled.”

“Ticklish?  The big bad wolf?”  She was going to hell for baiting him, she had no doubt, but she couldn’t resist.  He’d given her no quarter when he’d held the upper hand.

“Nope.”  He steeled his expression, fixed his gaze on a spot on the far wall.  A prisoner readying himself for torture.

“Really?  Not even a little bit.”  She held the straight razor just over his skin and the goosebumps receded as if on command.  “You’re good at that.”

“What?”

“Reigning yourself in.  Pulling yourself back.  You’ll have to teach me how you do it someday.”

“It’s not an easy lesson.  I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.  Not even you.”  His tone turning brash at the end, teasing.  Mask firmly in place.

Using careful strokes, she slid the blade across his jaw in an upward motion, watching the taper of the blade slice through the coarse dark hairs.  She wiped it clean along the towel before taking another pass.

“Tell me a secret, Hank.  You owe me that much, I think.”

“Owe you for what?”  He’d waited for her to stop and wipe the blade before speaking.

“The two pairs of panties that you have of mine.”  She kept her tone even, indifferent.  Would he affirm or deny her suspicions?

“Are you trying to negotiate their surrender?”  He matched her tone, not giving away an inch.  Maybe he had them, maybe he didn’t.

“No, you can keep them, if you tell me how you got released from the service.  You’re not injured.”  She’d seen enough of his body to know he had no outward signs of trauma.  That only left the worst-case scenarios.  He was either emotionally unfit, or dishonorably discharged.

She didn’t know why she needed the answer, only that she was feeling so much like both lately.  She sheared another pass along his left side, cradling his head in one hand and working the blade with the other.

She was so focused on her motions, on getting each hair and applying the correct amount of pressure to the blade that she almost didn’t hear him speak. 

“You ever felt like just another body on the pile?  A meat suit not worth its weight in spare parts?” 

“We’re all just meat.  Something to look at, or use, or eat up and shit out.  Why do you think I spent two hours on my hair, and bought fancy underwear.”

“You’re wearing fancy underwear?”

“You’re not getting your hands on it.”

“We’ll see about that.”  He deadpanned as she moved from his left side to his right.  She was taking her time, and he must’ve known it.  Beggars couldn’t be choosers.  He could shave himself next time if he was in a hurry.  She was enjoying this.

“Then tell me what happened.”  She wouldn’t settle for halfway with him.  Not again.  She valued their partnership too much.  She…cared about him.

“I was high up.  Classified, unspeakable, off the books shit.  Unsanctioned, so long as it got the job done.”

“You were a spy?”

“I trusted the wrong person.  Maybe I got caught up in my own pride and thought I was so sure that I was right that I didn’t see the signs.  I didn’t listen to that part of me that knew I was wrong.” 

He was distant, defeated when he’d finally said, “A lot of people died.  Innocent people.  On both sides.”

Watching another person share their worst moment, their darkest fear, their deepest regret was harrowing, and he’d trusted her with it.  Finished with the shave, she put the razor down on the table and wiped his face clean with the fresh side of the towel.

“Be free of it.”  He’d said the same words to her once, and they’d struck a nerve some place within her that held on to pain so tightly there was no end to where it started and she began.

“Easy to say, isn’t it?  What if it was your brother, or your husband that died because of me?  Would you be so eager to look at me then?  To—” He cut off when she rested her thumb on his lips, cradling his face.

“I believe that we should all be judged by what’s in our hearts, not by our worst mistakes.”

“You don’t mean that.  If my actions took your brother from you, or your husband, you’d hate me.  As you should.  As I…”  He clenched his hands again, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he clutched the arm of the wooden chair hard enough to snap it.

She reached for them, his hands, and held them in her own.  They were heavy and rough, capable of so much pleasure and enduring so much pain.  She raised one to her lips, kissed his knuckles and his palm, in a way that had given her so much comfort months before.

“Let’s say that’s true.  Let’s say that Finrod and Caleb are dead because of something you did, or were a part of.  They can’t come back.  It’s done.  But you’re here, for reasons beyond your control.  You’re still here.  And I’m still here.” 

He tried to turn away, his eyes swimming with disbelief and unshed tears, but she pulled his face back to hers with both hands, not letting him get away.  Not this time. 

“I’d forgive you, Halbrand.  I forgive you.”

And she meant it, as her own tears broke free and rolled down her cheeks.  She was never so sure of anything else.  A truth in exchange for his.  Whatever it was worth.

He grazed her dampened cheeks with the smooth back of his fingers, gently wiping the drops away.

“Don’t you dare cry for me, Galadriel.  Cry about baseball all you want, but not for me.”  His words as soft as his touch, she leaned into them.

“Quit crying, or I’ll give you something to cry about.”  Her father’s favorite expression.  A lifetime of strife and disappointment had hardened him.  She’d always been afraid to show any emotion aside from acceptance and gratitude.  A carefully curated mirage of peace. 

She’d come here to escape her past, her feelings.  But they’d only followed her, and she’d picked up a few others along the way.  Somehow, they didn’t feel so heavy.  Like this, with him, she wondered if she could finally set them free.  She’d cry as many tears as she needed to.

She took the hand that he’d rested on her face and brought it to her lips.  She watched him closely as his eyes changed from bleak and far away, to warm and at ease as the tension receded, and he let it go. 

Even if it didn’t last, she knew she’d hold on to this moment.  Carry it around as a part of her forever.

“I missed you.”  His voice was gravely and raw.

“I’m here.”  He cut her off with his mouth on hers and his hands guiding her onto his lap. 

She’d missed him too, and she told him as much when her tongue greeted his with reckless longing. Straddling him in the chair, her robe fell open as he pulled her closer and his hands hit the fabric of her corset.

“What the hell is this?”

“I told you it was fancy.”

“It’s coming off.”

“I won’t get it back on again.”

“It doesn’t matter, we’re not going.” His response turned to a growl as he picked her up and set her on the table.  She kept her hands on his shoulders and her legs clasped tightly around his hips.

“It’s mandatory.  We’ll get fired.”  She rubbed his back through his shirt.  Anxious to feel his skin under her nails, she found the bottom and pulled it up over his head.

“They’re not firing the Queen of Diamonds.”

“And you?”  She buried her face in her favorite spot, the hollow of his clavicle and lapped it with open mouth kisses as if it was the source of him.  His now smooth neck and jaw against her nose.  His downy dark curls brushing against her chin.

“Oh, they’ll be pissed at me. I’ll never play baseball again.”

“We’re going to the party.  Don’t mess up my hair.”

He fit his hand between them and pushed her tiny underwear to the side, finding her tender center aching and sobbing.  Her body was like his special friend, always choosing him despite its own conflicted mind.  She wasn’t conflicted now.

“There she is.  My good girl.  Always so happy to see me.”  She felt him grinning against her bare shoulder. 

Smug bastard.  He had no right to be so addicting.  He’d never called her beautiful, or perfect, or even pretty.  Just fun, clever, a good player.  A fucking mess.  His.

“She’s a horrible judge of character.  She does this to everyone.  The umpires, bat boys.  Even that mean old guy that sits in the front row heckling everyone.  He buys a ticket just to yell at us.  It’s the sexiest thing—uh!”

He slid two fingers inside her to shut her up.

“You could never be a spy.  You’re a terrible liar.  There’s no one like me.  Admit it.”

“Mhhmm.  Just you.”  She was breathless now, wantoning moving against his hand.  She knew what it felt like to be filled by him, and anything less was just antagonizing.  “You know what I need.”

“You already got something out of me.  It’s my turn.”  That sounded dangerous.  And divine.  She’d play.

“You’re the boss.  Whatever you say.”  Her head fell back in surrender.  She’d give him anything.  It should’ve scared her, but it didn’t.  It felt right to yield to him this way, as natural as breathing.

“Then look at me.  No more bullshit games.  Just look at me.”  She snapped her head up to his, wasn’t expecting his thoughts to echo her own, for his gaze to be so serious.  Like his life depended on it. “Stop fucking around and tell me what you want.”

“You.  I just want you.  For you to see me.  To let me see you.”  She held the sides of his face in her hands, hoping the closeness would convince him of how sincere she was.  As if the mindless shuttering of her cunt around his fingers wasn’t enough.

He slid his fingers out, curving them to scoop out enough of her slick to wet his length.  

She whimpered at the loss and pulled herself closer to him, her body chasing the friction of something hard.   

She met the tip of him with her aperture like two magnets, blindly finding each other in a void.  Finding home.  She didn’t turn away from his face, watched as his eyebrows shot up and he clenched his jaw in surprise.

Good.  She wasn’t alone in this.  She ran her fingers through his boyish curls, damp from perspiration.

He sank a large hand into the softness of her hip, his arm and shoulder flexing as he supported his weight, pinning her to the table.  His other hand clasped the nape of her neck as he guided her back against the cool wood.  A reprieve from the electric heat surging through her.

She mirrored his position, one hand to his face, the other on his ass as he slid in.  A smooth, patient, penetrating motion, head to hilt.  She let herself cry out, there was no one to hear except him, and he needed to know.  

Her hips shifted to accept him in a way the genetic memory of ten thousand generations before her knew to welcome their mates.  The way she knew he was hers by smell and by taste.  By the sound of his voice when he called her name.  His.  Mine.

“This is too fucking good.  It shouldn’t be this good.”  He muttered as he moved in her, with her.  Slowly, savoring.

“Don’t stop.  Don’t ever stop.”  Fucking her, making love to her…loving her.  There was no difference anymore.  Her whole life was a revolving timeline of befores and afters.  Before him.  After him.  She’d never be the same.

He moved his hand from her hip and pressed his broad palm just above her pubic bone, his long fingers lacing through the wet curls at her entrance.  There was a rush of fresh heat as she flooded around him, straining and grinding at the added friction.

“Breathe, baby.”  He grated out on a whisper.  She didn’t realize she wasn’t and sucked in air through gritted teeth.

He rewarded her by thrusting harder and she felt the rhythm of him at all points where they intersected. 

The hand at the side of her neck was his anchor, his thumb dipping into her mouth.  She licked at it, sucked it, skimmed it with her teeth.  His chest pressed against hers as his fingers traced circles around her clit. 

The thighs she gripped around his waist, the nails clutching the muscle of his ass were her anchors.  Her other hand kept his face on hers.  His breath like hot kisses to her forehead.

His eyes didn’t leave hers. 

Happy.  Her scattered mind registered the incoherent thought as she spiraled into the first wave of climax.  She smiled under his thumb as he glided it across her lips.  The corners of his own curled in response around his panting breaths.

She fought the urge to close her eyes as she came so hard she turned inside out.  The sensation so engulfing she struggled not to crawl out of her skin.

He moved to pull out, but she trapped him with her legs and with her hands to his neck.

“Don’t go.  Stay.  Please.  I need to feel it.  I need—”

“You sure?”  His voice hoarse, imploring. 

“Yes!”  She wasn’t being reckless.  She’d done the math.  They were safe. 

“You better be fucking sure, Galadriel.”

“Yes!  God.  Please!”  She hadn’t stopped coming, but she could feel another level building again.  How?  How could that not be it?  How could there still be more?

He didn’t stop, berating her mercilessly as she went higher still, his harsh release into the furnace at her core triggering the last of hers.  He went down on his elbows around her to ride out the tempest, their foreheads meeting, her hands in his hair. 

Binding them together, in this world and whatever universe her mind had gone to.  Ascended into the fabric of space and time.  Unending darkness.

Complete. 

When she did come back to the light, it hurt to breathe, she must’ve howled her throat dry.  Neither of them moved for several long moments and she matched her breaths to his, slowly returning to a steady pace. 

He wrenched away first, bringing her with him to sit up on the table.  He held her for an extra second to be sure she wouldn’t fall over.  Or maybe he needed to test his own knees.

“I’m okay.”  She smiled lazily through hooded eyes.

“I didn’t mess up your hair.”

“Thank you.”  She patted it absently and noted that the pins Disa gave her had held.  They could hold together a U-boat at 20,000 ft.

“I have bad news about the panties.”

“Oh no.”  She’d thought she’d heard them tear.

“Add them to my collection.”  He pulled them off her legs and stuffed them in the pocket of his boxer shorts.

“I knew it.”  She grinned like a fool up to him.  She didn’t care.

“Thank you.”  His earnest tone pulled her from her reverie to study him again. 

She didn’t ask what for.  He hadn’t asked her.  She just nodded, understanding. 

He looked different.  Haunted, but somehow better.  Which mask was this?  Or was this his new resting face?  The one he’d wear just for her.

“You, um, you told me something, so I should tell you something.”  She closed her eyes and took a breath of courage.  “I was never married.  To Caleb.  We were engaged, but there was no ring, no ceremony.  Just a promise.  I’m not sure if that makes our situation better or worse, but that’s the truth.”

If he liked being with her because she wasn’t in a position to ask more of him, then he’d be disappointed.  If he’d wanted something more, he’d be pleased.  She wasn’t another man’s wife.

“Why’d you lie?”

“It’s easier.  To not be available.  Saves a lot of comments and questions.”

“Do you love him?”

“He’s gone.  He’s not coming back.”

“Do you?”  He wasn’t letting her off the hook.  This was important to him.  How could she put into words what she felt after what they’d just done?  What sense could she possibly make when her thighs were stuck together with his…

“It was different, than this.”

“How?”  He really was the most frustrating man.

“He made me feel…quiet.  Like I could hide behind him and just disappear.  That I wasn’t alone.  He’d take care of me.  He didn’t make me angry or let me down.  He always did exactly what he said he’d do.  I could trust him.”

“Sounds like a nice guy.”

“He was.  Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you with me?”

“You’re going to make me say it?”

He nodded.

“Because I can’t stop.  If this, you and me, is love or whatever, then no.  I don’t love him.”  She may have been with Caleb.  But she was a part of something with Hank.  They were a part of each other. 

Caleb couldn’t break her heart.

Hank held hers beating in his hands outside her chest. 

“Does he know how good you are?” 

“How good am I?”

“The worst.”  His lip quirked up and he slanted her a sharp eyebrow.

“We should get ready.  Don’t want to be late.”  Smiling again, she slid off the table.

_____________________________________________________________________

When she emerged out of her room a short time later, she’d cleaned up the mess between her legs and unpinned her long curls.   She’d combed them into neat waves in a style she’d seen on a magazine cover.  Her dress itched more than she remembered, and her makeup felt heavy on her face.  She wasn’t used to wearing much more than mascara and the occasional lipstick.

She found Hank waiting in the living room and paused when he stood up. 

He’d found a good suit.  It must’ve been tailored because it fit him perfectly.  White shirt crisp across his broad chest.  His tie like an arrow to his black pants hugging long legs.  He casually slung his dress jacket over his shoulder.

She must’ve been staring because he cleared his throat.

“You look ridiculous.”  His remark was betrayed by his appreciative smile.

“You look almost human.”  She had to admit.  He’d tamed his chestnut curls in a slicked back style, and she’d done a good job on his shave. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Just one thing before we go.”  He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.  Opening it, he took out something small. 

“What’s that?”  She took a few steps forward to get a better look.

“If you want to convince everyone you’re married, and avoid any confusion, you should have a ring.  To sell the story.  It’s important for any good con.” 

He held up a simple, delicate gold ring set in a vintage style with an enchanting stone, colors changing in the light.  A diamond.  

“Where’d you get this?”

“It was my mother’s.  You can borrow it.”

His mother’s?  Of course he’d had a mother, but it was a shock to hear.  He seemed like someone that arose from the dirt or the sea or a smoldering fire.  Made not born.  They’d never talked about his family or where he was from.

“Are you sure you didn’t steal it from someone?  You got here with literally nothing in your pockets.”  She teased him, giving in to the compulsion to bring levity to a situation that had suddenly gotten very heavy.

“I had my wallet.  I keep it with me always.”

And he was giving it to her.  She held out her hand and he slipped it on her finger.  It sparkled like the ocean in sunlight.  She wiggled her hand to watch it dance.

“It’s beautiful.  I’ll give it back, I promise.” 

She must’ve been fixated on it for several moments because when she looked up, he was already at the door, waiting.

“Shall we?”

“I already can’t wait to get out of this dress.”  She walked by him as he held the door open.

“What’s this thing?”  He played with the flowered decoration at her shoulder.

“It’s fashion.”

“It’s stupid.  I want to bite it off.”  He growled when she slapped his hand away as she walked out of the house.

_____________________________________________________________________

By some miracle, her dress and her sanity made it through the night.  They’d gone separate ways for most of the party, and she took her duties as an ambassador to her team and her league seriously. 

She drank champagne, chatted up celebrities, and posed for press photos.  She didn’t feel like a trick pony or a piece of meat.  She felt like she had a place in this strange world where sports, fame, and money collided.  Far from her silly little store, her uncles’ notoriety, even her grief.  

Every now and then she’d spy his shadow behind her and his hand would linger on her backside in passing.  Or she’d feel his gaze like electricity across her skin and find him easily in the crowd. 

He was stunning.  A king holding court, a head taller than everyone else.  Clear-eyed and charming.  She wasn’t the only one who’d changed since becoming a Berry, she realized as he laughed with a group of rich looking older men.  Conning them out of their boots, no doubt.

She caught up to him around midnight, her feet finally giving out in her new heels. 

“You ready to go home?”  She put her hand on his shoulder to hold herself up.  Home?  She grinned a little as she said it.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you all night for a sign that you needed to be saved.  And here you are, last call.  You did it.”  They made their way outside into the heavy summer air.

“Did you have a good time?”

“I liked watching you.  You’ll be in all the newspapers come Monday morning.”

“’The Scourge of Mordor Cozies with Megastars at Millionaire Mansion.’” She moved her hands as if framing the headlines.  “It writes itself.”  She missed a step in the grass of the front lawn and almost fell over.

“You a little tipsy, there, General?”

“No, literally tipping off my shoes.”

She didn’t have time to take another step before he hooked his arm around her waist and threw her over his shoulder.

“No!  You can’t, someone will see.”  She would’ve laughed harder if she could breathe.

“Hold on, I can’t remember where I parked.”  He turned her around one way and then the other as he pretended to look. 

“You valeted!” Her hair fell into her eyes and as she swayed back and forth.

“We’re the only ones left.  No one here cares.”

He set her down once they reached his car, and she grabbed him by his belt before he could open the door.

“Still think no one can see us?”  She must’ve revealed her intentions in the mischievous look in her eye, because he went still and assessed the dark driveway around them like a predator scans for prey.

“Think you can be quiet?”  He taunted her as he moved a wayward curl from her face.   

“I spent that entire party with your joy juice trickling down my thighs.  And no one had any idea.”  She angled her chin up to him and whispered, unnecessarily, for effect. 

Well, the dress almost made it through the night.

They spent the rest of the weekend enjoying the house to themselves.  Even Miriel had taken off.  She didn’t think there was a single surface that didn’t have a piece of her on it.  But she didn’t feel any loss.  She’d somehow become something more in her destruction.

When she confessed that she didn’t know how to cook, he made them eggs for breakfast.  They went to the grocery store and shopped with their ration cards, and he made steaks on the charcoal grill for dinner. 

They watched the 4^th of July fireworks from the rooftop deck, drinking ice cold beer, and fell asleep on a blanket outside.

And by Monday morning, she’d forgotten to give him back his ring.

_____________________________________________________________________

Greenwood, August 1943.

After their weekend of Mommy and Daddy playing house, as Nori would say, things had gone back to almost normal for the next five weeks heading into the playoffs.

They were stealing moments together again in the hopes that no one would notice anything different between them.  She didn’t want to risk the girls’ respect, both in that they thought she was married, and Hank was their boss.  Not that he gave her any special treatment on the field.  He was an equal opportunity tyrant to everyone.

It was all complicated further by the fact that she couldn’t get his ring off her finger.  She’d tried everything.  Spit, Vaseline, ice baths.  For something that had slipped on so easily, it was putting up a fight to take off.  Had she gained weight overnight?  Was she retaining water?

Nori noticed it immediately on their first day back.

“Is that your wedding ring?”  She’d gushed, reaching for her hand.

“Yeah, I just started wearing it again for the party.”

“He picked a good one, it’s the color of your eyes.”

“Is it?  I didn’t even notice.”

“That’s so romantic!”  Poppy crooned with a flutter of her lashes, spurning Nori to roll her eyes.

“Blue diamonds are very rare,” Disa cut in.  “That thing must’ve been expensive.”

She’d given up trying to get it off, accepting it as just part of her hand now.  And Hank hadn’t seemed too worried about getting it back.

She was taking off her gear in the Greenwood Graverobber’s locker room, when Nori started handing out maxi pads.  They’d just suffered a heartbreaking loss that set the series at 2-3.  They’d have to win the next two games in order to make it to the World Series.  Luckily, they were headed back to Trout Bend and had the home field advantage.

“Who’s got that time of the month, ladies?”  She waved the box around and tossed pads at anyone who held up a hand.  They’d synced up their monthlies to the point where the first two weeks of every month were a blood bath.  Literally and figuratively.

She could feel Wynnie’s side eye next to her when she didn’t put up her hand.  Goldie wasn’t stupid.  She knew she was late, but she wasn’t panicking yet.  He’d only spent inside her that one 36-hour weekend over a month ago.  After that, they’d gone back to being careful.

She knew her body.  It wouldn’t betray her like this.  And neither would the universe.  Things were going so well.  Finally.

“Really, Goldie?  What are you, knocked up?  You’re our alpha bitch leading the pack.  You always get it before the rest of us.”  Leave it to Nori to call her out on it.

“Well, I must be the virgin Mary, then.  It would be an immaculate conception if that were the case.”

As the rest of the girls laughed and filed out to the bus, Disa and Wynnie confronted her by her locker, like two mother hens trapping an overzealous pullet.  The concern in their eyes made her feel like a little kid again.  Except she wasn’t a kid.  And they weren’t her mother.  Hers was so far away. 

“What is it?”  The thought of her mother snuck up like a ghost and threatened to derail her certainty.

“Have you told him yet?”  Wynnie spoke first, arms crossed over her chest.

“Who?”

They both slanted her looks in unison, a coordinated attack.  They knew.

“It’s not what you think, and there’s nothing to tell.”  She tried to shrug them off and continued to roll her silk stocking up her leg.

“He hasn’t been the same since Mordor and you smell like each other.  Like sex, all the time.”  Disa added.

“That’s your evidence?”  She rolled up the other one, fighting back tears that she didn’t want or need.  She really was a terrible liar.  She crumbled under the slightest pressure.

“You need to tell him.”  Wynnie urged.

“I appreciate your concern, but don’t worry about me.  I’m just late.  It’s not possible and it would be an absolute nightmare if true, so—”  She couldn’t finish, suddenly couldn’t breathe.  Panic.  God, she missed her mom so much.

They pulled her into a hug, her face to their chests and she felt like the biggest asshole in the world.  She was sleeping with her manager, her teammates knew it, and she was cheating on her dead fiancé, wearing another man’s ring.  Possibly having his baby.

Leave it to Hank to have the super sperm that could last longer and swim harder than humanly possible.  Everything about him existed beyond the laws of nature.

She was being tested, punished, for being so sure she was right.  That was the only explanation for it.

Except she didn’t feel like she was wrong. 

“What do you need to tell me?”  The three of them looked up to find Hank standing by the door.  He must’ve been there to hear it.  All of it.  He could hear everything.

Disa and Wynnie looked at each other and then to her.  She gave them a nod, letting them know she was okay as she wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands.  She couldn’t help but notice the looks they gave him as they walked by.  A mixture of distrust and fear.

It was never her intent to cause animosity between him and the team.  She hated for anyone to be involved in her private business, but she should’ve known she’d have to face the consequences eventually. 

She stood up before he could reach her, not wanting to give up any more space between them.  He was tall enough as it was.  She’d need every inch for this conversation.

“They know about us.  I’m not sure who else does.”  She didn’t look at him as she finished packing her gear into her bag.

“What would be a nightmare?”  His tone was casual on the surface, but she could hear the click as the tendon in his jaw set.

“The rest of the girls got their periods and I haven’t yet.  They’re just giving me shit about it.  It’s not a big deal.”

When she turned around to face him finally, she met his chest.  He just stood there.  He didn’t put his arms around her.  He didn’t do that considerate thing he did sometimes where he’d lean down against a table or a wall, so they were closer to eye level.

He towered.  And when she looked up at him, his face was deadly.  The piss your pants, someone is about to die look that he’d only reserved for other people.  Never for her.  The one he couldn’t reign himself back from.

“How late are you?”  His voice was icy.  Cold and succinct.  Strange to her ears.

“You better be fucking sure, Galadriel.”  He’d said to her that night before the party.  And she was.  She thought she was.  Looking at him now, she realized how wrong she’d been.  About everything.

Her stomach dropped and her throat went tight. 

Don’t cry, don’t you fucking cry. 

“I said, don’t worry about it.”  She grabbed her bag and willed herself to walk past him in a calm and composed manner.  Not at all like a skittish rabbit cornered by a wolf. 

She took her seat on the bus and sunk down low against the window, closing her eyes to feign sleep.  She couldn’t bare to talk to anyone right now.  She’d been in denial for the last two weeks, since Nori first came around with the maxi pads placing bets on who would be the first.

Every day that had gone by, she felt closer and closer to a reality she wasn’t ready to accept.  She’d given Hank the sign to swing away, despite his clear desire not to get her pregnant.  Just so she could feel a connection that she’d been missing.  That she’d needed to feel with him.

How could she be so selfish?  No wonder he’d treated her so harshly.  What did she expect?  For him to kiss her forehead and tell her everything would be fine? 

You really did it this time, Squirt.  She’d never felt more alone.

“Hey, Goldie!”  Theo called from the seat behind her, but she didn’t respond.  “Oh, sorry.  Didn’t know you were asleep.”  She heard him whisper. 

She must’ve actually fallen asleep because when she opened her eyes they were back at the house and Hank was already off the bus. 

She left her door unlocked, but he didn’t come to her in the night.  She hadn’t expected him to.

_______________________________________________________________

They had one day off before Game 6 of the series and most of the girls had stayed home, needing the break.  They relaxed in the yard and sunbathed in the August heat.

Except Goldie couldn’t relax.  She learned that Hank hadn’t come to her room the night before because he’d left as soon as they got in.  He still hadn’t come back.

“Want to play catch?” She tossed a ball and a mitt to Theo.

“Sure!  I think I got my cutter down.  Let me show you.”  He excitedly jogged to an open area in the yard.

She squatted in the grass and caught his first pitch.

“Are you taking a little bit off of it?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.  You don’t have gear on.”

“Honey boy, I’ll give you a dollar if you get one passed my glove.  Now don’t hold back.”

She squatted and waited for the next pitch, but something distracted Theo and he was staring slack jawed towards the back porch.  She turned to see what he was looking at just as Wynnie dropped a tray of sweet tea.  It went smashing to the ground in a wave of liquid and broken glass.

Miriel stood with an official looking man in a uniform. 

He held a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a cane in the other.  She knew right away who it was.

“Dad?”

Theo’s stepfather, Wynnie’s husband, had come home.

The girls went silent, watching the scene playout as Theo and Wynnie ran to the handsome soldier in an emotional embrace.

“I came straight away.  As soon as I could.”  He squeezed them both so tightly against him, dropping his cane.

“Baby, you’re really here!”  The love on Wynnie’s stunned face, the tears of relief running down her cheeks, had the whole team sobbing right beside them.  It was almost too intimate to be shared, but Goldie couldn’t turn away from the sheer joy of it all.

A family brought back together again.  Finally, something good from this war.

______________________________________________________________

They’d spent the rest of the day and night celebrating the family reunion, but by the next morning Hank still hadn’t come home.  Their game was at 2pm and she was getting worried.

Was he jumping ship?  He wouldn’t just quit without a word, would he?

She thought about calling Gil Galad to see if he had heard from him, but she didn’t want to clue him in to a problem if there wasn’t one.  He was on thin ice already.  Maybe he’d just needed a break and would be back in time for the game.

By noontime, she couldn’t sit around and wait any longer, so she took a walk into town.  She doubted she’d find him, but she had to do something.

She spotted his car first, parked in front of a roadhouse bar at the end of Main Street.  No sooner did she see it when the doors burst open, and four men rushed out in a ball of arms and fists. 

Three men and an immovable object. 

They were trying to subdue him, landed a heavy hit hard across his jaw, but he was in a rage. 

In a matter of seconds, one by one they went down with a crush of meat and bone.  He stood over the last one, ready to give a final blow to the man’s lolling head.

“Hank!”  She screamed as loud as she could from the distance, anything to get through to him.

His head turned toward her, and he squinted through the haze of his fury, chuffing like a beast, teeth bared.  Had he been at a bar this whole time?

She ran to him as he stumbled back, from drunkenness or the hit he took to his face, she didn’t know. 

“What the hell are you doing here?”  He had the nerve to sound like she was the one in the wrong place.

“I came to get you.  We have a game.  Come on.”  She tried to pull him up, but he was dead weight.

“I don’t think I’ll be making it to the game.”

They both heard the ringing of sirens as the police arrived. 

“I know you’re mad at me, but don’t do this.”  She got him to his feet only because he let her.

“You think I’m mad at you?”  His slurred speech and amused expression were just for show.  He vibrated with something deep.  Something dangerous.  Lava beneath a volcano.  And the volcano was beneath the sea.

Whatever happened to him in that war, he’d buried it as best he could.  But she knew what it was like to ignore hurt, only for it to come back bigger and stronger.  She’d stored hers away and it’d become a mountain she couldn’t carry.  It rose to the surface in bruises, racked sobs, or in moments of passionate release.  His came in blood.

“Why’d you leave?” 

He only grinned and crimson bubbled from the corner of his mouth.  Two policemen grabbed him by the arms, and he didn’t resist.

“Step away, ma’am.”

“It was just a misunderstanding.  I’ll take him home.”  She tried to appeal to them.  Someone in this situation had to see reason. 

“He messed those guys up pretty good.  We have to bring him in.”

“I was just having a good howl at the moon.”  He spit on the ground at their feet, staining the street red.

“Then I’ll follow you and post bail after you book him.  How long will it take?”  She just wanted to get him home.  She didn’t even care about the game.

“Earliest will be tomorrow.”

Hank didn’t look concerned.  He’d only laughed.  He didn’t care about anything at all.

She stopped following them, defeated. 

“Fuck you, Hank.”  She said it quietly enough that the police didn’t hear her.  She knew he did by the way he stiffened as they put him in the back of the car. 

_______________________________________________________________

Her period came with a violent, spasming cramp deep in her core in the 4^th inning while she was squatting behind the plate.  She fought the urge to keel over and curl up into a ball right there in the dirt.

She breathed through it and hoped she could get through the last out of the inning without leaving a trail of blood down her leg. 

With just a little bit of luck, the next batter popped up a foul towards her dugout and she was able to catch it on the stairs, show it to the umpire, and race into the locker room for a pad before it was her turn to bat.

She examined the thick, cherry colored smear on the toilet paper.  It was heavy and vibrant.  A clear indication that there was no sign of life inside.

“You okay in there, Goldie?!”  Disa yelled from outside.

“Yeah, just need a minute!”  She called back.

Her hands shook as she cleaned herself up.  The universe had spoken.  Her body hadn’t betrayed her.  She’d lived her whole life looking for signs.  She’d made the train in Lindon, a sign that she was meant to be here. 

She wasn’t pregnant.  A sign that she and Hank weren’t meant to be.

Her conscience was clear.   She didn’t trap him or mislead him into something he didn’t ask for.  She’d been right.  She should be relieved.

But all she felt was a nagging disappointment.  For a brief moment, amid all the uncertainty, and despite the fear of what her future would be, she’d wondered if it would really be so bad after all. 

“You’re on deck!”  Disa called again. 

“Coming!”  She dragged on a spare pair of undershorts over her cleats, tossed the soiled ones into the laundry bin and ran back up to the field.

Nothing to do now but focus on the game. 

And they’d done it, too.  They stuck with their Murderer’s Row lineup and beat the Graverobbers to stay alive and secure a Game 7 the following night. 

They filed into the locker room singing and cheering their victory.

Nori passed around the box of pads and when it came to Goldie, she took one, earning pointed looks from Disa and Wynnie.  She nodded back to them.  Wynnie squeezed her hand in solidarity, and Disa kissed her on her head. 

How could she have ever felt alone with these two?  With this team?

Her body may not have let her down, but it was going to punish her.  It left no question as to whose side it was on, and this was shaping up to be one of the worst menstruations of her life.  She was tired and raw, her nerves already frayed from the past few days and the stress of the game.

A knock at the locker room door had them yell in unison “Come in!” as was their custom.  She looked up, wondering if maybe Hank had gotten himself out of jail early and came to apologize.

Instead, it was Gil Galad who entered, holding his hat in his hands and a dire expression. 

“Goldie?  There’s someone here for you.  From the War Department.”  He looked behind him and waved someone in from the hallway.

A few of the girls gasped and clutched their chests.  They knew what it meant.  The war had claimed another husband.  Goldie would’ve fallen to her knees if she wasn’t already sitting.  After so long, what was there left to say? 

She closed her eyes, steadied herself.  When she opened them, a familiar face greeted her.  He was clean shaven, his blue eyes crisp and clear.  His smile was bright like the sun, not an ounce of mockery or spite.

“Caleb?  How?”  She stood and crossed to him, tentatively at first until she got a closer look.  Until she could touch him to be sure he was real.  She threw her arms around his shoulders.  They were the same height, perfect for a hug.  A hug that she had so desperately needed.

“It’s me.  I’m here.” He kissed her hair and swung her off her feet around in a circle.

She buried her face against the top of his shoulder, breathing him in.  He smelled like cologne and fresh washed linen.  A breath of the clean mountain air from Lindon.  His smooth cheek was cool where hers touched his, a relief from the sultry summer haze she’d been living in. 

“Easy now, I can’t breathe.  Darn, girl, you’ve gotten strong.”  He patted her on the back in submission.  She’d missed the simple drawl of his accent.  It brought her back to simpler days that had seemed so far away.

“Don’t ever leave me again, okay?”  She let him go, tears blurring her vision.  She leaned in for a kiss, relief and comfort washing over her.

When their lips met, she heard the girls clapping and cheering.   He smiled against her mouth, returning her kiss.  Soft and sweet.  No tongue in polite company.  She found herself smiling back at him. 

No crazy lights flashing behind her eyelids.  No animal growls or rushes of heat in her womb.  Just simple and quiet.  Solid and safe.

“Never again, I promise.”

“Where’ve you been?  I thought you were dead.  Why did you let me think you were dead?”

“I thought it would be a fun surprise.  A little gag is all.  You just looked so happy when you saw me, it made it all worth it.”

She was happy to see him.  And he looked well.  She didn’t know what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“What happened?”

“Let’s get something to eat.  I passed a nice-looking Italian place on the drive in.  I’ll tell you everything.”

“Dino’s is a little hit or miss, but yeah sure.  I’ll get dressed and meet you outside.”

Nori and Poppy clapped excitedly and fawned over her when he’d left.

Wynnie and Disa both looked at a loss for words, surely wondering when the drama of her suddenly exciting life was going to end. 

Damned if she knew.  Surely it was just another sign.  He’d come back to her.  He was alive. 

She rushed to stop Commissioner Galad before she followed him.

“Hey, sir.  Any news on Hank?  Did he call you?”

“They won’t post bail until the morning.”

“Did he say anything to you about what happened?”

“He came knocking on my door two nights ago demanding to be traded or released.  I told him it wasn’t part of our deal and he had to stay or he’d be in breach.”

“He wanted to quit the team?  What was your deal?”  Hank had jumped after all.  He’d been running away from her and was prepared to sacrifice his career in the process.  He’d pulled the pin on a grenade and tossed it behind him.  Blown up.  As she’d done so many times before.

Fall.  Sink.  Swim.  Live again.

He’d loved baseball just as much as she did.  It was all he had.  And he was ready to give it up to be free of her.

“I gave him this job with the condition that if he towed the line and danced when I told him to, and coached a team that made it to the World Series, then I’d give him another shot on the men’s team once the war ended.”

“Well, he still has a chance of that.  We’re only one game away.”

“He’ll be suspended for missing today’s game.  Meaning he’ll miss tomorrow’s as well.  You think you can still win without him?”

She didn’t have a choice.  She was his partner in this, whether she’d agreed with his actions or not.  He was in this situation because of her.  For better or worse, the Berries were a family, and they didn’t leave anyone behind.

She’d give him what he wanted, and then she’d be the one to go.

______________________________________________________________________

Over the course of her dinner with Caleb, she learned that he’d been reassigned just a day prior to his unit’s ambush.  The paperwork was lost in transit and his new company ended up cut off on an island village without communication for almost a year before they were rescued.

He hadn’t been killed, and he hadn’t been made a prisoner of war.  All the horrible things she’d imagined happening to him, the pain and the torture, and he’d been living on a beach the whole time.  They’d laughed about it, and she was thankful that he was so lucky.

So many others weren’t. 

His hands were steady as he sipped his wine.

“I can’t wait to show you the new house I bought for us.”

“You bought a house?” Her own sip of wine went down too quick, and she coughed to clear it from her windpipe.

“Just last week.  It’s beautiful.”

“How long have you been back?”

“Our boat landed about three weeks ago.  I visited with family and set our affairs in order.  Mother’s already started planning the wedding.”

He’d been home for three weeks and he just came for her now?  No phone call, no letter?  She thought of Wynnie’s husband, how’d he come straight from the docks, still in his uniform. 

Fighting his way back to them.  Like they were the most precious things in the world, and he wouldn’t spare a single second without them. 

“You could’ve called me.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.  I wanted everything to be perfect, so that I could do this.”  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. 

A platinum band with a perfect white diamond the size of a marble.

“Oh, Caleb.  It’s lovely.”

“I know you gave me your promise, and you’ve told everyone we’re already married, so this is just icing on the cake.”

She looked down at her finger, at the ring that had made a home there.  She had to be honest with him.  If they were to have a future, then he needed to know everything.

“I met someone, while you were gone.  They told me you were dead, and I’ve been in a really bad place, to be honest.  I’d given up hope that you were coming back.”

“Was it serious?”

“Yes, it was.”  And terrible and beautiful. Treacherous and strong.  “But it’s over now.  I’m yours.”

She tugged at Hank’s ring, one last attempt, and it slipped off into her hand.  She turned it over in her palm.  A wave of dread swept over her, but she pushed it down.  Buried it in the place she’d keep her memories of him.

“I forgive you.”  Caleb smiled, pushing his ring in its place, snagging on her knuckle.  He tried to force it on, but she pulled her hand back.

“I’ll get it.”  She wiggled it back and forth until it fit.  Barely.  It’s okay, she told herself.  She had no intention of taking this one off.

“See, perfect.  To the rest of our lives.”  He held up his glass in a toast.

__________________________________________________________

Caleb had gotten a hotel room, but Goldie chose to spend her last night in the house with the girls.  She’d packed her bags, and they were ready to leave right after the game.

Her teammates understood when she told them she had to go.  She didn’t tell them why.  Maybe Wynnie and Disa knew.  They’d all come to mean so much to her and she promised to keep in touch. 

As they were leaving for batting practice that afternoon, Hank still wasn’t home. 

When she got to the field, she found Caleb and Commissioner Galad deep in conversation.

“Ah, Goldie.  We were just negotiating your release from the team.  Caleb told me you’ll be leaving us.”

Caleb told him.  She looked between the two of them. 

“This is my last game.  I told you that yesterday.”

“The fans, and this club, will be very sorry to see you go.  I’ve been trying to convince him to let you stay.”

“It’s not Caleb’s decision, it’s mine.”  She smiled sweetly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“We’ve come to terms, and you’ll have an official send off after the game.  The Queen of Diamonds leaving with her King returned from war.  Flags and flowers.  A story of hope.  The fans will eat it up.”

“I was thinking I could carry you off the field, you know.  Sweep you off your feet.”  Caleb added, helpfully.

She hated it, and doubted he could even pick her up, let alone carry her the length of the field.

“I don’t know, it sounds a little—”  This game wasn’t just about her, and Caleb had nothing to do with it at all.  She’d never wanted to be the center of attention.  It felt wrong to celebrate when so many families were missing their loved ones. 

“It’s already been decided.  It’ll be great publicity for me when I announce my campaign for Senate.”  Caleb was giddy, eyes bright with excitement. 

“You’re running for Senate?  Don’t you want to take some time together before you dive right into work?”  Her head was spinning at the plans he was making without even talking to her first.

“The war is nearly over.  The tides are turning.  There’s no time to waste.”

He kissed her cheek and gave Gil a double thumbs up as he jogged off the field, no doubt to make arrangements with the florist and the band leader.

She turned to Gil before he could run off with him.

“Where’s Hank?”

“Still in lock up, I imagine.”  His indifferent tone was exasperating.

“You left him there?”  She knew she shouldn’t talk to her boss in such a way, but he wasn’t after today and she was still reeling from the arrangements he’d been making on her behalf.

“It’ll do him good.  Dry him out.  Give him time to settle down.  He’s a loose cannon.”

“Get him out of jail and convince them to drop the charges, or I leave right now.  No game, no send off.”

“You can’t leave until you’re released.  It’s in your contract.  And I will sue you to the ends of the earth if you try to break it.”

“As a married woman, I can’t enter into a contract without my husband’s cosignature.  Therefore, we don’t have a contract.” 

“You signed the addendum overriding it.  All players with absent husbands did.”

“Did I?”  She hadn’t signed it, that much was true, but she wasn’t technically married either.  She bluffed, with all the confidence she could muster.

Sell the story. 

“You’re putting yourself on the line to save his future?  I’ll be honest, Goldie, I don’t think he deserves it.”

“Get him out.  Today.  And keep your promise to him.  You owe me that much.”  She didn’t have much power in this life, but in this league, she was a queen. 

She’d chaffed under the silly title, uncomfortable with the attention and the praise.  But she’d earned it, and her fans loved her.  She leveraged every bit of that power now.

“Fine.  But he’s burned all his bridges.  This is his last chance.”

She nodded, understood.  She’d done her part to fix the damage she’d helped cause.  Her conscience was clean.  He was on his own from here.

All she had left to do was win.

______________________________________________________________

She couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day to say goodbye.  The energy in the locker room was electric, and the girls were ready to fight. 

They huddled around her for their pregame pep talk.  Uniforms crisp and white, like shiny new battle armor before the fray.  By the end, they’d be tattered and torn, scuffed up, bloody and bruised.  Grateful to be alive.

“Looks like I’m finishing my time here just like we started.  Just us.  Ballplayers.  Fucking Berries.  We’ve come so far together.  I thought we were a team of misfits at first.  We’d all wandered here alone, with nothing in common except we could play.  And we’ve shown the world what we can do.  That we’re capable of extraordinary things.  Together.  Now, let’s the beat the shit out of Greenwood.  Or else you’re all walking home.”

They laughed and cheered.

“Fucking Berries on three.”  Nori led them off.  “One, two, three, Fucking Berries!”   

They took the field to a packed house and a clear, cloudless sky.  She paused to breathe it all in for the last time.  Her battlefield. 

Ten thousand sets of eyes on her, but she could feel only one.  He was here.  She didn’t have to scan the stands to know where he was sitting.  In a crowd of people, her eyes would always find his.  He was far away, sitting several rows back from the field. 

He must’ve come straight from jail, as he hadn’t changed or cleaned up.  They’d come full circle.  Forever changed, but right back where they’d started.

As part of her send off, she’d requested Gil give out a free candy bar to every kid in attendance, as a thank you.  He’d stuttered and resisted, but ultimately gave in.  The gesture probably cost him less than he paid for his haircut, but it meant a lot to them.

“Thank you, Goldie!  Thank you, Goldie!  Thank you, Goldie!”  The crowd started a new chant, and she waved in acknowledgement. 

As she did before every home game, she took their bucket full of practice balls and tossed them one by one to the little ones in the stands.  One of her favorite parts was watching them gather excitedly with their arms raised in front of the rich old people who paid for front row seats. 

They pushed and jumped and spilled drinks on each other, reminding her of her and brothers when they were young.  When they didn’t have any money, and balls were expensive, and each one was a gift more valuable than gold. 

Gil would probably pitch a fit if he knew how many balls she’d given away, but he could afford it.  She didn’t stop until every kid got one. 

As the game got underway, the day waned, and the stadium lights came on in ardent resistance to the encroaching darkness of night.  The Berries fought with heart and grit, leaving everything they had on the field.  Nothing ever came easy for them.  Maybe that was their theme.  The hard way, always. 

The game was close, the Berries leading 5-4, in a back-and-forth assault right to the bitter end.  There would be no blown open leads or walk-off grand slams this time.  No one was winning until the very last out.

And that last out came quiet, in complete silence as the Trout Bend Garden held its collective breath.

Poppy was on the mound, bases were loaded.  Two outs, two strikes.  She was gassed, but she nodded her head when Goldie gave her the sign.  Fast ball, high and inside.  She’d come so far as a pitcher and had a bright career ahead of her.  She had Goldie’s complete trust and faith.

The pitch.  The swing.  A miss. 

“Strike three, batter’s out!”  The umpire called, but no one could hear him over the roar that erupted throughout the stadium. 

Goldie tossed the ball to the side and ran to congratulate her teammates.  It was the most perfect game they’d ever played.

After their celebration died down, it was time for her send off.  Caleb walked out to meet her on the mound in his uniform.  Starched and pressed and cleaned.  He looked like a movie star. 

As they smiled for photos and waved to the crowd, she felt Hank’s gaze leave her for the first time all night.  He didn’t stay for the circus act.  It wasn’t his style.  She wished she could follow him.  Her skin felt chilled in the absence of him, and she shivered right through to her bones.

“How can you be cold?  It’s 100 degrees out here.  Gosh, you’re filthy.  These pictures are going to come out terrible.  We should’ve thought ahead of time to get you a change of clothes and fresh coat of lipstick.  You’ll look washed out.”

She would’ve laughed at the absurdity of it all if she wasn’t suddenly overcome with such grief.

_______________________________________________________

She caught up with Theo in the back parking lot near the bus.

“I can’t believe you’re really leaving.”  His brown eyes filled with those heavy emotions boys struggle to name, let alone set free into the world. 

“Oh, kid.  It’s okay to cry, remember?  It makes it hurt less, don’t you think?”

He dove in for a hug, and she patted his head, letting her own tears bubble over. 

“I’m going to miss you.”  His voice muffled against her chest.

“You’ll see me again.  Season’s almost over.  I’m just leaving a little sooner than everyone else.  And you have your family back.  You don’t need me anymore.”

“I just really liked having you around.”  Leave it to the kid to make such a simple confession of love.  She hoped he never lost that sincerity.  That his struggles were over, and life would be nothing but kind to him from here on out. 

“Remember what I said.  Don’t ever hold back.  Play great, okay?”

“Like you.” 

She’d been on a razor’s edge of feelings and conflict since the game ended, and he, more than anyone, was testing her resolve.  She was close to leaving her bags where they were and following him onto the bus to talk about their favorite outfielders.

But she’d made her choice.  And she had to go. 

“I was thinking more like Hal Newhouser.”  She winked at him as he reluctantly nodded.

The bus was full and that only left one final goodbye. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”  She heard him behind her, sensed his shadow long before he spoke.

“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’.”  She turned around slowly.

“You’re leaving with him?”  He was a mess of busted flesh and bloodshot eyes.  He didn’t look big and mean, just sad and broken.  She hated that this was the last memory she’d have of him.  That every beautiful moment they’d shared had led him to this.

“I’m going home.” 

“You don’t have to do this.”

“It’s what you wanted, right?  You asked Gil to cut you loose and I was leaving anyway.  Everyone wins.”

“You don’t love him.”

“I made a promise.  He came back to me, so—”  She took his ring out of her pocket and held it out to him.

He made no move to take it.

“You’re going to let him put you on a shelf?  Like some fragile piece of china that he takes out to use when he wants to impress his friends.  Something pretty to hold and look at.”

“Take this back, Hank, so I can go.”     

“You’re not a fucking coward, Galadriel.  Why are you so afraid of this?”

“I’m a coward?  You disappeared for two days!  I didn’t know if you had run off, or if you were dead in an alley.  Why did you do that?”

“You were upset, at the thought of having a baby with me.  I saw it on your face.  You called it a nightmare.”

“I was upset because I felt responsible.  And…it doesn’t matter now.  There is no baby and I’m leaving.”

“Tell me it’s not because of me, because I fucked up, that you’re throwing this all away.”

“I watched you turn into something that you hate, right before my eyes.  Because of me.  We shouldn’t have that power over each other.  I don’t want it.”

“You make me want to be better, to do better.  But what about them?  You’re giving up on them.”  He motioned to her teammates on the bus.

“They understand.  They don’t need me, they never did.”

“And the game?  Baseball is what lights you up, the brightest fucking light in the sky.  You play like you’re on fire.  Like you’d fade and die without it.”

“It’s just a game.”

“Just a game?  Right, and I’m just a guy, and you’re just a girl.  And this isn’t the most magical thing you’ve ever done in your whole life.”

“It was only ever a distraction.  My life’s waiting for me.”

“You can’t tell me he makes you burn?”

“He doesn’t make me cry.”

Somehow, they’d moved closer to each other with every barbed word.  They were almost touching now.

“You can take it.  You can take the hard things, because those are the best things.  You can out-hard anyone.  You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

Did she dare believe it?  She didn’t feel strong, she felt exposed and untethered.  She’d weighed her past and her future countless times already.  Could she survive the rest of her life with her heart in someone else’s hands?  In his?  How many times would he break it?

Or could she live with none at all?

“You were wrong.”

“Slap my face and call me an asshole.  But get on that bus and let’s go home.”  His last attempt to get through to her.  To pull her back. 

For the first time, in that moment, he really was just a man.  No mask or pretense.  They were just Halbrand and Galadriel, and he was afraid of losing her. 

“Hey, you almost ready?” Caleb came up behind her, hooking an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek.  She tried not to jump out of her skin.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”  The ring in her hand burned hot to the touch.  She had to get rid of it before she changed her mind. 

But Hank still wasn’t making any effort to take it.  Tired of fighting, she brazenly reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet.  Opening it to place the ring inside, she saw a picture Theo had taken, folded around the edges to fit. 

Black and white.  Goldie and Hank on a bus ride to somewhere.  Running to something or from something.  Smiling.

Placing the ring inside, she returned it to his pants.

“Goodbye, Halbrand.”

“That’s right, you’re Hank Smith.  You’re her favorite player of all time.”

“He doesn’t need to know that.”  She had to get out of here.  She started to walk away, but Caleb pulled her back by her hand.

“Come on, it’s cute.”  Caleb gushed.

“It is cute.  And only fair, because she’s my mine too.  Best to play the game.”  Caleb didn’t notice how intensely he was looking at her as he said it.  That his humorous tone hid more layers than he could possibly imagine.

“For a girl, right?”  Caleb nudged him with his elbow, not realizing he was poking a beast.

“No.”  Hank was going to kill him if she didn’t get him out of here. 

“Let’s go home.”  She held Caleb’s hand with both of hers, willing him to listen to her.

“Nice to meet you, Hank.  Thanks for taking such good care of my girl.  Hope she wasn’t too much trouble.”

Caleb offered his hand, and she watched as Hank did his superhuman mind trick.  Reigned himself in off a perilous ledge and shook Caleb’s hand with a pointed smile.

“You’re a lucky man.”

She didn’t meet Hank’s eyes again as she let Caleb lead her back to the car, opening the door for her, his hand resting on the small of her back as he helped her inside.

When Goldie jumped ship, she never looked back.  Knowing that if she did, it would haunt her for the rest of her life.

________________________________________________________

“That’s not the end, Gram.”  Danny interjected as he stuffed a third Oreo cookie into his mouth. 

“How do you know?”  Arwen snapped back, dipping hers carefully in her milk.

“I’ve heard this one before,” he mumbled with his mouth full. 

She’d left out the steamier parts of the story as she recounted those early days to her grandchildren.  She didn’t need to be in trouble with their mother.  But she looked back on the memory of them many times as the years went by.  How brightly she could burn.

“Well, I haven’t.  Don’t ruin it for me.”  Arwen slapped Rory’s hand away as he tried to steal one of her cookies.  Just because she’d taken her time, and they’d inhaled theirs, didn’t mean hers were up for grabs.

That kid, as small as she was, could hold her own against the double threat of her twin brothers.  She never backed down from the hard things.  Goldie stoked that fire in her granddaughter as much as she could, hoping if it burned bright enough, it wouldn’t fade with time and experience.

As it so often did with little girls.

“Well, the war came to an end, and Hank went on to play three more seasons in the national league.  He got his spot in the hall of fame, right next to your uncle Finrod.  Goldie got married and started a family.  And she lived happily ever after.”  She said with a playful smile.

“Come on, Gram!  Tell us the end.  The whole end.”  Rory was going out of his mind with impatience at how slowly Arwen was eating the last of her cookies.

Goldie slipped him two more from the package, tussling the moppy dark curls on his head.

“All right, you hooligans.”

_______________________________________________________

On the last stretch of the car ride back to Lindon, Goldie and Caleb listened to the first game of the World Series on the radio.  The Berries were tied at zero with the Rebels.

“A hard fly ball to right field and it is—”  The announcer was just about to call the play when Caleb switched stations to the war news.

“Hey, put it back on.”  She sat up straighter in her chair.

“You know I can’t listen to baseball while I’m driving.  It puts me to sleep.”

“The war news gets your blood pumping?”

“I’ll put on some music then.”  He found a music station and they bumped along for a few more miles. 

The silence between them wasn’t an easy one.  Not for her, anyway.  She could sit on a bus next to Hank for hours and not feel the need to say anything. 

Over the last two days, she’d bitten her nails raw and the skin around them too. 

Caleb used to calm her anxiety, make her feel safe, but the old feelings hadn’t come back now that the relief of seeing him alive had faded.  In its place was a creeping fear of being alone with him forever. 

“No more bullshit games…stop fucking around.”  Hank had demanded, that one time she didn’t let her head get in the way of her heart.  He’d needed her to tell him then that what they had was real.  He’d wanted it as much as she did. 

She’d replayed their last conversation over in her head on a loop.  It had all started to sink in.  He was never mad at her about the possibility of a baby.  He was disappointed that she didn’t want it, too.

But she did want it.  And she hadn’t told him.

It was time for her to stop looking for signs and fate, and just do what felt right.

“Why do you love me?”  She asked her fiancé, finally.

“What?”  To his credit, he didn’t sound annoyed.  He never sounded like anything except pleasant or vaguely confused.

“Why do you want to marry me?” 

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the whole world, darling.  We’re perfect for each other, we always have been.  I’ve seen so much darkness and pain in this war.  I need something pretty to look at for the rest of my life.  The life we’re going to have together.  Children and a house, and home cooked meals.  The stuff we always talked about.  It’s the only thing that kept me going.”

All the things they’d talked about before the war.  Before everything fell apart.  She wasn’t the same person anymore.  She didn’t blame him.  He’d been through something and deserved the future that he wanted. 

But so did she.

“You know I’m a terrible cook.”

“You haven’t learned yet?  What have you been doing these last few years?  Besides not calling my mother.  She said you only visited a handful of times.”

She’d found friends, she’d found a family.  She’d found herself.  If she stayed on this path, she’d just have him.  She had no choice but to pull the pin.  One last time.

“You have to turn around.”

“What?  No.  You’re being irrational.  We’re going to get married, and you’re going to make friends with my mom.  She’ll teach you how to cook.  We’ll be Senator and Mrs. Sindar.  Just like we planned.”

“Stop the car, please.”

“Fine, okay, I’ll put the game back on.  Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You have to drive me back to Trout Bend, or let me out here.”

“Let you out?  We’re almost home.”

“I’m serious, Caleb.”

“Really?  Sure, if that’s what you want, then get out.  Hitch a ride with some stranger.  You can find me in Lindon when you’ve come to your senses.”

He pulled the car over to the side of the road and stopped.   

“I’m not going back to Lindon.  Don’t wait for me there.  There’s plenty of beautiful girls who can cook, and who might actually like your mom.  Find one.  But it’s not me.”

“This is unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re going to regret this.”

“Maybe I will.”  She said it for his sake, knowing in her heart that she was right.  The only thing she’d ever regret was not seeing this through.  She couldn’t live the rest of her life not knowing how great she could’ve been.  How far she could’ve taken it.  How bright she could burn.

She took her suitcase and bag out of the trunk, watching after him for a moment as he drove away.  There was a gas station a few miles back.  Hopefully, someone could give her a ride to the train station. 

Sink or swim, she’d kick her way to the surface.  She always did.

________________________________________________________________

“Sorry, ma’am, the last train to Trout Bend is departing track number three in six minutes.  I don’t think you’ll make it.”  The elderly ticket agent said across the counter.

“Just give me the ticket, please.  I’ll make it.”  She threw the money at him urgently, not waiting for change.

“It’s nonrefundable.  Next one doesn’t leave until tomorrow.”

“I know, I know!  Thank you!”  She grabbed the ticket from his hand and took off.

She ran toward track three at a sprint, wishing she’d bandaged her chest and worn different shoes.  Her silly hat flies off and she doesn’t bother going back for it. 

She sees a shadow from the corner of her eye.  It’s gaining on her.

“Goldie?!” 

“Hank?!”  She still doesn’t turn around, keeps running as he catches up to her.  “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Running for a damn train, what does it look like?”

When she reached track three, the train had long since departed.  She gave up, stopped, out of breath.  Hank fell in next to her, panting.

“I just got off that train.”

“Who’s coaching the game?”

“I put Wynnie in charge.”

“You’re going to get suspended again.”  All that work trying to get him his last chance and he’d blown it already.

“I told them I was coming to get you back.  Gil agreed.”

“Why are you here, Hank?”  She gulped fresh air into her burning lungs. 

“I didn’t get to say what I should’ve said, before.  I couldn’t let you go without—”  He trailed off, hands on his hips, still catching his breath.

“I’m here.”  She waited for him to continue, expectantly.

“Why?” 

“I asked you first.”  She was so happy to see him, she couldn’t resist the jab. 

The look he gave her was one she’d seen before.  It meant she was in trouble.  And she was going to like it.  She bit her bottom lip. 

Who needed pretty words when he could tell her everything he was feeling with just his face?  She wanted to spend the rest of her life learning every single one.

“I can’t do this without you.”

“You don’t need me to win—”

“It’s not about the fucking game.  Jesus Christ, if you want to spend the rest of your life with that guy, fine.  But I have to know that it’s what you really want.  That you’re giving up on this, on me, because it’s what will make you happy.  Because for me, everything is wrong and…dark without you.” 

And there it was.  Halbrand “Hank” “The Devil” “Smitty” Smith just told her he loved her. 

“I left him.  Well, he left me, actually, on the side of the road just shy of Lindon.”

“Wait, he left you on the side of the road?”

“I told him to.  It’s fine.”

“Where is he now?”  He was going to kill him.  Thankfully, he wouldn’t get the chance.  He was no good to her in prison.

“It doesn’t matter.”  She stood on her toes to touch his face.  “I came back so we could finish this together, wherever it leads us.” 

He took off his hat with one hand and held her up against him with the other, dipping his head down and claiming her mouth like she held his last breath.  He filled in any gaps of words left unsaid.  He was her future.  They’d spent enough time in the darkness.  It was time for the light.

She’d never have to fall again. 

And if she did, he’d be by her side.

________________________________________________

“That’s it?”  Arwen was at the edge of her seat in the den, pictures of their life together spread across the rug like scattered leaves in the wind.  So many adventures.

“Well, we’re still here.” 

“No, I meant did you win the World Series?”  Arwen cocked an expectant eyebrow to her in the spitting image of her grandfather.

“Of course she did.  And the next season’s, too.”  Hank spoke up as he popped his head in with a wink.  “Dinner’s ready.”

Which meant the pizza had been delivered.  The kids always looked forward to pizza night sleepovers at Grandma and Grandpa’s while their parents were traveling. 

Goldie had been so busy living, she’d never learned to cook.