Evie’s next in line, all energy and pigtails and oversized helmet.
“Ready, slugger?” I call.
“Ready!”
I roll the ball her way, slow and easy, getting her used to fielding it. She scoops it up clean and beams. But when she spins to toss it toward first, her cleat catches on the edge of the plate.
It happens in a blink. The twist. The fall. The crack. A sound I’ll never forget.
“Evie!” Kate’s voice tears through the air before mine does.
I’m running before I even think, crossing the distance in seconds. She’s already on the ground beside her daughter, hands trembling as she brushes dirt from Evie’s cheek.
“Oh God, baby, talk to me—what hurts?”
Evie’s sobbing, clutching her wrist to her chest. “It hurts, Mommy! My arm!”
Kate’s pale, eyes wide, trying to stay calm but I can see it—panic bubbling under the surface.
“Let me look,” I say gently, crouching beside them.
She starts to argue on instinct, but I meet her eyes first. “Kate.” Just her name. It’s enough to make her stop fighting me for a second.
I examine Evie’s arm. The wrist is already swelling, the skin puffed and tender. She tries to wiggle her fingers and cries out, sharp and panicked.
“It’s a break,” I say quietly. “We need to get her to Cedar Falls Hospital ER.”
Kate nods too fast, brushing Evie’s hair back from her face. “Okay. Okay. I’ll drive—”
“I’ve got her,” I tell her, already slipping an arm under Evie’sback and legs.
“Cam—”
“Let me help,” I say softly but firmly. “You get the car.”
There’s a second where she looks ready to argue, that familiar fierce independence sparking to life. But then she sees Evie’s tear-streaked cheeks and the way she curls into my chest, and something inside her gives way.
She nods, eyes shiny, and sprints toward the parking lot.
Evie clings to me, small shoulders shaking. “It hurts, Coach…”
“I know, sweetheart,” I say, keeping her close. “We’re gonna get it taken care of. You’re tough, remember? Tougher than Coach Wells.”
She sniffles wetly. “I didn’t mean to fall.”
“Accidents happen, all the great players fall at some point,” I say.
Kate pulls her car beside the fence, the door already open. Knox jogs over, reading everything in a heartbeat.
“Do you need anything?” he asks.
“We’re headed to the ER,” I say. “Can you finish practice?”
“Go,” he tells me. “I’ve got this.”
Kate throws open the passenger door. “Put her in the back seat.”
I slide into the back seat with Evie still in my arms and lift her into her booster. Gently, I pull the straps around her and click the buckles. Kate doesn’t argue, just climbs behind the wheel and drives. She keeps checking the rearview mirror, eyes flicking between us. Her jaw is tight, knuckles pale against the steering wheel.
