Page 1 of Renegade Ruin

CHAPTER ONE

BISHOP

It’s over.

I don’t bother looking back, exiting the courtroom with my head held high like I’ve just been released from prison and not my divorce proceedings.

“Bishop.” My ex's shrill voice echoes off the tall ceilings of the otherwise silent courthouse lobby, but I don’t turn around.That tone would have once sent me running to her, but now it’s nothing but a reminder of all the lies and manipulation she spews.

Corrine put me through hell over the last year.

Scratch that.

The last year plus the three we were married.

I would have done anything for her to make this work. Something I’ve been told is my fatal flaw. I believe in love and desperately will hold onto it despite any and all red flags. And she threw it all away because—I don’t actually know why. I never got a straight answer as to why she decided to cheat on me with not one, but two men. Or why she falsely accused me of fathering her child after I left, leading to a very public scandal and paternity test. I’ll never understand why she sought to make me the bad guy in the press. Or why she went out of her wayto postpone this court date until the Renegades were three wins away from the playoffs resulting in me missing a key game. I should be with them in St. Louis.

But it doesn’t matter now.

It’s over and I’m free.

The sun hits my face as I step through the courthouse doors onto the stark white steps. On any other day the hustle and bustle of Manhattan would overwhelm me, but today it only adds to the contentment reverberating in my chest. This city may never sleep but it’s downright magical in the morning. Everyone is starting their day. New adventures. Which is exactly what I need.

Fuck, I sound like I’m in one of those fairytales Phoebe always makes me read her. Where everything is magic and rainbows and nothing can bring the main character down. Which means something inevitably will. But not for me. Not today. Today is a win and the beginning of a new chapter.

Tugging out my phone I scroll, ignoring the numerous missed calls and messages, until I find Jackson’s number. He should just be waking up and getting ready to head to the field for batting practice before the afternoon game in St. Louis.

It rings and rings before heading to voicemail.

I double-check the time, accounting for the hour time difference. He knew I had court this morning and told me to call him as soon as it was done. Next, I try his wife, Norah. She may have started as my best friend’s wife, but over time she has become just as important. Hell, it was her idea to make me Phoebe’s godfather and they took me in after the divorce, so I’d say I’m practically family at this point.

Just like with Jackson, it rings until it ultimately goes to voicemail.

I try them both again with the same results.

When I call Tommy, my closest friend on the team outside Jackson, and get the same result that irritation begins to settle in my chest.

It’s not unlike Jackson not to answer, especially if he’s getting in the zone before the game, but Norah is attached to her phone. Especially when she’s away from Phoebe. It doesn’t matter this was supposed to be a nice getaway for her and Jackson—a last-minute trip added because she had vacation time to use and there was room on the team plane for a handful of spouses. She wouldn’tnotanswer.

Making my way down the steps to hail a cab, I ignore the way my irritation tries to morph into worry. I know they’ll call me back when they can, and then we can celebrate together.

“Bishop.”

My heart seizes in my chest, and I freeze.

I know that voice.

The melodic sound has teased me in my dreams since I last heard it on New Year’s, calling out my name as I pistoned my cock in her tight pussy with the hope to someday make it mine. Then again, a few months later, when we serendipitously met at a party during spring training. We promised each other it was just one night.

We were good at those.

Slowly I turn around, wondering the whole time if it's some act of fate that she’s here on the day of my divorce. Because Willow York is the kind of woman I would absolutely like to make my end game, and if it wasn’t for that stupid promise I made to Jackson to stay single for a year I absolutely would have already.

The year isn’t up yet, but I’m not sure I can say goodbye again.

The sight of her nearly knocks the air from my chest. She’s a vision standing in the rays of the fall sun, blonde curls wildand cascading down over the flowy white blouse tucked into a formfitting skirt that should be a goddamn sin with the way it accentuates the curves any man would worship. She’s wearing heels I’d bet money she hates, but I love because they define her calves in a way that should be illegal. But my favorite—okay, close second favorite—part of the woman standing in front of me is her eyes. Bluer than the bluest sky, they are the window to her soul, never quite able to hide what she feels.

And right now, they’re filled with tears.

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