Page 10 of Renegade Ruin

You aren’t ready to say goodbye, Bish.

Jackson’s voice reverberates in my mind, and I roll my eyes. I wondered how long it would take for Jackson’s voice to manifest in my mind. Ever since the crash, he and Tommy have become a sentient version of my fucked-up conscience.Every time they make their presence, I waiver between a twisted sense of joy at having them near and anger because they shouldn’t be just voices in my head.

You love us.This time it’s Tommy.If you can’t do it for you, do it for us. She’s fighting for her father’s legacy. Fight for ours.

I’m going to regret this.

“I’ll do it.”

“Good. Now seriously, get cleaned up. You look like shit, and I need you to make the press believe we are one big, happy family.”

I scoff. Clearly, she isn’t fully acquainted with the new me because there’s a fat chance in hell of that happening.

“Then I need you to head to travel to pick up your ticket for the spring training flight.”

“I won’t be needing it.”

Her brow arches, and she sounds almost taken aback when she answers. “Excuse me?”

“I’m driving down to Fort Myers in the morning.”

I silently pray she doesn’t push the issue because it’s not something I’m willing to budge on.

“That’s twenty hours.”

“And if I leave tonight, I’ll have plenty of time to get there.”

“Does Vaughn know you’re doing this?”

I huff a laugh. “Vaughn isn’t my keeper. He doesn’t give two shits as long as I’m there when the rest of the pitchers and catchers report on Sunday night and ready to play Monday. Which you would know if you had any experience being an owner.”

Just as I expected, this new version of Willow doesn’t back down. Instead, she takes a step toward me and then another, until she needs to crane her neck to meet my glare. “I don’t need experience to tell me you’re a liability. One look at you or any tabloid tells me that. You can’t be trusted to make that drive.”

“I can. And I will,” I say slowly, my words harsh through gritted teeth. “I’m. Not. Flying.”

“What are you going to do the rest of the season?”There’s a gleam of amusement in her eye, like she’s caught me at my own game.

“That’s assuming I’m playing this season.” The corner of my lip twitches. “The real question is, what are you going to do? You’re the owner now. You’ll be expected to travel.”

Willow winces as she studies me, her eyes cataloging my face with scrutiny, like she’s trying to figure out the logic behind my actions. That’s the thing, though. There is none. Logic went down with the plane that carried my teammates.

It helps that I know she has a debilitating fear of flying. I never understood the fear before, but now, the very thought of entering a death tube with wings makes my heart race and my palms sweat. I know I’ll have to get over it eventually, but today isn’t that day. Neither is tomorrow. Or the next.

“You aren’t driving.” She crosses her arms with confidence. “The team is responsible for getting you there.”

“And what about you? I’m pretty sure I read you’re driving down after signing new contracts, or is that not what you toldVoguewhen they interviewed you last month?” I silently thankJackson’s mom for leaving her trashy magazine in Jackson’s room.

“I’ve always hated flying.”

“Me too.”

“Liar,” she sneers.

I give a defiant shrug. “I’m not flying.”

“You’re a liability.”Each word is pointed and precise. But even though she’s stubborn, Willow is a habitual people pleaser. I watch as she chews her lower lip, silently considering the predicament I’ve created, until her brows raise and her lips tip in a smirk. I’m not sure if I should be intrigued or scared about what’s going to come out of her mouth next.

“Take the private jet instead.”

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