Page 100 of Renegade Ruin

Phoebe’s cheeks tinge pink above her infectious smile. “I missed you, so Willow said we could come down early and pick out jerseys to wear and watch batting practice.”

“I thought that might be a new jersey on you. Let me see.” I lift my hand and spin my finger around.“Give me a twirl?”

Phoebe giggles as she spins in front of me, showing off the jersey she picked with Jackson’s name and number on the back. It’s a punch to the gut to see it, but on his little girl, the sting doesn’t last quite as long.

“It’s perfect, Short Stack.”

“Thank you.”

“And who is this?” Graham asks as he joins us standing behind the net.

“This is Phoebe Roberts, Jackson’s daughter. She’s here with Willow for the game today.”

“Well hello, Phoebe,” Graham says, squatting down and offering Phoebe his hand. “I’m Graham Clarke.”

Phoebe puts her hand in his and gives it a firm shake. “Hello, Graham.”

“So do I have you to thank for finally getting my goddaughter in a jersey and out of those stuffy skirts she likes to wear?” he asks, nodding his head in Willow’s direction as he stands up.

My brows raise at seeing this softer side of Graham. He’s usually such a hard ass in the dugout that it’s almost creepy to see him engage in this playful manner with Phoebe. It’s unexpected, especially since I’m pretty sure he’s never been married or had kids.

Phoebe’s eyes go wide as she bounces from foot to foot. “Willow is your goddaughter? I’m Uncle Bishop’s goddaughter.”

“You know I wear them because it’s professional and I’m the owner.” Willow steps forward and nudges Graham with her shoulder, adding playfully, “Uncle Graham.”

“He’s your uncle too?” Disbelief colors Phoebe’s voice, her gaze darting quickly between Willow and Graham.

Willow laughs and nods. “Kinda like how Bishop is your uncle. He was my dad’s best friend.”

“Those are the best uncles,” Phoebe declares.

“I agree.”

“Me too,” Graham confirms. “Now, would you like to try giving the bat a swing, Phoebe?”

Phoebe looks to Willow and then over to me, and my heart pounds against my ribs. “Can I?”

“It’s fine with me as long as you wear a helmet,” Willow says, and Phoebe turns to me for confirmation.

I tug my hat from her head and slide it backwards on my own. “Knock it out of the park, Short Stack.”

“Eeeeek,” she shrieks, following Graham to the net before looking over her shoulder. “You’ll watch me, Uncle Bish?”

“Absolutely.” I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat that reminds me Jackson should be doing this with her, not me. “I’m just going to talk with Willow for a minute, and then I’ll come over and we’ll hit a home run together.”

Phoebe squeals again and hurriedly joins Graham, who has a helmet waiting for her. She slides it on and takes the too big bat before situating herself at the plate.

Graham heads out to the mound, grabs a few balls, and sets up halfway between so he can toss them to Phoebe.

I laugh. Jackson would love this, but Norah would be positively beaming. Phoebe was her pride and joy.

Tears burn the backs of my eyes as I silently look up at the fluffy white clouds littering a crisp blue sky and wonder if she’s watching this moment.

You know I am.She speaks in my head.Take care of my family, Bishop.

I swallow hard because it sounds like a goodbye, and somehow, I know she’s not going to be making an appearance in my head any longer.

I’m not sure what that means, especially since it’s my own fucked-up conscience at play, but there’s a peace that comes with it. Like there was at The Guardian. And once again, I’m left asking myself if this is what it feels like to move on.

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