Page 104 of Renegade Ruin

Evanescence’s “Bring Me Back to Life” fills the space between us and it strikes me how perfect it is for Willow. Except she’s the one bringing me back to life—slowly—and I’m glad she isn’t giving up on me.

Willow leans sideways so she can pull her phone from her back pocket. She tilts it in my direction, revealing Lana’s name across the screen. “I should probably take this.”

“Tell her I said hi. I’m going to make sure my goddaughter hits a home run.”

I turn and stride toward the net, feeling a little bit taller than I did before and soaking in the moment of perfection. Willow wants me. Phoebe is here. I’m on my way to accepting this team.

Is this what moving on looks like? I sure as hell hope so because for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel hopeless.

I round the net and place my hand on top of Phoebe’s helmet. “You ready to show them how it’s done, Short Stack?”

She looks up at me and giggles. “Graham pitches too slow.”

My manager laughs from where he stands in the grass between the plate and the mound. “How was I supposed to know she’s been hitting off the machine since she was six?”

I chuckle and tell him to turn it down to half speed and let it rip.

Graham makes his way behind the shield net that will keep him safe from any line drives and lifts a ball above his head, letting us know he’s ready when we are.

I slide up behind Phoebe and crouch down, placing my hands over hers on the bat. Jackson and I have done this with Phoebe for as long as I can remember. It started when she was far too small to hold the bat up by herself, and one of us would have to help her while the other pitched. But as she got older, she still wanted our help. She claimed she hits harder with us. It’s a load of shit, considering she can easily smash a ball to the outfield on her own. But neither of us could deny this little girl. The same way neither of us would ever admit we’ll be upset the day she doesn’t need our help anymore.

“Alright, you ready?” I whisper in her ear.

She nods and sticks her tongue out of the side of her mouth, as if that’s going to help her concentrate on the ball.

I turn my head and give Graham a nod. He feeds the ball into the machine.

The ball sails towards us, and I tighten my grip around Phoebe’s hands and guide the bat around.

The crack of the wood echoes through the empty stadium, and the ball soars between third and shortstop.

“Run, Phoebe!” I yell, but she’s already taken off toward first.

Stone, who was watching from the outfield, makes a show of fielding the ball and throws it to where McCoy has taken up a position on second.

Phoebe rounds first base and is almost to second when McCoy lets the ball bounce off the tip of his glove and chases after it into right field.

“Keep going, Phoebes!” I yell. She giggles and pumps her arms faster.

McCoy gets the ball as she rounds third and looks to me at home plate. I throw my hands in the air, giving him a target.

He throws the ball, and I catch it just before Phoebe reaches the plate. It should be an easy out, but Phoebe is just as competitive as her dad and she plows right into me, knocking me on my ass. I purposely drop the ball.

“Home run!” she yells, and all around the field, my team echoes her cheer.

I stand and brush off the dirt before picking her up and spinning her in a circle.

When we stop, Willow is there. The smile on her face doesn’t radiate the way it had before as tears stream down her face.

Panic floods me, and I close the space between us in two strides. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Her words say one thing, but those tears don’t match. She reaches up and wipes her eyes. “You and Phoebe need to grab your stuff and come with me.”

“Why?” I ask, anxiety gripping spine and overtaking the joy of playing the game I love with my goddaughter. “What happened?”

“Jackson woke up.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

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