Page 107 of Renegade Ruin

Jackson lets out a hollow chuckle. “So, what’s her name?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Phoebe shifts side to side, biting her lip like she’ll burst if she doesn’t say her name.

“Don’t you dare.”

“It’s Willow,” she blurts out.

Jackson’s eyes go wide. “As in York?”

I never stood a chance at keeping this secret. I can only hope she didn’t tell the entire team when my back was turned.

“Yup!” Phoebe pops the p at the end and beams up at her dad. “She’s the best too. She got me a new jersey with your name on it, since mine from last year doesn’t fit anymore.”

“That was really nice of her.”

Phoebe nods and twists so she can look up at her dad without craning her neck. “She also lets all the kids from the crash come to Renegade Hearts whenever we want, so we can play together.”

Jackson’s brow furrows, and he immediately looks out the window. I recognize it as the need to hide from his daughter the burning desire to shut down. Phoebe doesn’t know any better. She’s excited to share any and all aspects of her life with Jackson. The problem is every aspect of who we are now is intertwined with the crash.

There’s no escaping it. Something I have learned all too well over the last five months. I wish I could spare Jackson the painful lesson.

When Jackson doesn’t snap out of his daze, I offer him a reprieve. “Hey Short Stack, why don’t you go ask Greta if we can have three of her famous hot chocolates?”

That does the trick. Jackson snaps his dagger-like gaze on me and then softens when he looks down at Phoebe. “I don’t think that’s a?—”

“It’s right outside the door,” I insist, giving him a pointed look. “I think we could all do with a pick me up.”

“Yes!” Phoebe exclaims. “You have to try it, Dad. It’s reeeeally good.”

“She’ll be gone ten minutes tops,” I reassure.

“I—” Jackson chews the inside of his lip, and I can see just how much he wants to say no. That is until he looks down at Phoebe’s wide-eyedpleaseface and he melts to her will. “Fine. Ten minutes tops.”

Phoebe hops off the bed, and we watch as she scurries out the door.

She’s not gone two seconds when Jackson asks, “So, Willow York?”

It’s not lost on me that he’s changing the subject, so he can avoid talking about everything that’s happened.

I pick up the pen on the small table beside my chair and twirl it through my fingers. “It’s nothing.”

“You made it a year,” Jackson states, but I can hear the hint of a question behind it.

He’s the reason Willow and I didn’t start anything after New Year’s. I promised him I wouldn’t date anyone seriously for at least a year. Technically, I kept my word.

“I fucked her at that party at her father’s beach house during spring training last year.”

He hit me with an unimpressed eye roll. “I know.”

I stop twirling the pen and focus on him. “You did?”

“Of course,” he huffs, smoothing out the blanket in the spot where Phoebe just vacated. “You’re a shit liar.”

“But you didn’t say anything.”

Jackson shrugs. “We agreed one year no dating. You weren’t dating her.”

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