Page 108 of Renegade Ruin

“I’m not dating her now.”

“Why not?” Curiosity brims in his eyes. “You two were good together, from what I remember.”

It’s my turn to look out the window in avoidance. We were good together. Maybe we still are. But I hold on to the fact we can’t be. “She’s the owner of the Renegades.”

“Yes, but is she your aisle seat like you thought?”

I roll my eyes and toss my hands up before letting them fall back into my lap. “Fuck, not this shit again.”

Norah had a crazy theory that the person you’re meant to be with will want the aisle seat to your window seat—or in my case, vice versa. She and Jackson loved to remind me how none of the women I’ve previously dated would be willing to give up theaisle seat for my large frame. Which always left me crammed up against the window because I was nothing if not a gentleman.

Not Willow, though. I think back to the flight down to Fort Myer and how she curled herself up against the window while reading her plans. It might not have been for me, but I get the feeling she’d be more than content with letting me take the aisle. Even better, she’d be happier in my lap sharing the damn seat with me. I would be too.

Shaking my head, I stare at the ground, knowing damn well there’s no conviction in my voice when I declare, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Because she’s your boss.”

I snap my head up and look him square in the eyes. “Our boss.”

My stomach drops out of my ass when Jackson sprints right past my clarification without acknowledging his tie to the team. “The Bishop I knew wouldn’t have cared if she was the President of the United States. He’d move mountains to be with a woman he loved.”

I put a pin in my need to confirm he’s still a part of our team and address his statement. “Red flags hold a little more weight now.”

He inclines his head. “Why’s that?”

My hands itch for a distraction. Anything to remove myself from this conversation. It’s one thing to be self-aware of the man I’ve become. It’s another thing entirely to admit it to my best friend. Before this moment, I could be anyone. I don’t want to be broken Bishop who had to crawl back from damn near rock bottom. I want to be a rock Jackson can lean on, because God knows he’s going to need it.

But you couldn’t be that without drowning first.

Fuck you, Tommy.

I chew my lower lip before releasing a heavy sigh. “Because the crash fucked me up, okay? I’m not the same guy you remember. I lost everyone in one night. I went to sleep thinking we were one series away from the postseason only to wake up, get divorced, and find out the price of said divorce was losing my entire team.”

Jackson’s jaw ticks and fire dances in his eyes, though I’m not sure if it’s fueled by anger or desperation. “But I’m still here.”

“Now you are.” I scoff, silently cursing myself for getting defensive. “But until today, you were nothing but a body in a bed and a snarky piece of shit voice inside my head that I couldn't imagine living without.”

“What?”

“My fucked-up psyche turned you and Tommy into my voices of reason.” I swallow hard so I don’t mention Norah also was a part of their trifecta.

His eyes flick to the window and back. “And what did I say?”

“Mostly, you lobbied for me to get my head out of my ass.”

“Checks out. You tend to get it stuck there often.”

I laugh for the first time since entering his room and feel hope spark in my chest. “Fuck, I’m so happy you woke up.”

Jackson hesitates for a beat too long before offering a half-hearted. “Me too.”

Silence washes over us, and immediately Jackson’s hands begin to intertwine nervously in his lap.

And just like that, guilt douses that small incineration. Looking at him is like looking at myself in a mirror five months ago. The silence weighs on him. Even a split second leaves space for thoughts to break free from the cages we locked them in. It’s why I found myself in a pub most nights before Willow took that avenue away from me.

Just like I took away the crutch Jackson was using by sending Phoebe away.

“Truth or dare,” I say, throwing him a lifeline.

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