Page 110 of Renegade Ruin

He’s right.

I consider all the things I’ve allowed myself to lose since the crash because I’ve pushed them away. My team. My family. Willow. Myself.

It’s at that moment I realize I want them back. All of them.

“How the fuck are you able to give sound advice when you lost more than I did?”

Jackson shrugs. “I’m fairly certain whatever meds they have me on are keeping reality from sinking in. When they do, I’ll probably be in the padded cell they should have kept you in. Ask me again in a few months and see if I’ve got the same answers.”

I want to believe he will, but he won’t. He’s on day one of the journey I’ve been trekking for almost six months. In that time, I’ve lost myself more times than I can count. I’ve suffered denial alone and nearly drowned in the waves of my anger until I crashed on the shores of bargaining for my team to be returned to me. I begged for life to take me instead. Moments of depression littered my days, and I’ve learned acceptance doesn’t equal healing. It’s a never-ending journey.

Jackson has the fight of his life ahead of him, but I’m vowing—here and now—to be there every step of the way. The same way Willow was for me.

“You aren’t alone,” I say, but the reminder is just as much for me as it is for him.

Jackson nods, but the way his eyes cloud over I guess the weight of everything is already starting to set in. His jaw clenches and he sighs. “I dare you to be fearless.”

“Only if you do the same.”

“Okay,” he agrees, shaking his head. “We’re absolutely pathetic.”

I laugh and slump back into the uncomfortable hospital chair.“No doubt. We’ll never speak of this again.”

Jackson gives me a tight-lipped smile, followed by a nod in agreement. He picks at the spot where his IV enters his left hand. “Thank you for taking care of Phoebe.”

“Always.”

“Now”—he pauses for dramatic effect, a hint of mischief glimmering in his eyes.—“how are you going to get your girl?”

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

WILLOW

“Wills, is it a whiskey or tequila kind of day?” Indie hollers from the kitchen, but before I can remind her I don’t need to be showing up to the stadium already sloshed, Leigh ends the call with her one-year-old son, Zach, and responds, “Whiskey makes her frisky but tequila makes her clothes fall off.”

Indie’s maniacal cackle echoes through the beach house. “That doesn’t really answer the question.”

Shaking my head, I savor the simplicity of the moment. I forgot just how much I missed these two. The last two days have been a whirlwind of getting Lana, Phoebe, and Bishop to New York, tweaking my plans for the team to better align with the board’s wishes, hammering down the interview questions for the gala, getting the house ready for Leigh and Indie, and coordinating getting Bishop back from New York this morning.

Vaughn wasn’t happy I’d approved his leave of absence for two days’ worth of games and made sure I knew he blamed me for the team's losses both days. Of course, that’s not the story he gushed to the press. Oh no. To them it was all his idea because Jackson is still a part of the Renegade family, and we support our own.

All that to say, I absolutely need this time with my best friends.

Leigh smirks at me in the mirror above my dresser as she finishes braiding her long brown hair, and I apply the finishing touches on my makeup. She makes the executive decision. “Definitely tequila. This woman needs to get laid.”

A blush creeps up my neck, and I wince as if slapped with the memories of just how many times I’ve been laid in the past few weeks. Not because I regret it in any way, but because I still haven’t told Indie and Leigh about Bishop.

My best friends are two of the most supportive people in my life, and with that comes a level of over protection that rivals the secret service. I have no doubt they will support Bishop and me—eventually—after lots of groveling on his part and maybe mine for lying to them for so long.

But I told Bishop I was all in, which means it’s time to rip off the bandaid.

I take a step back and smooth down the front of my skirt. “Actually, I am doing just fine in the dick department, thanks.”

Leigh cocks a brow and tilts her head. “Is there a dick I don’t know about?”

When I don’t immediately answer, she gasps and clutches the invisible pearls at her neck. “Indie, get in here. Willow has a dick.”

I roll my eyes and smooth down my skirt, chuckling at the sound of Indie barreling through the house. You’d never know she’s a world-renowned actress and professionally trained in ballet by the clumsy stampede running through my house.

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