“Yeah, a knuckle sandwich.” Carson snorts.
It’s good to hear his sense of humor is firmly back in place. I was worried I’d lost him to his thoughts out there and was going to have to drag him back like he did me.
Graham rolls his eyes. “Enough. I saw the fight on the live feed. Why’d you do it?”
“He was a dick to Carson. Then implied Willow could suck the commissioner off to get us out of the scandal.”
“Should have punched him twice.” Graham grunts at the same time Carson exhales, “Fuck him.”
I huff a laugh. “Renegades protect what’s ours.”
“Damn straight,” Carson adds, offering me his knuckles.
I pound mine against his, and wince when I realize it’s the hand I punched Travers with.
Whatever. The pain was worth it.
Graham shakes his head. “Hit the showers. Press is gonna be a shit show, and I expect the two of you to play nice.”
“Yes, sir,” we say in unison.
I retreat to my locker and begin peeling off my gear when I catch Carson still standing beside me.
“You know Vaughn’s going to use this as grounds to trade you.”
His words are a sucker punch to the gut. Despite the terrible calls and over the line chirping during the game, I’ve been allowing myself to live in the calm before the storm—the high of not only my team accepting Willow and me but also finally allowing myself to accept this team as mine without letting go of those that came before them.
My work here is done, young Padawan,Tommy quips like a goddamn force ghost.
The hits just keep on coming.
Not yet,I silently plead.I can’t lose you while there’s still a risk of losing this team and Willow.
I’m not gone,he says.We’ll always be on that field with you. And you aren’t going to lose her, jackass. You’re going to fight for her like she’s always deserved. The team too. Renegades and all.
He’s right.
I lift my head and turn to Carson. “Vaughn can fucking try.”
I’ve got my team. I’ve got my girl. And there’s no way in hell I’m going to let either of them go. But it is time to let Tommy and the rest of my former teammates off the hook. They deserve the same peace I do.
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
WILLOW
Indie and Leigh block my path from exiting the suite. This isn’t how I imagined spending birthdaypalooza with them. Sure, baseball was always on the agenda, but the anxiety of possibly losing my team was not.
“Move,” I growl.
“No.” Indie plants her hands on her hips, broadening her stance so I can’t pass through the glass doorway behind her. “What part of keeping your nose clean didn’t you understand? If you go rushing down to the clubhouse right now and someone sees you, the press will have a fucking field day. Especially after the news of you and Bishop releases.”
“They’re my team,” I counter.
“Let me ask you this,” Leigh interjects, always the voice of reason. “Are you doing down there for the team or for Bishop?”
“You didn’t go running down there when Graham was thrown out of the game,” Indie adds, softer this time as she reads the agony twisted on my face.
They’re right, but Bishop is the other half of my heart. I need to make sure he’s okay.