Page 151 of Renegade Ruin

“Vaughn’s heading to the clubhouse with the Commissioner,” I say, already on my way to the door.

I tear through the executive concourse and down to the clubhouse with Indie and Leigh hot on my heels. When I get there, Luca and Carson are waiting outside Graham’s office.

Luca’s eyes land on Leigh before he begrudgingly pulls them to greet me. “They’re inside already.”

Hands shaking, I wipe my sweat-covered palms against my skirt. “Here goes nothing.”

I swing open the door and find Graham, a statue behind his desk, with Commissioner Falco and Vaughn flanking him. Bishop sits in one of the plush seats in front of them, his hands fisted on his thighs.

They all swivel their heads to where I stand in the door, and my heart stutters when Bishop’s hands relax and his mouth hitches at the corner.

“What’s going on here?”I ask, flicking my gaze between them before landing a hard glare in Vaughn’s direction.

“Player business. Nothing that concerns you,” Vaughn sneers, cracking his knuckles like he’s ready for a schoolyard brawl.

Bring it, asshole.

The commissioner straightens his spine. “Vaughn insisted we get ahead of the fight in the sixth and come up with a course of action to share with the press after the game.”

“I just bet he did,” I mutter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vaughn scoffs.

“Only that you’ve been gunning for Bishop since the draft.”

Vaughn rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the upward twitch of his lips. “He should have thought of that before he punched Travers in the face.”

Bishop slams his hands on the desk and growls. “I told you what he said. I wasn’t going to let him imply our owner could suck George off to soften the blow of the scandal.”

My eyes go wide, and I whip my gaze to Bishop. “He said what?”

“Here nor there, Mr. Lawson,” the commissioner says with a sigh, like they’ve already had this discussion. “Fighting is a punishable offense in this league and needs to be dealt with. As I was saying before Ms. York joined us, the league standard is a five-game suspension and a seventy-thousand dollar fine. The same will be handed out to Mr. Whitmore for intentionally hitting Julio Travers with a pitch with the adjustment of three games and only a twenty-five thousand dollar fine.”

“Worth it,” Carson quips behind me.

Bishop out for five games and Carson for three is going to hurt the team, but at least they will be served during spring training. Both of them can afford the fines, exorbitant as they are.

Vaughn steps forward and leans against Graham’s desk, twisting toward the commissioner. “He made a mockery of ourteam before the season started and has held up that standard today. I stand by my request for Lawson to be traded.”

“What your club does with your players is between you and your staff.”

The commissioner is not wrong to stay out of it, but I had hoped he’d stand his ground and point out that teams fight all the time when tensions are high in a game. That’s not exactly grounds for trading a player away. Then again, Bishop isn’t a typical player, and this isn’t a normal situation.

Vaughn’s lips twist into a maniacal grin. “It’s funny you should mention that, George.”

He reaches into his suit pocket and produces a stack identical to the one he handed me this morning.

My brow raises, challenging his move. “Are you sure you want to do that, Vaughn?”

I shouldn’t be giving him the chance to think this through. Either way, he’s done, but I’d rather tell the commissioner about Bishop and me on my terms.

“Absolutely,” he sneers, stretching his hand out further.

Commissioner Falco takes the photos and fingers through them, a gasp falling from his lips. He looks up at Bishop and then at me. “Are these real?”

“Yes, they are,” I confirm. “Bishop and I met over a year ago at a charity function. We shared a night together then. Neither of us expected our romance to rekindle, but we found our way back to each other during spring training as we helped each other heal from the grief of the crash. I love him, and he loves me.”

“Is this true?” He turns to Bishop.

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