Page 21 of Renegade Ruin

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath at the same time as Bishop sucks in a breath.

The plane dips and jostles to the side. My chest tightens, each breath a struggle as I attempt to quickly shove my laptop back in its bag, so it doesn’t end up on the floor.

“Do you think they knew?” His voice is somber, barely a whisper above the roar of the engines.

I whip my gaze in his direction, simultaneously processing both his question and the horror etched on his face.

“What?”

“Do you think they knew that they were going to die?”

What kind of question is that? I thought I was losing it, but if this is what keeps him up at night, he’s worse off than I thought. Bishop carries the weight of their souls on his back in a way I could’ve never have imagined.

“They didn’t,” I reassure him. “It was instant. Those that survived said one minute they were fine, the next they…”

Bishop winces but that doesn’t worry me as much as the way he gasps for air.

He doesn’t meet my gaze, but I can read the terror in his vacant eyes.

“Bishop?” I ask, but I know he’s not hearing me. He’s likely gone to the same place he went in the locker room. A place I’ve known many times in my life. First after my mom died. Then again, the moment I slid into the car after leaving the courthouse. It’s a place where time and space cease to exist, and you’re left with only the crippling presence of your twisted fears.

The seatbelt across my lap makes it hard, but I manage to twist myself enough that I can take his face in my hands and force him to look at me. “Bishop, breathe.”

“Willow, they…they’re gone…I should have…if I was only…”

“Bishop, there’s nothing you could have done. Even if you were there.”

“They’re my team…mine.”

“I know.”

“I need them.”

I’m not sure if he’s talking about the team we lost or the team we gained, but if I had to guess, it’s the former.

“You need to breathe, Bishop.”

“I can’t…I don’t want to.”

My heart aches for him as he shakes his head against my grip. I drop my hands to the sides of his neck, thumbs tracing the stubble on his jaw.

With each jerk of the plane, alarms sound in my mind, but I push them aside, focusing instead on the places our skin connects.

“Do it with me,” I plead.“In for one, out for two.”

“No.” He swats my hands down, his eyes dark and distant. “How are you so fucking calm?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he sneers. “Little miss perfect. Do you even care if they're gone?”

And we’re back to anger.

I chew my lower lip almost to the point of drawing blood, to stop myself from letting my anger get the best of me. “Of course I care.”

“Then why? Why are you letting them use them? How can you just sit by and let them manipulate this team into a cash grab?”

“The same way you keep running from it,” I snap.

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