Page 42 of Renegade Ruin

Opening day is right around the corner, and as much as I feel like I’m on the verge of needing to walk away, it’s not something I’m willing to do without putting up a fight. I owe it to myself. I owe it to Phoebe. I owe it to my team.

Dead and alive.

I’m not naïve enough to believe this is a long-term solution. Someday I’ll have to face my demons. But today isn’t that day.

At least this time when I fuck up, I’m going to enjoy every minute of going down in flames.

Now, I need to see a woman about a plan.

CHAPTER TWELVE

WILLOW

“What do you mean he didn’t speak to the team therapist?” I snap, as I try to focus on not poking my eye with my mascara wand.

Graham mutters a curse I can barely make through the speakerphone. “I mean, I told him to show up to the appointment or ride the bench. He then proceeded to show up, but he didn’t say a damn word to her for the entire hour.”

Freaking Bishop. I’m not sure if I want to be impressed with his malicious compliance or throw my phone at his head.

I really thought we’d turned a corner in the last week. While I’ve witnessed firsthand the distance he keeps between him and any of the other guys on the team, at least he wasn’t showing up drunk or getting into trouble at the hotel.

We should be celebrating the baby steps but the league, or should I say Vaughn, waits for no one and not taking his therapy session seriously is absolutely something they would use against Bishop as grounds to trade him.

“I’ll talk to him,” I muse as I put the finishing touches on my face and run my fingers through the blonde curls I spent the last hour perfecting.

I don’t know why I’m trying so hard. It’s not like I expect this date to go anywhere. It was a mistake made in a moment of manic bravery when Indie asked me if I wanted her to add me to an elite dating app for celebrities. I’m not foolish enough to believe I’m anyone important, but the NDAs and privacy put my mind at ease, and I was feeling particularly alone that night.

Plus, it’s time I get back on the horse. I might not be ready to let go of Bishop completely, but that doesn’t mean I need to spend my nights alone with copious amounts of popcorn and reading about the love I wish I could find. Not to mention I could use the distraction. Especially after the five rounds I went with the board today, trying to get them to reconsider partnering with the league for the gala.

“Are you sure? You don’t need to get involved.” My uncle tries to reassure me, but he’s wrong. I do.

Bishop doesn’t trust anyone, least of all me, but we have a history. We might have only shared a few nights, but those evenings were filled with talk of nothing and everything between the rounds of downright filthy sex. He gave me a part of him that he gives to no one else. Just like he did a week ago. He’ll hate every minute of my meddling, but my gut is telling me if there’s anyone he’ll listen to, it’s me. I’m just sorry it took me months to realize it. Maybe if I had tried harder sooner, we wouldn’t be here.

I just need to reiterate we’re talking as owner and player and nothing more.

“I’ll get through to him,” I vow, smoothing down the hem of my beaded designer dress and picking my phone from the bathroom counter. “I’ll be at the stadium tomorrow to welcome the rest of the team. Send him up to my office after morning work.”

The doorbell echoes through the house loud enough that I can hear it from my bedroom in the back.

“You have company?” Graham asks, but the curiosity in his voice lets me know it’s my uncle asking, not my field manager.

My eyes dart around the room, looking for the torture devices, also known as heels, that match the purple beading of my dress. “I’m going on a date tonight.”

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.” His tone makes my heart stutter. It’s the same one my father used to take with me when I would conveniently leave out details about my life he thought he deserved to know. He’d furrow his brow and give me a stern yet sing songy, “Willow Mae.” And I’d melt and tell him everything. Because where my mother never learned to value my presence as more than a weapon to control, my father eventually took the time to care. He put in the work.

Tears burn the corners of my eyes. God, I miss him.

Slipping down to the mattress of my bed, I slide my feet into the heels and make quick work of the buckles, and I shake my head like both Graham and my father can see me rolling my eyes. “I’m not seeing anyone. It’s a first date.”

“On Valentine’s Day?” Graham scoffs. “Ballsy of him.”

My mouth drops open. I hadn’t even realized that was today. My mind has been so wrapped up in plans for both the team and Renegade Hearts that I didn’t make the connection. However, Shepherd’s comment on the field about needing to send flowers to his wife makes a hell of a lot more sense now.

I roll my eyes. “It’s just a day.”

“Alright but let me know that you made it home safe.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Graham,” I sass playfully to cover the way my lip trembles at the way he cares.

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