Page 5 of Renegade Ruin

That doesn’t just go away. Not even when lost in the overwhelming emotions that come with loss. And I’ve never seensomeone more lost than Bishop. He’s a shell of the man he was before.

I let out a sigh and turn to my uncle who, at my behest, has helped keep tabs on our star catcher for the last few months. Some nights going so far as picking him up after he’s drunkenly started a fight at one of the many bars he frequents.

“He may be in a place where he’s forgotten who he was. But I haven’t. And I’m not about to let him throw it all away until he tells me he doesn’t want to step on that field even one more time.”

Graham's nose scrunches the same way it always does when we discuss Bishop. He hasn’t said he suspects anything more than my actions being out of concern for a player on the team, but just like I know Bishop, my uncle knows me, and I’d wager he’s not convinced.

He opens his mouth to say something but stops when George Falco, the MLB commissioner, steps up beside him. The Renegade President of Baseball Operations, Vaughn Logan joins him.

“What’s the holdup?” the commissioner asks, eyes darting between Graham and me. “Everyone is seated and ready for us to start the draft.”

Shit.

Plastering on the fake smile my mother made sure I perfected from a young age, I turn toward the two of them. “Almost. I’m just waiting for a few stragglers.”

“What she means is she’s waiting for Lawson,” Vaughn mutters, giving the commissioner a pointedI told you solook.

These two have been trying to get rid of Bishop at every turn. Something about a clean slate. Unfortunately for them, the public latched onto his story of survival and if they push him out now, there will no doubt be an outcry from our loyal fans.

The Renegades might not officially be New York's team. That honor belongs to the NYC Liberty that plays in Manhattan. We have always been theotherteam across the river. But that hasn’t stopped our fans from making us the Kings of Queens. They’ve always stood beside us with unwavering loyalty. It’s a little shaky now, as all eyes are on us, but I have faith. The problem with being the center of attention is that it means all eyes are also on Bishop, who can’t stay out of the tabloids to save his life.

I press my lips together to hold back the snarky response I’d love to deliver. It would only serve to further ostracize myself from the boys’ club that is the upper management of this league.

To say they hate me is an understatement. Even though, aside from my stipulations surrounding Bishop and Graham, I’ve followed every bit of their advice and even made concessions I know in my heart my father would hate to meet their expectations. I might be business savvy in the non-profit realm and know the game of baseball like the back of my hand due to many summers spent at the ballpark, but I don’t know the first thing about owning a team or its inner workings. I never imagined a day my father wouldn’t be at the helm. Or that it would be my responsibility if he wasn’t. Yet here we are. At the end of the day, it’s more important to me to have my father’s team and protect his legacy. Unfortunately, I need the support of the league to do that.

“Is he missing?”

“No,” I stammer before Vaughn can open his mouth. “He’s here. He just hasn’t made his way to the press room.”

I lock eyes with my assistant, Harold, and wave him over. In hushed tones, I order him to discreetly find Bishop.

He gives a worried nod before scurrying off toward the clubhouse.

Without missing a beat, Vaughn slides closer to me. His lips twist in a smirk like a kid who has just pulled one over on his parents. “Still stand by your decision to keep him?”

“Absolutely,” I confirm, nodding to the commissioner reassuringly. Although I admit, in this instance, I wish Bishop would have proven them wrong.

A smirk lifts the corner of Vaughn’s mouth as he gloats, “He’s one major fuck up away from being released.”

My jaw tightens, and I allow my gaze to fall if only to give me enough time to ensure my voice is steady. “I am well aware, but he’s the best catcher in the league.”

“If he can even still play.” Vaughn’s chuckle shakes his potbelly. “The press is reporting he’s got permanent double vision from all the alcohol he consumes.”

“He lost his entire team, Vaughn. What do you expect?”

Vaughn’s green eyes slide to the commissioner, then narrow back on me. “It’s Mr. Logan. Just because your father was my best mate doesn’t mean informalities will be used at the stadium. And to answer your question, I expect him to act like the public figure he is.”

Like a scolded child, my eyes find the floor, and it takes me a split second to remember I’m his boss. I lift my chin and smile sweetly.

“And while I agree with you,” I continue, “I believe this organization can afford Mr. Lawson a little more grace. Don’t you, Commissioner?”

Vaughn’s lips part on a gasp, but it only lasts a second before he quickly schools his features and straightens his tie. George gives a slight nod, clearly not wanting to get involved with the war brewing between Vaughn and me.

Fucking coward. Not that I have any room to talk. Given my inexperience, I usually roll over and let Vaughn make decisionsconcerning the team. It’s only where Bishop is concerned that I tend to forget the high society rules my mother ingrained in me.

Vaughn huffs and snaps defensively. “It’s not your call to make.”

“Who signs your paycheck, Vaughn?” Graham cuts in. I get the feeling he uses his given name only to see his face turn a darker shade of red. Which it does.

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