Page 7 of Renegade Ruin

BISHOP

I had every intention of staying in line. Showing up. Doing the press conference. Playing the part and building a team for Jackson to come back to if he wakes up.

When he wakes up,I correct myself.

Seven people survived the tragic plane crash. Jackson was one of them. But in keeping him, I still lost Norah. Tommy. My team. The rest of the survivors were flight attendants and team trainers. While their lives are important, the only one I care about is the man lying in a coma fighting to come back.

Out of habit, my feet carried me to the clubhouse, forcing me to come face-to-face with the reality of exactly what today meant.

I should’ve known I couldn’t fake my way through this.

I’ve never been good at masking my emotions.

The splintered wood surrounding me is an indication of that.

It might be my first time back in the clubhouse since the crash, but nothing has changed. The same tables Jackson and I played cards at during every rain delay still lined the edges of the massive black and orange rug. The same couches sat in the center where I spent hours chatting with Tommy, not only about baseball, but about life.

But those aren’t what set me off. It was the visual of all the empty lockers, with every name tape removed, ready to be replaced with a new name after the draft.

All except mine.

Set in the center of the left wall was my locker, nestled between where Tommy and Jackson should be, still filled with my uniforms and gear from last season.

A slap in the fucking face.

But the universe wasn’t done reminding me of all I’d lost.

My eyes dropped to the swivel chair I sat in so many times, and I lost it. Sitting there was a small stuffed Stoney, our gargoyle team mascot. Tied to him was a deflated mylar balloon that read “Congrats” in bright orange letters and added beneath it, scrawled in Jackson’s chicken scratch, was “on your divorce.”

My best friend and teammates had wanted me to know I wasn’t alone. I might not have been with them that night, but they went above and beyond to make sure I’d have a smile on my face during the end of my shit show of a marriage.

They had no way ofknowing it was the last thing they’d ever do for me.

Shame and rage gripped my spine, and I blacked out. Even now, I can only make out flashes of what happened.

Tearing the uniforms from their hangars.

They’re supposed to be here.

The crack of my bat against wood and glass.

I can’t replace them.

Her hand on my bicep.

She shouldn’t be here.

Her voice whispering my name.

Her begging me to come back to her—her strangled voice like a lighthouse to a sailor, a promise of safety. But it’s only an illusion. I’m nowhere near land in the rough waters of my mind.

She’s just like them. Playing their stupid fucking game.

My fingers around her throat.

They only want money.

Her fists pounding against my chest.

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