Page 72 of Renegade Ruin

Phoebe, my sweet, innocent, little flower child, looks at me like I hung the damn stars. She sees the world with rose-tinted glasses. She wants to meet the team like it’s a simple fact of life, and they aren’t the men who were chosen to replace her father.

I’m not sure if I want to feel betrayed or impressed that at nine years old, she has the emotional capacity to grieve her parents and still embrace this new team when, at thirty-four, I can’t.

She’s smarter than you, that's why.Jackson voice beams.

She is. I don’t deserve her. And yet, after the conversation, I’m more determined than ever to ensure she stays a part of my life.

I have to figure out how to get my shit together.

CHAPTER TWENTY

BISHOP

Jolene doesn’t bother getting up from her plush, oversized armchair when I enter the office and gestures for me to join her on the sofa on the opposite side of the room. For a woman so young and in a field working with mostly men, she’s got the intimidating stare down pat. Even so, the space she keeps is inviting. I have no idea if she had anything to do with creating the vibe, but I appreciate that it’s cozy with a modern and fresh flair. Instead of motivational posters or candles burning, she’s got tasteful black and white close-up photos depicting elements of the game—a ball on the foul line, the corner of a base, and a row of seats. Instead of walls lined with binders and psychology reference books, she’s got a mix of classic literature and romance novels to keep her occupied during spring training.

I wonder if Willow knows about this literary treasure trove. She and her friends would probably take Jolene under their wing and invite her into the sisterhood of the traveling smut.

Settling into the plush leather sofa, I rest my hands on my thighs, so I don’t fidget with them in my lap. I’m already on edge, and I have a hunch talking about my feelings isn’t going to help.

Jolene looks over her black-rimmed glasses and starts our session the same way she always does. “Good afternoon, Bishop. How have you been since we last met?”

“Fine, I guess.” It’s such an open-ended question. One I never know how to answer. I can’t just say,“Oh you know, still struggling and hearing my dead and unconscious teammates in my head. On the upside, I’ve started sleeping with my boss. No big deal.”

She scratches notes in her journal. Something I’ve come to hate. I know if I ask, she’ll tell me what she’s written, but that would mean diving headfirst into the inner workings of what she thinks about me and that’s not something I want any part of.

Jolene pauses her scratching and sets down her pen in the crease of the pages before glancing up. “Anything specific you want to discuss, or is it the dealer's choice?”

“Neither,” I reply honestly.

“In that case, we’ll go with my plan.”

I smile, but sarcasm drips from my voice. “Great.”

Jolene chuckles. “You say it like it’s a bad thing, but have I steered you wrong yet?”

“No, you just make the walls of my heart chafe a bit.”

“I’ll take it.” She snorts and pushes her glasses up her nose, brows furrowing as she does. “Today I’d like to talk a bit about solutions.”

I cock a quizzical brow in her direction. “Solutions imply I can be fixed.”

“You’ll never be fixed, Bishop. That’s not how grief works.” Her words echo Willow’s, and while I understand them, they’re not what I want to hear. There has to be a way to escape the waters I’m drowning in, even if I have to claw my way up the rocks to shore. I can’t live here forever. Even if, at times, it’s starting to hurt less, I don’t want to feel this at all. I have to be fixed if I’m going to be the person Phoebe needs.

I shake my head, knowing if I continue down that road, I’ll end up in one of two places as soon as this session is done. Willow’s bed or the nearest bar. One isn’t an option at the moment, and the latter would undoubtedly end with me being traded, or worse.

“There’s got to be a point,” I say with a sigh, a desperate edge to my voice. “A goal. Something to work towards.”

Jolene’s concerned expression gives way to an easy smile. “That’s exactly what I want to talk about. You’ve done great while at spring training, not turning to the unhealthy coping mechanisms you did during the off season.”

She wouldn’t be saying that if she knew about the deal with Willow. I can’t imagine fucking your boss to feel an ounce of happiness counts as healthy coping.

“It’s not like I have a lot of time to do much,” I say with a casual shrug.

“Give yourself some credit.” She leans forward in her seat and sets her notebook aside. “Youare the one who makes the choice, not anyone else.”

I only barely manage to stop myself from rolling my eyes. “So, I’ve managed to not completely fuck up since being here. What’s next?”

“I saw the game today.”Her words are as tight as the thin line of her lips, as if she’s hesitant to bring it up.

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