Page 78 of Renegade Ruin

“No. Don’t finish that statement,” I snap, unable to stand him berating himself any further. I tear my eyes open and force every ounce of unrequited love into my stare. “You’re done believing you’re broken or somehow less than what you should be. You told me to take care of what’s yours, Bishop. Well, I expect the same.”

His eyes darken and narrow, and when he opens his mouth—likely to contradict me—I roll myself on top of him and straddle him, shocking him into silence.

“You’re mine.” The words pull at my heart, but despite the way it twists, I pour every promise and vow into them. “Right here, at this moment, you are mine. Mine to encourage. Mine to comfort. Mine to fuck.” My eyes flicker to the door and back. “Outside these four walls, we live in a world where we’ve been dealt a shit hand. But here you don’t get to continue to berate yourself. You can doubt me. You can even hate me, but you are done tearing apart what’s mine. You asked me to help you learn to live, but you need to give yourself that chance. You are more than what the world says. I see it every time I look at you, and I am done watching you find every reason to believe them. You don’t get to let them win. You are destined to live.”

My lip wants to tremble, but I fight against the collapse of my heart as he continues to silently stare up at me like I have all the answers.

Fuck, I wish I did, but I’m just as lost as he is on a good day. This has become too much. I’m in too deep, but there’s no way in hell I’m turning back now.

His lips tip into a curious smile, and for a second, I think I’ve lost him. “Kitten, you can’t say shit like that to me while you’re naked and straddling me and expect me to take you seriously.”

I roll my eyes and frustration thrums through me. We both know what he’s doing. He’s using our distraction to put his walls back up.Well, tough shit. I’m not letting him shut me out.

He reaches for my hips, but I’m quick to slip from his grasp and slide from the bed. Padding across the hotel room, I grab the two robes from the closet and throw one at him before covering myself with the other.

Bishop shifts unto his elbow and grunts, giving me an “are you serious” glare, followed by a devious grin. “I didn’t mean for you to cover up. I like the sight of you on top of me.”

“I like being on top of you,” I point out as I tie the sash in a knot at my waist, “but we’re not done talking.”

“Fine.” His nostrils flare slightly at my words. His glare turns icy as he stands and wraps the robe around himself. Not that it does much to hide his six-four frame. It’s tight across his chest, and what comes to my knees barely hits him mid-thigh, leaving his delicious tattoos visible. Each one is a beautiful, and sometimes haunting, representation of the story of his life. A story so few get to see because he’s always in uniform or pants during the cold New York months. They are Bishop wearing his heart on his sleeve, or leg rather.

He slides back onto the bed and rests his back against the headboard, crossing his legs in front of him.

He knows damn well I’m a sucker for those catcher thighs.

Bishop lifts his arm in my direction. “Will you at least come back and join me? If we have to talk about uncomfortable shit, I’d at least like to have my hands on you.”

I should say no. I should put as much space between us as possible and give my heart time to fortify its walls, but the damn thing flutters and I’m helpless to do anything but nod.

His attention is glued to me as I round the corner of the bed. He lifts his arm to make room, and I slide in beside him. He leans forward and slides his arm under my knees, lifting my legs over his. “Better,” he says, and I exhale a humorless chuckle.

His palm slides under the fabric of my robe and finds my thigh, fingers digging into the soft and supple flesh just high enough to send shivers through me, but not enough that I can’t think.

I cover his hand with mine to halt his movement and look up to see his brows find each other, creasing his forehead.

“You say I’m destined to live, but how do I do that?”

My fingers intertwine with his, and I lift his hand and press a kiss into his palm. “You make this your team.”

Bishop looks at me like I’m an idiot and didn’t hear anything he said before. But I did. I know he’s struggling to put the piecestogether, but I have a plan. One that takes him away from me—and gives him the connections he needs.

“Take them to the Guardian,”I say matter-of-factly.

“The bar?” he asks with a raised brow. “You do know I’m here with you, so I won’t get drunk, right?”

“I do.” I chuckle. “Drinking isn’t exactly what I had in mind. Though, I happen to know Lou makes a mean Shirley Temple.”

Bishop rolls his eyes and pinches my thigh, to which I let out a sound that is somewhere between a giggle and a squeak.

“How do you even know about The Guardian? It’s supposed to be a team secret.”

“And I am the owner,” I point out.

“Your dad?”

I nod. “There might have been a few stories that were shared about the coveted team bar that probably should have been saved for when tiny ears weren’t around.”

The Guardian was indeed the best kept secret of the Renegades. I’d heard the stories of the spring training parties at the tiny hole-in-the-wall bar that raged into the early hours of the morning and resulted in more than a few games being forfeited in the name of hangovers over the years. It was a safe haven away from the prying eyes of fans and the media. A place for the team to let loose and bond. A place I knew for a fact Bishop had not shared with the team given that the owner, Lou, called me asking if I knew why the team hadn’t been in yet.

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