Page 9 of Renegade Ruin

Fuck. Nothing about her or this moment should turn me on, but old habits die hard and I shift uncomfortably, willing my dick not to take notice.

Her hand finds her hip, accentuating her waist as I finally drag my eyes back to her piercing blue gaze. “You are. This team needs you.”

This team.

I can’t believe the fucking audacity of this woman. This isn’t my team. It will never be my team, no matter who they sign. They will always be the replacements. The men who fell into this organization because of a tragedy.

Crossing my arms over my chest, my lips twist into an amused sneer. “And if I don’t want to be a part of the dog and pony show?”

Willow doubles down. “Are you saying you’re walking away? We both know that’s not what you want. You love this game.”

I do, but I’m not ready for this conversation. Especially not with her.

“Did they send you in here to manipulate me?” My voice is low, threatening.

It’s the only thing that makes sense. Use my history with her to get me to do their bidding. Nothing else they’ve done has worked.

Willow sighs. “No, Bishop. They don’t know about us, and I plan to keep it that way.”

“Agreed. It was a mistake.”

Willow swallows hard, and I swear her blue eyes go soft for a split second before her mask slides back into place, and she nods.

I chew the inside of my cheek, the flesh raw from the number of times I’ve needed to steady myself this morning.

How the hell is she so damn put together all the time?

“Good,” I growl, ignoring the dagger to my heart. I don’t want to be here with her. I don’t want to think about her. She needs to stay in my past where I can remember who she used to be.

“Great.” She clasps her hands in front of her and straightens her posture. “Now that we understand each other, can you please clean yourself up and get upstairs?”

I shake my head and lean down to grab the plush gargoyle at my feet—the last remaining bit of my team that I have—and head for the door. “The answer is still no. I’ll let you figure out what story you want to spin to the press. You’re an expert these days, after all.”

“I dare you.”

My eyes widen before they narrow into thin slits.

Those three words haunt me for so many reasons, but hearing them from her mouth—full of determination and spite—and the way she believes they will somehow convince me, it’s both laughable and excruciating. They are the words Jacksonand I taunted each other with for nearly a decade, always urging each other to be better under the guise of a competition. They are a reminder that someone believes in you. A challenge to believe in yourself.

They are the same words I used to inspire her just over a year ago.

A barked laugh bubbles from my throat, and I shake my head.

The joke is on her. There are a lot of things I will do for Jackson, but when it comes to Willow, my will to give a shit is gone. Or at least that’s what I’ll have her believe. Mostly because I’m teetering on the line of not knowing what the hell I’m supposed to do.

“So much for not using our past against me.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to rebuild this team into something my father would be proud of.”

“Still playing their game, I see.” It’s a low blow, but I don’t care. She went for the knees first, and I’m not above calling it how I see it. It’s about her father and the organization, not about the team. Not about me.

“What would you have me do, Bishop? Disband the organization? Fire the thousands of staff counting on us to reopen the stadium? Let the fans down that are counting on us to bring baseball back to Queens?”

My heart sinks as shame washes over me and I’m seconds away from walking out, finding the nearest bar, and drinking until I can’t remember this interaction.

What’s worse is that she's right. I hate that she’s fucking right. This isn’t just about me, but it fucking feels like it is. I’m the one on that field, not them. I’m the caged monkey in this shit show circus. I’m the one forced to play this game. A game that once consumed my soul and they expect me to do it without a hint of the spark that was once there.

Maybe the media is right. Maybe I need to retire. They haven’t come right out and said it, but I'm not an idiot. It would be easier for everyone if I walked away. The fans would hate me, but it would give the team a fresh start.

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