Page 111 of Renegade Rift

“All yours.”

“Thanks.” She lowers herself into the seat, but doesn’t immediately turn to watch the game. Instead, she sticks out her hand and smiles. “I’m Willow.”

“Willow as in York?”

“One and the same.”

My face pales.

Shit. I might not know a lot about baseball, but I know who Willow York is. She’s not only Ford’s boss, but she owns the entire team.

“I—” Imposter syndrome settles deep in my gut, and I almost turn around to see where Paige is. She’d know what to say.

“Are you Etta?” Willow asks, concern furrowing her brow. “You look a little like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You know who I am?”

“Of course.” Her worry morphs into a knowing smile. “Who do you think helped Ford find you?”

My eyes widen. “You did?”

Willow nods.

I’m speechless. I knew Ford couldn’t have possibly done it alone, but I had no idea the team helped. That means they put money and resources toward finding me, and all along I was hiding in plain sight. It was one thing when I only owed Ford, but now the team too?

Guilt floods my veins. “If there’s anything I need to do to repay you, please let me know.”

“Oh, no.” Willow reaches out to put her hand on my forearm, but at the last second, she reconsiders and yanks it back to her lap. “You misunderstand me, Etta. We were happy to do it. You don’t owe us a damn thing. If anything, we should be asking how we can help because as far as I’m concerned, this organization failed to protect you, not only from Tyler, but from the debts he left behind.”

“I—I don’t know what to say?” That was the absolute last thing I expected to come out of her mouth. Based on things Ford has said, I know Willow is the kind of owner who puts the team first, but I’m not part of the team. I really never was.

“Say you’ll accept my apologies. And let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

I consider her offer and everything she’s already done. There’s no way I could ask her for anything more. But something I told Ford this morning niggles the back of my brain.

Sometimes we need to figure out who we are without those who love us telling us who we are.

Ford loves me. Maybe not romantically, but he cares about me the same way family does. And while he’s been amazing to talk to, I think maybe it’s time for me to also find someone else to talk to.

“Actually,” I tell Willow. “I’ve been thinking maybe it would be good for me to start seeing a therapist. Do you know of a good one in the city?”

“Let me see your phone.” Willow's conspiratorial grin says I’ve made the right decision.

I hand it to her, and she types in a number and saves it under Jolene. “This is the name of the Renegades therapist. We brought her on because she specializes in grief, but also, she knows the team and our situation. If you don’t want to talk with her, she’s got a couple colleagues that a few of the wives and girlfriends see regularly.”

“But I’m not. Ford and I aren’t—” Literally what can I say? A good portion of the starting lineup saw us together at game night, but I definitely don’t have the wife or girlfriend title. “I mean—it’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?”

“What do you mean?”

“See that guy down there?” Willow nods toward the field. “The one behind the plate?”

I raise a brow. “You mean the catcher?”

“That’s the one.”

“What about him?”

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