Page 34 of Renegade Rift

If she was anyone else, I wouldn’t care.

I shouldn’t care.

It’s her prerogative to do what she wants.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself. But the problem is, she’s not anyone else. She’s Juliet.

“You gonna finish that squat?”

Legs shaking, I glance up and see Bishop standing beside me with a furrowed brow. It’s the almost constipated look he gets when he’s about to try his best to be captainly and chat with one of us about how we’re doing. He has no idea we’ve coined the look, but I’m not going to be the one to tell him.

I press the plate up and lock it into place.

“How’s everything going?”

I almost snort at how right my observation is. Instead, I lift a brow, unable to pass up a moment to fuck with him. “Is thisyouasking or your girlfriend?”

Bishop huffs, but it’s the equivalent of an eye roll. “Why is it you guys think I tell Willow everything?”

“Pretty sure it was you who told me you don’t keep secrets from her.”

“Well shit. I did say that.” He runs a hand through his hair and tugs at the back. Another one of his telltale signs of discomfort. “But this is all me.”

“It’s going.” I roll out of the leg press and gesture for him to take my place. He does and I grab my water bottle. “I hate that I’m not on that field tonight.”

Every second Bishop leaves me hanging without telling me it will be okay, my guilt festers. It’s my damn fault I’m not playing. I know better than to get into fights. Not only in season but in general. I’m the one who let the team down.

Finally, he puts me out of my misery, though not with any kind of reassurance. “You going to tell me what happened?”

“I fell.” Okay, so maybe I’m not ready to trust the team with Juliet.

Bishop grunts into his next extension. “Into someone’s face?”

“There might have been a jaw on the way down.”

He crosses his arms over his chest between reps, brows furrowed. “Is there any chance he’s going to press charges.”

I shake my head. “No.”

Bishop pushes through his last press and his voice drops to a deadly octave. “Was it for Etta?”

The inside of my cheek nearly bleeds from where my teeth latch down. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t know how much Juliet wants the team to know. And I’ve already told them a lot more than I should have.

“I plead the fifth.”

Bishop nods, judgement thick in his tone. “Good.”

My stomach rolls, a mix of fear and confusion rushing through me. “Is this some kind of trick where you commend me, then try and get me to tell you more?”

“Nah. This is one of those we protect what’s ours things.” He echoes his words from spring training. The same words his girlfriend told me last week. Really, we should get them painted on the wall of the clubhouse at this point because they are slowly becoming the anthem of this team.

Bishop rolls out of the press and crosses the small aisle to the bench press. He jerks his head in a silent request for me to spot him.

It’s not that I don’t want to continue this awkward inquisition, but I was hoping to reach out to a few of my past teammates for Mercer’s recommendations.

But when the captain calls, you answer.

It’s between Bishop’s seventh and eighth rep that a thought hits me. After Juliet’s visit, I’ve never been more certain that there are holes in her story. And as much as I want to ask her directly, it’s hit and miss on what information she’ll give me. Not that I can blame her. She has no reason to trust me.

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