Chapter One: Bishop

It’s over.

I don’t bother looking back, exiting the courtroom with my head held high like I’ve just been released from prison and not my divorce proceedings.

“Bishop.” My ex”s shrill voice echoes off the tall ceilings of the otherwise silent courthouse lobby, but I don’t turn around.That tone would have once sent me running to her, but now it’s nothing but a reminder of all the lies and manipulation she spews.

Corrine put me through hell over the last year.

Scratch that.

The last year plus the three we were married.

I would have done anything for her to make this work. Something I’ve been told is my fatal flaw. I believe in love and desperately will hold onto it despite any and all red flags. And she threw it all away because—I don’t actually know why. I never got a straight answer as to why she decided to cheat on me with not one, but two men. Or why she falsely accused me of fathering her child after I left, leading to a very public scandal and paternity test. I’ll never understand why she sought to make me the bad guy in the press. Or why she went out of her way to postpone this court date until the Renegades were three wins away from the playoffs resulting in me missing a key game. I should be with them in St. Louis.

But it doesn’t matter now.

It’s over and I’m free.

The sun hits my face as I step through the courthouse doors onto the stark white steps. On any other day the hustle and bustle of Manhattan would overwhelm me, but today it only adds to the contentment reverberating in my chest. This city may never sleep but it’s downright magical in the morning. Everyone is starting their day. New adventures. Which is exactly what I need.

Fuck, I sound like I’m in one of those fairytales Phoebe always makes me read her. Where everything is magic and rainbows and nothing can bring the main character down. Which means something inevitably will. But not for me. Not today. Today is a win and the beginning of a new chapter.

Tugging out my phone I scroll, ignoring the numerous missed calls and messages, until I find Jackson’s number. He should just be waking up and getting ready to head to the field for batting practice before the afternoon game in St. Louis.

It rings and rings before heading to voicemail.

I double-check the time, accounting for the hour time difference. He knew I had court this morning and told me to call him as soon as it was done. Next, I try his wife, Norah. She may have started as my best friend’s wife, but over time she has become just as important. Hell, it was her idea to make me Phoebe’s godfather and they took me in after the divorce, so I’d say I’m practically family at this point.

Just like with Jackson, it rings until it ultimately goes to voicemail.

I try them both again with the same results.

When I call Tommy, my closest friend on the team outside Jackson, and get the same result that irritation begins to settle in my chest.

It’s not unlike Jackson not to answer, especially if he’s getting in the zone before the game, but Norah is attached to her phone. Especially when she’s away from Phoebe. It doesn’t matter this was supposed to be a nice getaway for her and Jackson—a last-minute trip added because she had vacation time to use and there was room on the team plane for a handful of spouses. She wouldn’t not answer.

Making my way down the steps to hail a cab, I ignore the way my irritation tries to morph into worry. I know they’ll call me back when they can, and then we can celebrate together.

“Bishop.”

My heart seizes in my chest, and I freeze.

I know that voice.

The melodic sound has teased me in my dreams since I last heard it on New Year’s, calling out my name as I pistoned my cock in her tight pussy with the hope to someday make it mine. Then again, a few months later, when we serendipitously met at a party during spring training. We promised each other it was just one night.

We were good at those.

Slowly I turn around, wondering the whole time if it”s some act of fate that she’s here on the day of my divorce. Because Willow York is the kind of woman I would absolutely like to make my end game, and if it wasn’t for that stupid promise I made to Jackson to stay single for a year I absolutely would have already.

The year isn’t up yet, but I’m not sure I can say goodbye again.

The sight of her nearly knocks the air from my chest. She’s a vision standing in the rays of the fall sun, blonde curls wild and cascading down over the flowy white blouse tucked into a formfitting skirt that should be a goddamn sin with the way it accentuates the curves any man would worship. She’s wearing heels I’d bet money she hates, but I love because they define her calves in a way that should be illegal. But my favorite—okay, close second favorite—part of the woman standing in front of me is her eyes. Bluer than the bluest sky, they are the window to her soul, never quite able to hide what she feels.

And right now, they’re filled with tears.

Fuck.

Willow crosses the space between us, her heels clicking like a ticking time bomb. When she reaches me there is zero hesitation. She hurls herself against my chest and wraps her arms around my waist.

“Whoa there, Kitten. I’m happy to see you too. Surprised, but happy.”

She tenses and pulls back. Her glistening stare meets mine openly scrutinizing what she sees, searching for something that isn’t there.

“Shit,” she whispers, and I can’t help but chuckle because I know for a fact this woman was raised to be a proper member of society and therefore rarely curses. “You don’t know.”

My brow furrows. “Know what?”

She tries to step back, but I interlace my fingers at the base of her spine and hold her in place. I’ve waited far too long to have her in my arms again to let her go now.

“I’m so sorry,” Willow says, her eyes falling to my chest, fresh tears brimming against her lower lashes.

“Sorry?”

What could she possibly have to be sorry for?

“Shit, I thought—Adrian was supposed to call you.”

My agent? I think back to the plethora of missed calls.

“Whatever it is he very well might have. I’ve had my phone on Do Not Disturb since last night. I wanted to be in the right frame of mind for court this morning. I just got out.”

“Fuck,” she breathes.

“What’s going on? You’re starting to scare me.”

“I don’t—shit I don’t know how to tell you this. I figured you already knew and wouldn’t want to be alone. Okay, that’s not true, I was worried you were on the plane, and then when I found out you weren’t I figured you wouldn’t want to be alone.” Tears flow openly down her cheeks and each one only serves to up my anxiety.

I reach up and wipe them away, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, take a breath.”

“I’m sorry. You know I ramble when I’m nervous.”

I do.

She takes a steadying breath and continues as I wrap my arms back around her. “I didn’t want to be alone. And you’re the only one who would get it. Then Adrian said you were in court, so I came here.”

“I’m here. But what happened?”

“There’s been an accident with the plane.”

Time slows and my field of vision narrows until there’s no one else but me and Willow, standing there on the steps of the courthouse.

“The—I don’t have all the details yet but—” She chokes on a sob. “They’re dead, Bishop. The team. My father. They’re all gone.”

If I thought time slowed before, it comes to a standstill as I try to process what she just said. I heard her words, but my mind refuses to believe them. It doesn’t matter that it adds up. They didn’t answer when I called. I try to reason that it wasn’t because they’re dead. They’re just busy. They’ll call back.

They have to call back.

“No,” I mutter.

My arms drop as if she burned me, and I take a step back needing the space to think.

“Bishop, I?—”

“No.” I vaguely feel my head shaking, but it’s like I’ve been plunged into the deep end of a pool—everything distorted and disorienting. “It’s not possib—they—no.”

There isn’t a world in which this is real. Planes are supposed to be safer than cars. I feel like I read that somewhere. And this wasn’t just any plane. It was the best Richard York could buy. He insisted. Nothing but the best for his team.

“No.” This time my protest is nothing more than a whisper. I would’ve known. I would have seen the news this morning. Someone would have called.

Then I remember I put my phone on Do Not Disturb. All those missed calls and messages. The notifications I ignored.

Fuck.

I yank my phone from my pocket, and through my blurred vision, somehow manage to pull up the news app.

A strangled sob rips through the air, and it takes me a moment to realize it didn’t come from Willow. It’s mine.

Tragic Plane Crash Takes the Lives of New York Renegades

Tommy.

Jackson.

Norah.

Fuck.

Phoebe.

“I—I have to go,” I mutter, stumbling toward the curb. There’s only one thought on my mind. One thing spurring me forward and that’s my goddaughter.

“Bishop”—Willow steps in front of me, her eyes a watery mix of pity and profound agony—“please let me help. I’ve got a driver. We can take you.”

This woman. I don’t deserve her. Through the haze of agonizing pain, it occurs to me she lost her father, her only remaining parent, and her first thought was to come here and make sure I was okay. She came to me so neither of us was alone.

“I need to—shit.” I nod and take a step to follow her, only barely keeping my knees from crumbling. “I need to get to Phoebe. Her parents?—”

Fuck I can’t say it out loud. That makes it real. And I’m not ready for that. Yet I know it is.

Willow nods and wraps her hand around my bicep, leading the way. Which I’m grateful for considering I’m seconds away from my knees buckling and losing it right here on the steps of the courthouse.

Today was supposed to be a happy day.

We’re six feet from the black sedan when a short man with horn-rimmed glasses comes out of nowhere, blocks our path, and shoves a small handheld microphone between us.

“Do you have any comment on the future of the Renegades?”

My gaze darts down to the lanyard around his neck that reads news something or other.

How the fuck?

I clench my fists at my side, and if it wasn’t for Willow’s steady grip, I have no doubt one of them would have already connected with his face.

“We don’t know anything. I’ll refer you to the Renegade’s press office.”

Glancing over at Willow, I nearly stumble back at the sight of the mask that envelopes Willow’s face.

Despite her tearstained cheeks, she remains calm and collected in the face of this asshole reporter. I hate it and everything it represents. It’s a stark reminder of exactly who she was raised to be and who she never wanted to become.

“But as the new owner?—”

“The what?” I interject, confusion furrowing my brow.

The gangly reporter looks between us, realization dawning on his features.

“You didn’t know?” he asks, his lips twitching into a small grin like he’s just happened upon the golden ticket for his story. “The Foul Line just reported Ms. York has been named the owner of the Renegades in accordance with instructions left by her father with the commissioner.”

My head whips to Willow, whose mouth hangs open, clearly hearing this news for the first time.

Her hand drops from my arm, taking with it the warmth of her presence. It’s a line in the sand she doesn’t even know she’s drawing. The shift is subtle, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. Willow steps in front of me, embracing the role thrust upon her in the last sixty seconds like she’s born to do it.

Willow is the new owner of the Renegades.

It’s at that moment the final piece of my heart shatters.

She’s my boss.

Autopilot takes over and I turn, lifting my hand to hail a cab. God must take pity on me because one appears instantly and I slide in, ignoring the way she calls my name.

I can’t look back, but I don’t especially feel like looking forward either.

This was supposed to be a new chapter, not a nightmare.

The cab pulls away from the curb, and I only just get out Norah and Jackson’s address before I’m reduced to heaving sobs.

This was supposed to be our time.

Jackson and Norah, trying for a second child.

Tommy’s first pennant run.

Willow.