Chapter Twenty Nine: Bishop

When I turn to talk to Willow, she’s already walking away. Craning my neck, I watch as she heads toward the brick wall separating the field from the stands behind home plate.

That’s when I see it.

My breath catches.

L-A-W-S-O-N stitched in orange and lined up perfectly between her shoulder blades above the number sixty-eight.

My breath catches in my throat, and I struggle to keep it together. It’s the number I adopted this year in memory of the sixty-eight souls lost in the crash.It won’t be released as my official jersey until opening day.

No one has worn that number paired with my last name except me.Not my family. Not any previous girlfriends. Not my ex-wife. Only Willow. And damn if she doesn’t look good wearing me.

Every possessive bone in my body flares as I swallow the space between us, vaguely aware McCoy is still watching from a few feet away. I should care that the field is littered with my teammates and coaches, but it’s the last thing on my mind. Right now, I only see Willow wearing my name. Mine. And the only thing I want to do is claim what’s mine.

Willow reaches the wall seconds before me, and when she turns around,she chokes out a gasp at my proximity. Her eyes dart side to side, cautious of those around us, before she tips her head back and meets my narrowed gaze.

“Bishop.” Her voice is breathy and little more than a murmur. It’s a statement laced in a question—a plea to follow our rules.

“You’re lucky we’re on this field, Kitten, and that Phoebe is here.” My voice is gravely and barely a whisper. “Because if we weren’t, you’d already be bent over, taking my cock in that pretty little cunt of yours while I relish at the sight my name across your back.”

Her eyes go wide and pink colors her cheeks. “You want to?—”

“God yes, Willow,” I growl. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

“I figured you’d be pissed off I was wearing your jersey after what happened yesterday,” she stammers. “But Phoebe felt bad wearing her dad’s number when she was here to see you, so she had this idea that I should wear your jersey, so you didn’t feel left out.”

“Willow,” I say, smiling, but it doesn’t halt her nervous ramble. An adorable trait I hope she never loses. But at the moment, I need her to hear what I have to say.

“And I don’t know if you’ve ever tried saying no to her, but it’s damn near impossible. And I really am sorry for agreeing to the interview for you. I just?—”

“Willow, I’m going to need you to stop rambling, or I’ll have to stop you and you won’t approve of my methods.” My gaze falls to her painted red lips, and I watch as she puts meaning to my words.

“Oh,” she mutters. “Um, yeah, that probably wouldn’t be a good idea here.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” I should take a step back. There’s no reason for me to be crowding her like this, but before I do, I want to make sure she feels the weight of my words and lets them sink in. “I’m not mad about the jersey.”

“Really?” she breathes, her chest brushing against me.

“No,” I reassure her.“And I plan to show you just how not mad I am later, but we’ve got a few things to clear up between us first.”

She presses her lips together, and her eyes drop to the floor beside us. “Yeah. We do.”

As much as it pains me to disengage, I slide to the side and turn, leaning against the brick wall. Willow joins me, close enough that we can talk and not have to worry about anyone overhearing us, but not as close as I’d like. My only saving grace is the space between us where our hands grip the wall is small enough that, if I wanted to, I could reach out and lace my pinky finger with hers.

We stand there in silence, eyes forward, watching Graham walk Phoebe through the mechanics of swinging like her father wasn’t a pro player himself. Phoebe knew how to swing a bat before she could walk, but she patiently lets the old guy walk her through setting her feet at the plate and the art of a perfect follow through.

McCoy trots over to help along with Stone and Winters, and I can’t help but smile. Phoebe already has this team wrapped around her little finger. Just like she did before. Now all we need is her dad to wake the fuck up and join us.

I swear I hear Jackson whisper I’m trying, but I write it off as my mind hoping he’s going to wake up.

My palms sweat and I’m suddenly nervous to have this conversation. It’s not like talking with the guys on the team. While we struggle to connect sometimes, there’s nothing lost if we don’t jive right away. Team bonding takes time. But with Willow, we’re already more than a team. We’re—fuck, I don’t know, but the thought of losing her makes my heart pound against my ribs. Right now, we are not on the same page, and I need us to be.

Willow glances over at me, clearly waiting for me to take the lead.

Here goes nothing.

“I read your plans on the bus yesterday.”

Her shoulders fall, and she lets out a sigh of relief. “Yeah?”

I nod. “They’re incredible. And I understand why you did what you did. Not just agreeing to keep the kids safe from being used, but also for the Renegade organization on the whole. These really are good ideas—innovative and forward thinking—but you’ve got an uphill battle if you ever want to see them come to fruition.”

“I know. You aren’t the first to say so,” she agrees. Her lips pull into a tight line. “I’m sorry you got caught in the middle.”

“I don’t give shit about that.” Willow huffs a laugh and gives me a pointed look. I concede, “Okay, I mean, at first I did. But given the circumstances, I get it, and I’ve been dodging press questions about the crash for months. I’m more pissed you didn’t trust me to help you the same way you’ve helped me.”

“But it’s not the same.” Willow’s lips fall into a frown, her gaze finding the ground once more. “You did help distract me in my office. Keeping this from you wasn’t a distraction. It was to protect you.”

“Was giving me my own locker room a distraction?” I press, needing her to hear what I’m saying. “Was suggesting The Guardian a distraction?”

Her shoulders pop half-heartedly. “I suppose not.”

“As much as I appreciate it, I don’t need you to protect me.”

That comment awards me a side-eye glare and I can’t stop the chuckle that shakes my chest. “Okay, maybe I did need it before. But not anymore.” I close the distance between our fingers and wrap my pinky around hers. “And we both know you’ve done more than just be my distraction. What I’m saying is, you took away my chance to do the same.”

Her gaze falls to our connected hands before she trails it up to meet mine. “I didn’t know you wanted that.”

“I didn’t either,” I admit, and the truth stings in a way it shouldn’t. I’m not afraid to admit that I want Willow to wear my name across her back for the foreseeable future. Seeing it there today cemented that. But realizing it also fans the fear in my heart that if I give into this, I’ll inevitably lose her too. The same way I lost Corrine. The same way I lost my team. I’m barely learning to survive on my own.

Willow’s brow furrows in confusion, and the question shines in her eyes before she asks it. It’s a punch to the gut I’m not ready for, despite knowing it’s coming.

“What does that mean?”

I wish I had an answer for her. One that would vanquish the anxiety in her electric blue eyes. But I don’t. I could tell her what I know—that this isn’t a fling. That nothing about us is detached like we planned. That ever since we met on that balcony in New York, I’ve wanted to know what it would be like to call her mine.

But if I tell her that, it still wouldn’t be the whole truth. Despite all those things, there’s not a future for us. Not right now. Not while she’s my boss and there’s a wall around my heart.

So, I don’t say any of those things. Instead, I sigh and offer the only thing I can. A resounding,“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to find out?” Her voice cracks a bit, her vulnerability shining through. “Or is this you asking to end our arrangement?”

“No,” I blurt, and quickly clarify. “I mean, I don’t want to end our arrangement. And to the other question, I don’t know.”

Willow’s lips lift into a goofy smile I’m not expecting. She squeezes my pinky with hers and nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I ask, confused.

I expected more. Willow has never been one to shy away from questioning me, or at the very least pushing me to consider why I’m struggling to come to a conclusion. But this she’s willing to let be? It doesn’t sit right, but who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

She nods again. “Our arrangement stands, and when you’re ready, we’ll figure the rest out. But for the record, I’m all in.”

I swear time stands still as those words leave her lips.

“You are?” Goddamn, my heart thunders against my chest and there’s a part of me that wants to bolt, while the other demands I pull her into my arms and never let her go.

She’s all in. She wants this. Me.

Willow chuckles. “Don’t stress yourself out, Bishop. You don’t need to say you feel the same.”

Biting my tongue, I wait for her to continue because as much as I want to say that’s what I want, too, I can’t. There are too many unknowns. Too much could go wrong and end with me spiraling all over again.

“You said you wanted me to let you in,” she continues. “I don’t have a very good track record when it comes to doing that. Not just with you. With anyone. It’s one of my fatal flaws.”

I roll my eyes. “Because you have so many of those.”

She shrugs and tilts her head playfully. “I forget to put the cap on the toothpaste too.”

“You’re a savage,” I say on a laugh, my eyes trailing down her body as I try to figure out how the hell I got so lucky. “What made you change your mind and decide to trust me with the knowledge you’re all in?”

“Someone made me realize I don’t want to lose you again.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say “me too”, but I can”t bring myself to utter the damn words. Grinding my molars, I try my best to keep myself from spiraling by keeping the mood light and far away from actually addressing my feelings. “Who do I need to send a thank you gift to for making you realize that?”

“Lana, actually.”

“Really?”

“Alsoooooo,” Willow playfully drags out the word and smiles. “You should probably turn off location tracking on your phone. She’s aware you’ve been at my house most nights since you got here.”

“That fucking sneak.” Though the more I think about it, it makes sense. It absolutely answers the question of how I always seemed to make it home after a night of binge drinking at one of the various pubs I frequented after the crash.

“I know.” Willow chuckles and tucks my favorite strand of hair—the one that always seems to fall free—behind her ear. “She might be a saint, but that woman also terrifies me just a little bit.”

“Me too,” I admit, but I owe that woman a thank you. And probably an apology. She stepped up and took the role of the mother I needed when I shut mine out because it hurt too much to give even the smallest piece of myself to anyone.

Fuck. I really need to call my family.

“Bishop, get your ass out here,” Graham calls from the mound.

“Swear jar!” Phoebe yells and the entire team erupts in laughter.

I push off the brick wall and spin, catching Willow as she bites her lower lip, her eyes trained low where my ass was. Arching a brow, I live for the blush that creeps up her neck. “So, we’re good?”

“We’re good,” she confirms.

“No more shutting me out.”

She throws three fingers up and smirks. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never in the Girl Scouts.”

“No.” She smirks, eyes clear and bright in a way I haven’t seen in a long time. “But you’d be surprised with the survival skills I’ve learned up at Camp Renegades. I even know how to tie knots.”

“Do you now?” I tease. “Maybe you can show me sometime.”

“I’d like that.” She hums in acknowledgement. She lowers her voice and the most discreet tilt happens at the corner of her lips. “Then maybe you can punish me like you promised.”

Fuck. She’s trying to kill me. Right here on the field in front of my entire team, I’ll die with a raging erection and the knowledge this woman wants me for everything that I am and everything I’m not.

I take a step toward her, ignoring the hollers from the guys on the field beyond me.

“Have you been naughty, Kitten?” I whisper, fisting my hands so I don’t reach out and touch her.

She flutters her lashes and looks up at me. “Yes.”

“Fuck. You have no idea how incredibly sexy it is when you ask for what you want.”

She arches a perfect brow. “Noted.”

Evanescence’s “Bring Me Back to Life” fills the space between us and it strikes me how perfect it is for Willow. Except she’s the one bringing me back to life—slowly—and I’m glad she isn’t giving up on me.

Willow leans sideways so she can pull her phone from her back pocket. She tilts it in my direction, revealing Lana’s name across the screen. “I should probably take this.”

“Tell her I said hi. I’m going to make sure my goddaughter hits a home run.”

I turn and stride toward the net, feeling a little bit taller than I did before and soaking in the moment of perfection. Willow wants me. Phoebe is here. I’m on my way to accepting this team.

Is this what moving on looks like? I sure as hell hope so because for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel hopeless.

I round the net and place my hand on top of Phoebe’s helmet. “You ready to show them how it’s done, Short Stack?”

She looks up at me and giggles. “Graham pitches too slow.”

My manager laughs from where he stands in the grass between the plate and the mound. “How was I supposed to know she’s been hitting off the machine since she was six?”

I chuckle and tell him to turn it down to half speed and let it rip.

Graham makes his way behind the shield net that will keep him safe from any line drives and lifts a ball above his head, letting us know he’s ready when we are.

I slide up behind Phoebe and crouch down, placing my hands over hers on the bat. Jackson and I have done this with Phoebe for as long as I can remember. It started when she was far too small to hold the bat up by herself, and one of us would have to help her while the other pitched. But as she got older, she still wanted our help. She claimed she hits harder with us. It’s a load of shit, considering she can easily smash a ball to the outfield on her own. But neither of us could deny this little girl. The same way neither of us would ever admit we’ll be upset the day she doesn’t need our help anymore.

“Alright, you ready?” I whisper in her ear.

She nods and sticks her tongue out of the side of her mouth, as if that’s going to help her concentrate on the ball.

I turn my head and give Graham a nod. He feeds the ball into the machine.

The ball sails towards us, and I tighten my grip around Phoebe’s hands and guide the bat around.

The crack of the wood echoes through the empty stadium, and the ball soars between third and shortstop.

“Run, Phoebe!” I yell, but she’s already taken off toward first.

Stone, who was watching from the outfield, makes a show of fielding the ball and throws it to where McCoy has taken up a position on second.

Phoebe rounds first base and is almost to second when McCoy lets the ball bounce off the tip of his glove and chases after it into right field.

“Keep going, Phoebes!” I yell. She giggles and pumps her arms faster.

McCoy gets the ball as she rounds third and looks to me at home plate. I throw my hands in the air, giving him a target.

He throws the ball, and I catch it just before Phoebe reaches the plate. It should be an easy out, but Phoebe is just as competitive as her dad and she plows right into me, knocking me on my ass. I purposely drop the ball.

“Home run!” she yells, and all around the field, my team echoes her cheer.

I stand and brush off the dirt before picking her up and spinning her in a circle.

When we stop, Willow is there. The smile on her face doesn’t radiate the way it had before as tears stream down her face.

Panic floods me, and I close the space between us in two strides. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Her words say one thing, but those tears don’t match. She reaches up and wipes her eyes. “You and Phoebe need to grab your stuff and come with me.”

“Why?” I ask, anxiety gripping spine and overtaking the joy of playing the game I love with my goddaughter. “What happened?”

“Jackson woke up.”