Chapter Thirty One: Bishop

“Stop fucking crying,” Jackson snaps at me, and I’m thankful he’s got one arm wrapped around Phoebe and the other doesn’t have anything within reach to chuck at my head.

Honestly, I would stop if I could, but every time I see his lip moving and realize his voice is not in my head, I can’t stop my damn eyes from leaking.

“Swear jar, Dad,” Phoebe squeaks, pulling her feet up further onto the hospital bed. She snuggles into her dad’s side.

Jackson leans over and presses a kiss to the top of her mousey brown hair and my heart clenches.

My best friend might be underweight with dark purple circles beneath his eyes, but the smile that splits his face every time he looks at Phoebe is like hitting a grand slam. You feel the weight of it in your soul. Only this grand slam comes with a side of the ump calling it foul instead of fair—because there is one Roberts missing.

It’s the invisible elephant in the room that Jackson refuses to acknowledge. He had seven hours alone with doctors and nurses to process the news of the crash and his condition. That’s seven hours to spiral and lock away the parts that feel like they’re going to rip him from the inside out. Seven hours to decide what the world gets to see. Jackson decided to take the route of the Olympic sprinter—running from the feelings like he can escape them.

Since we arrived, he’s used Phoebe as a shield—not wanting to upset her by talking about Norah’s death—which is comical, considering Phoebe has handled her mother’s passing better than the rest of us.

After the doctors updated us on his extensive road to recovery, including mental and physical therapies, Jackson has focused any and all conversation on us. What is Phoebe learning in school? Is Lana still participating in book club? Did the bodega down the street from their apartment raise enough money through their Kickstarter to remain open? Did I end up divorced?

Lana finally had enough of the pussyfooting and decided she needed a shower. She offered to pick up dinner from Jackson’s favorite Thai restaurant. She tried to take Phoebe with her, but Jackson wasn’t about to let his daughter out of his sight.

If I had just woken up and learned I lost my wife and team, I wouldn’t want to lose sight of the one thing I had left in this world either.

Is that why you want to pick up your phone and text Willow?Tommy chides, and instead of acknowledging his observation, I silently wonder if I’ll only hear his voice now that Jackson is awake.

I close my eyes to hide the tears that once again threaten to leak from the corners of my eyes.

“Tell me about the team, Bish,” Jackson presses, unable to let silence fall over the room for more than a few moments at a time.

Blinking my eyes rapidly, I force a half smile while trying to decide where to start. So much of my own spiral is woven in the fabric of our team. I don’t need him to know the depths to which I fell, especially when he’s fighting to keep his own head above water.

Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately—Phoebe takes my hesitation as her cue to insert herself into the conversation.

“Uncle Bish has a girlfriend,” she sputters, like she’s been dying to share the information.

I glare at the little girl who holds my heart and mouth, “Traitor.”

Her grin confirms she knew exactly what she was doing.

“A girlfriend, huh?” Jackson raises an eyebrow and tips his mouth into a smug smile. “That didn’t take long.”

Fuck. This is the last topic I want to discuss with him. Not when Norah is gone and I have no idea what the hell I’m feeling for the woman we’re talking about.

So, I deny it’s even a thing.

“She’s not my girlfriend,”I declare, running a hand through my too long hair.

“That’s not what Nana thinks,” Phoebe quips, ignoring the glare I give her.

That’s it. No more donuts for her. Or Lana. She should know better than to have any conversations in front of this sponge of a little girl.

I press my palm over my eyes and shake my head.

Jackson lets out a hollow chuckle. “So, what’s her name?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Phoebe shifts side to side, biting her lip like she’ll burst if she doesn’t say her name.

“Don’t you dare.”

“It’s Willow,” she blurts out.

Jackson’s eyes go wide. “As in York?”

I never stood a chance at keeping this secret. I can only hope she didn’t tell the entire team when my back was turned.

“Yup!” Phoebe pops the p at the end and beams up at her dad. “She’s the best too. She got me a new jersey with your name on it, since mine from last year doesn’t fit anymore.”

“That was really nice of her.”

Phoebe nods and twists so she can look up at her dad without craning her neck. “She also lets all the kids from the crash come to Renegade Hearts whenever we want, so we can play together.”

Jackson’s brow furrows, and he immediately looks out the window. I recognize it as the need to hide from his daughter the burning desire to shut down. Phoebe doesn’t know any better. She’s excited to share any and all aspects of her life with Jackson. The problem is every aspect of who we are now is intertwined with the crash.

There’s no escaping it. Something I have learned all too well over the last five months. I wish I could spare Jackson the painful lesson.

When Jackson doesn’t snap out of his daze, I offer him a reprieve. “Hey Short Stack, why don’t you go ask Greta if we can have three of her famous hot chocolates?”

That does the trick. Jackson snaps his dagger-like gaze on me and then softens when he looks down at Phoebe. “I don’t think that’s a?—”

“It’s right outside the door,” I insist, giving him a pointed look. “I think we could all do with a pick me up.”

“Yes!” Phoebe exclaims. “You have to try it, Dad. It’s reeeeally good.”

“She’ll be gone ten minutes tops,” I reassure.

“I—” Jackson chews the inside of his lip, and I can see just how much he wants to say no. That is until he looks down at Phoebe’s wide-eyed please face and he melts to her will. “Fine. Ten minutes tops.”

Phoebe hops off the bed, and we watch as she scurries out the door.

She’s not gone two seconds when Jackson asks, “So, Willow York?”

It’s not lost on me that he’s changing the subject, so he can avoid talking about everything that’s happened.

I pick up the pen on the small table beside my chair and twirl it through my fingers. “It’s nothing.”

“You made it a year,” Jackson states, but I can hear the hint of a question behind it.

He’s the reason Willow and I didn’t start anything after New Year’s. I promised him I wouldn’t date anyone seriously for at least a year. Technically, I kept my word.

“I fucked her at that party at her father’s beach house during spring training last year.”

He hit me with an unimpressed eye roll. “I know.”

I stop twirling the pen and focus on him. “You did?”

“Of course,” he huffs, smoothing out the blanket in the spot where Phoebe just vacated. “You’re a shit liar.”

“But you didn’t say anything.”

Jackson shrugs. “We agreed one year no dating. You weren’t dating her.”

“I’m not dating her now.”

“Why not?” Curiosity brims in his eyes. “You two were good together, from what I remember.”

It’s my turn to look out the window in avoidance. We were good together. Maybe we still are. But I hold on to the fact we can’t be. “She’s the owner of the Renegades.”

“Yes, but is she your aisle seat like you thought?”

I roll my eyes and toss my hands up before letting them fall back into my lap. “Fuck, not this shit again.”

Norah had a crazy theory that the person you’re meant to be with will want the aisle seat to your window seat—or in my case, vice versa. She and Jackson loved to remind me how none of the women I’ve previously dated would be willing to give up the aisle seat for my large frame. Which always left me crammed up against the window because I was nothing if not a gentleman.

Not Willow, though. I think back to the flight down to Fort Myer and how she curled herself up against the window while reading her plans. It might not have been for me, but I get the feeling she’d be more than content with letting me take the aisle. Even better, she’d be happier in my lap sharing the damn seat with me. I would be too.

Shaking my head, I stare at the ground, knowing damn well there’s no conviction in my voice when I declare, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Because she’s your boss.”

I snap my head up and look him square in the eyes. “Our boss.”

My stomach drops out of my ass when Jackson sprints right past my clarification without acknowledging his tie to the team. “The Bishop I knew wouldn’t have cared if she was the President of the United States. He’d move mountains to be with a woman he loved.”

I put a pin in my need to confirm he’s still a part of our team and address his statement. “Red flags hold a little more weight now.”

He inclines his head. “Why’s that?”

My hands itch for a distraction. Anything to remove myself from this conversation. It’s one thing to be self-aware of the man I’ve become. It’s another thing entirely to admit it to my best friend. Before this moment, I could be anyone. I don’t want to be broken Bishop who had to crawl back from damn near rock bottom. I want to be a rock Jackson can lean on, because God knows he’s going to need it.

But you couldn’t be that without drowning first.

Fuck you, Tommy.

I chew my lower lip before releasing a heavy sigh. “Because the crash fucked me up, okay? I’m not the same guy you remember. I lost everyone in one night. I went to sleep thinking we were one series away from the postseason only to wake up, get divorced, and find out the price of said divorce was losing my entire team.”

Jackson’s jaw ticks and fire dances in his eyes, though I’m not sure if it’s fueled by anger or desperation. “But I’m still here.”

“Now you are.” I scoff, silently cursing myself for getting defensive. “But until today, you were nothing but a body in a bed and a snarky piece of shit voice inside my head that I couldn”t imagine living without.”

“What?”

“My fucked-up psyche turned you and Tommy into my voices of reason.” I swallow hard so I don’t mention Norah also was a part of their trifecta.

His eyes flick to the window and back. “And what did I say?”

“Mostly, you lobbied for me to get my head out of my ass.”

“Checks out. You tend to get it stuck there often.”

I laugh for the first time since entering his room and feel hope spark in my chest. “Fuck, I’m so happy you woke up.”

Jackson hesitates for a beat too long before offering a half-hearted. “Me too.”

Silence washes over us, and immediately Jackson’s hands begin to intertwine nervously in his lap.

And just like that, guilt douses that small incineration. Looking at him is like looking at myself in a mirror five months ago. The silence weighs on him. Even a split second leaves space for thoughts to break free from the cages we locked them in. It’s why I found myself in a pub most nights before Willow took that avenue away from me.

Just like I took away the crutch Jackson was using by sending Phoebe away.

“Truth or dare,” I say, throwing him a lifeline.

Jackson arches a brow. “What are we? Twelve?”

I shoot him a look, asking him to humor me.

“Fine. Seeing as I’m tethered to this damn bed,” he says, lifting his IV arm to drive his point home before continuing, “truth.”

“Why the hell did you and Norah name me Phoebe’s guardian?”

“Who else were we supposed to trust to raise our kid? You’re our best fucking friend,” he says without hesitation, like it’s the simplest answer in the world, and I’m floored by his conviction.

Before I can tell him what a terrible fucking idea it was, he turns the tables on me. “Truth or dare.”

I jut out my chin and choose dare, knowing damn well if I said truth we were going back down the road of Willow York.

Jackson’s lips lift into a maniacal smirk, telling me I’m screwed either way. “I dare you to tell me why you aren’t dating Willow.”

Fuck me.

I should have seen that coming.

“Willow and I have an arrangement.” One I’m questioning by the hour. “We are nothing more than fuck buddies.” Well, to me, that’s what we are.

You’re so full of shit,Tommy confirms. It almost feels like the three of us are standing in the locker room having this argument.

I am. But this isn’t the time or place for me to work through whatever the hell it is I’m feeling for Willow. Today is about Jackson. I only have today with him.

Jackson doesn’t back down. He raises his voice and the vein at his temple pops. “Wrong. You’re everything. My best friend would already know that. He’d be convincing me. Not the other way around.”

I work my hands in my lap. Fisting my fingers and releasing them in an effort to keep my cool. “Maybe once upon a time.”

“Nope. I don’t buy it.”

“Why are you pressing this?” I grit out.

“Because I don’t fucking understand!” he yells, chest heaving against his blue hospital gown.

My eyes flick to the door, waiting for a nurse, or God forbid Phoebe, to come running in. When neither do I level with Jackson. “I told you. I’m not that guy anymore. I can’t look at the world with rose-colored glasses and pretend love conquers all. Love can’t stop planes from falling from the sky. It can’t stop the press from tearing us apart. It can’t stop the league from trading me. It can’t stop hearts from breaking. Love isn’t enough.”

My chest constricts, and I’m seconds away from bolting from the room to give us both the space to cool off, when Jackson sighs and a single tear stains his cheek.

“No, but life’s too short not to experience every ounce of what love has to offer.”

“Is that really what I sounded like before the crash?”

Jackson runs a hand through his hair and tugs at the strands. The itch to mirror the same action consumes me, but I sit still, wondering if he grips hard enough for the pain to take the edge off the bullshit life has dealt us.

“No, you were our hopeless romantic. I’m the man who might never know that love again. But if I had to go back, I’d do it all again, even knowing I was going to lose her. I’d do it a hundred times over just to know her love.”

My chin hits my chest with a thud and I murmur, “You’re a stronger man than I am.”

“No. Just smarter.”

“I’m afraid to lose her.”

The weight of my whispered truth hangs between us. Only it’s not stagnant. It never has been. It swings with my emotions—like a pendulum. Sometimes hitting the peak in the space where I want to cling to her and never let her go. Other times it’s the opposite and I can’t run away fast enough. The thing about a pendulum is it eventually comes to rest. And when it does, I’ll have to decide which I want. Am I all in or not?

“Bishop.” Jackson’s lip quivers. “You can’t live life in fear just because one shitty thing happened. Otherwise, one day you’ll wake up and realize you’re seventy and still lost everything anyways, but there’s no one to blame but yourself.”

There’s a sharp pang in my chest.

He’s right.

I consider all the things I’ve allowed myself to lose since the crash because I’ve pushed them away. My team. My family. Willow. Myself.

It’s at that moment I realize I want them back. All of them.

“How the fuck are you able to give sound advice when you lost more than I did?”

Jackson shrugs. “I’m fairly certain whatever meds they have me on are keeping reality from sinking in. When they do, I’ll probably be in the padded cell they should have kept you in. Ask me again in a few months and see if I’ve got the same answers.”

I want to believe he will, but he won’t. He’s on day one of the journey I’ve been trekking for almost six months. In that time, I’ve lost myself more times than I can count. I’ve suffered denial alone and nearly drowned in the waves of my anger until I crashed on the shores of bargaining for my team to be returned to me. I begged for life to take me instead. Moments of depression littered my days, and I’ve learned acceptance doesn’t equal healing. It’s a never-ending journey.

Jackson has the fight of his life ahead of him, but I’m vowing—here and now—to be there every step of the way. The same way Willow was for me.

“You aren’t alone,” I say, but the reminder is just as much for me as it is for him.

Jackson nods, but the way his eyes cloud over I guess the weight of everything is already starting to set in. His jaw clenches and he sighs. “I dare you to be fearless.”

“Only if you do the same.”

“Okay,” he agrees, shaking his head. “We’re absolutely pathetic.”

I laugh and slump back into the uncomfortable hospital chair.“No doubt. We’ll never speak of this again.”

Jackson gives me a tight-lipped smile, followed by a nod in agreement. He picks at the spot where his IV enters his left hand. “Thank you for taking care of Phoebe.”

“Always.”

“Now”—he pauses for dramatic effect, a hint of mischief glimmering in his eyes.—“how are you going to get your girl?”