Chapter Thirty Five: Willow

Bishop Lawson is a sadist of the best kind.

And I’m his willing masochist.

He took mercy on me when the game ended and returned the toy to the lowest setting. A torturous reminder of just how turned on I am and that there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it until I get out of here.

Sitting at the postgame media table listening to Graham and Noah answer questions about his stellar performance, movement at the back of the room catches my eye. I zero in on where Bishop has slipped in. He’s changed out of his uniform and into jeans and his team hoodie with a Renegade hat pulled low over his eyes. A smile quirks at the corner of my lips. I don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling. Everyone in the room knows what he looks like. He’s not fooling anyone.

His dark gaze connects with mine. It’s intense and possessive. I shift in my seat, jostling the still vibrating toy in my pussy.

Is this damn press conference over yet?

His lips twitch, and I watch as he pulls his phone from the pocket of his sweater and swipes. Seconds later, my phone buzzes on the tabletop and I don’t have to look to know it’s him.

I shouldn’t acknowledge him, especially in a room full of reporters, but I can’t help myself. I glance down at my phone and see his name and the preview of his message.

BISHOP: You are so fucking gorgeous up there. I wonder if I…

Heart thundering against my ribcage, heat fills my cheeks, and I don’t need to read the rest of the message to know the threat. My eyes dart to the back of the room, and I’m greeted by a wicked grin. He’s got his phone in his hand, his thumb raised, and the look in his eye tells me he’s seconds away from edging me in front of this entire room of reporters.

I should be furious, but I’m far too turned on for that.

“Ms. York.”

Hearing my name breaks me out of my lust filled haze, and I search for the person who called it.

A hand shoots up belonging to Ellis Monroe, a reporter from The Foul Line.

“Yes, Mr. Monroe.”

“I was wondering if you would comment on the plan you presented to your board that would not only misappropriate funds for the team but also see the Renegades welcoming accused rapist Mercer Cohen to the team.”

No.

No. No. No. No.

This can’t be happening.

My mouth drops open, and I could swear all the oxygen has left the room. It’s quiet enough that the only sound I can hear is the low hum of the vibrator in my pussy.

Then that stops too.

My eyes dart to Bishop. His eyes are locked on me, and though they are soft in a way that I have no doubt is meant to offer me strength, his mouth is pinned in a straight line, revealing his anger.

How the hell did the media get a hold of my plans? There was an NDA signed. The whole thing was embargoed until we decided what was going to happen next.

I don’t even want to look down the table at Graham or Nikki, who I am sure is spiraling, trying to figure out how we’re going to spin this.

Bishop nods and I swallow hard before returning my gaze to Mr. Monroe.

He blinks at me expectantly, waiting for my response.

I straighten in my seat and fold my hands in front of me on the table, trying my best to hide the panic that shakes them. “I am not sure how you got a copy of embargoed plans, but I am not prepared to comment on them at this time.”

His lips twitch. “How about the evidence faxed to my office this morning accusing your father of bribing umpires last season, resulting in wins for the Renegades and allowing them to clinch a playoff position?”

“What?” I exclaim. “Who told you?—”

“That’s all we have time for today,” Nikki interrupts my outburst. “We take any and all accusations seriously and will look into these and have a statement ready as soon as we’ve received all the facts.”

My world tilts. Chaos takes over the room. Reporters jump to their feet, shouting questions while they simultaneously scour on their phones for any additional information.

A hand grips my shoulder and I’m tugged from my seat and cradled against a broad chest. When I look up, I’m greeted by Noah’s sympathetic green eyes.

“I’ve got you, boss,” he mutters. I nod and allow him to guide me, pressed between him and Graham, towards the exit.

We make it to the end of the slightly raised stage when a reporter jumps in front of Graham, pushing him to the side to demand answers from me.

I open my mouth to say no comment, but before I get a word out, a hand appears on the shoulder of the lanky reporter and yanks him out of the way. Graham and Noah usher me the short distance out of the press room, but not before I see Bishop push the reporter up against the wall. His eyes are filled with rage, and I’m helpless to do anything but send a silent plea for him to keep his anger in check. The last thing I need is another incident when our house is already burning from the inside out.

The walk from the media room to Graham’s office is a blur of Nikki and Graham yelling at anyone who will listen to find out who the hell leaked my plans and what the evidence against my father is.

I don’t give a shit about my plans. Let them rip it apart—rip me apart. I’ve had to defend my position since the day I took over. It’s nothing new. But my father?—

I feel like I’m going to throw up as I desperately try to make it make sense.

Any of it.

All of it.

My father rigged the game.

My father.

The man who cared about this team more than anything. More than even me.

When we reach the door, Noah gently hands me off to Graham, who wraps a hand around my waist and ushers me into his office. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bishop pressed against the wall, his hands balled into fists, eyes pleading for—I’m not sure, but it almost looks like he’s asking for permission to be there. I give a quick but subtle shake of my head, and he hesitates before storming off toward the locker room.

I hope he knows this isn’t me shutting him out. There is no way he can be here without outing our relationship, and I can’t add that to the clusterfuck right now.

Graham’s office door clicks shut, and I let out a weighted breath as I sink into the chair, praying for relief. It doesn’t come. We might be away from prying eyes and questions, but it does nothing to assuage the pressure from the elephant that has stomped on my chest. I close my eyes and cross my arms, my fingers drawing small circles over the skin of my biceps in an attempt to ground myself.

“Willow.” Graham”s voice is soft, yet stern in a way I didn’t expect.

When I open my eyes, I see he’s standing with his hands on his desk, eyes narrowed on me. “I have to ask. You didn’t leak your plans, did you?”

My brows shoot up and I visibly shrink back. “No. Why the hell would I do that?”

He lets out a heavy sigh and softens. “I didn’t think so, but I know the board disagreed and releasing the plans so that they had to acknowledge them is exactly something your father would do.”

He would? It didn’t sound like the man I knew. Then again, maybe I truly didn’t know him at all. Is this one of the skeletons in the closet the board mentioned? Are there more?

Graham lifts a hand and runs it through his short salt and pepper hair. “Fuck, this is bad.”

“Which part?” I don’t recognize my own voice. It’s hollow. Defeated. An extension of my broken heart.

“All of it. They are framing you as reckless and irresponsible. At the same time, they are tarnishing your name through attacking your father.”

“You don’t think he?—”

“No. There’s no way in hell your father would fuck with the integrity of the game.”Graham has never been one to curse in front of me. To his team? Absolutely. But never in my presence. I’ve always known him to keep cool, calm, and collected no matter what has been thrown his way.

But at this moment? He’s just as shaken as I am.

“They have evidence,” I state, clinging to the minuscule facts we have.

“Allegedly,” Nikki pipes up from where she leaned against the wall by the door. She’s got her phone in her hand, still scrolling as she crosses the room and claims the seat beside me. “We haven’t seen the proof, and they haven’t released it yet.”

“But they have it,”Graham argues. “They wouldn’t have brought it up if they weren’t certain. No one would dare go after Richard York unless they had irrefutable proof.”

He’s right. Me? Absolutely, they’d go after me. But my father has been a beloved member of this league for years. And after the crash, they would have to be crazy to tarnish his legacy.

“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper, realization setting in. Both sets of eyes focus on me, waiting for me to continue. “The damage is done. Whoever released this information, regardless if it’s true or not, has gotten exactly what they wanted. Even if my father is proven innocent, there will always be the question of if it actually happened. We’ve seen how allegations of cheating have ruined teams in the past. Especially if action wasn’t taken within the organization to rectify the claims. I don’t know who leaked the information, but the damage has been done. And by leaking my plans, which I am sure will happen in the next hour, I’ll be the daughter who took over and attempted to run the team into the ground.”.

“Your plans were sound, Willow. Just because a bunch of bastards didn’t like them doesn’t mean?—”

“It doesn’t matter!” I yell, cutting Graham off. Leaping from my chair, I nearly knock it over. My body hums with the need to do something—anything—to stave off the soul-crushing weight of my life falling apart.

One foot in front of the other, I begin to pace the length of the office. My hands pump open and closed, searching for something tangible to grasp.

Graham and Nikki watch me with matching concern as I try to work out what I’m feeling.

Anger. Fear. Distraught. Helplessness.

All things I promised I wouldn’t give to the people who doubted me. But I’m running on fumes. I can’t fake it anymore. I’m done playing their game. I’ve done nothing but try to make this team not only my home, but a home for everyone—the team, my staff, the fans—and while so many have been appreciative, it’s not enough to sway those who protect the status quo.

There will always be something. Sleeping dogs will never lie. Because I’m not who they want.

Tears prick the corner of my eyes, and as much as I want to let them fall, once again I force them away. After all, there is no crying in baseball.

I swallow past the lump in my throat and stop mid pace to turn toward Graham and Nikki. Grabbing on to the tiny sliver of strength I have left, I relax my shoulders and exhale. “They—this is what they wanted. This is—I’m exhausted. So, if this is what they want, then they can have the team. I’m not going to watch my father’s legacy fold like a house of cards because of me. Even if the allegations are true, they will look past it because he’s dead. The blame will fall on me.”

“But you didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He’s right. I didn’t know, and I might not have any proof that this was a power move by the board, but my gut is telling me it is. I provoked them with my plans, and they retaliated.

Graham opens his mouth to counter me again, but I silence him by continuing. “You forget I grew up playing these games. I’ve witnessed these tactics time and time again. It’s my fault for believing this organization and league had more integrity than a bunch of uptight society families. I should have remembered the only solid lesson my mother ever taught me.”

Graham winces, his eyes falling to his desk as he rasps, “Everyone has a price, and no one gives a shit about you.”

I huff sarcastically. “So, you’ve heard the wise words of Adrianna York.”

“A time or two, yes,” Graham grits, clenching his jaw. “I wish I could tell you you’re wrong, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t meant to lead this team.”

He put it together much faster than Nikki, who let out a gasp. Graham might not have always been around to be the godfather I needed, but when he was, he made sure to pay attention. He knows me better than most and has seen me at some of my lowest moments. He recognizes the look of defeat on my face.

“Wait, what?” Nikki looks between us, disbelief etched in her features. “You’re leaving?”

“No. Not yet, maybe not at all,” I try to reassure her, but my mind is ninety percent made up.“I want to see the evidence against my father before I make any decisions. Until then, I’d like to refine my talking points for the gala interview and prepare a statement for the press.”

“I’ll get right on that.”

“Graham, I need you to give the team a heads up that no one talks to the press until we have more information. Schedule a team meeting first thing in the morning.”

“Done.”

I nod, fighting the endorphins of the press conference as they start to crash within me. “Okay. If you don’t need me, I’m going to head home.”

They both look like they want to say more or stop me, but neither do. They only nod silently.

“Thank you. Keep me posted.”

I should stay and help, but my moment of clarity is passing, swiftly being replaced by depression”s guillotine. I need to get out of here before I either go full Bishop on the clubhouse or sink into a puddle of tears.

I make it as far as the door when Graham calls my name, and I look over my shoulder.

His face sinks into a sad smile. “Don’t give up, kiddo.”

“I’m not.”

It’s a lie and we both know it, but it wouldn’t be the first or the last time I put on a brave face for this team. I’m the port that holds safety for so many and that doesn’t change just because a category five storm has wrecked my shores.