Chapter Thirty Nine: Willow

Last night was…perfect, magical, everything I’ve hoped but never dared to dream.

I can’t help the way my lips twitch upward every time I think about every delicious moment.

Bishop loves me. He’s all in.

After we cuddled, we showered and talked some more until we eventually fell asleep in each other’s arms.

It still doesn’t feel real, like I’ll wake up and the other shoe will have dropped. Maybe that’s because I was forced from our little cocoon where reality couldn’t touch us. What I wouldn’t give to go back and crawl into bed beside Bishop and live in make believe a little longer—the place where we aren’t a forbidden pairing and the world isn’t falling apart around us.

But the Earth keeps spinning and scandal waits for no one.

I left a note explaining I was called in to an emergency meeting with the executive board, and promised Bishop I’d make it up to him if I didn’t see him before the team meeting later this morning.

Now I’m sitting to the right of the commissioner at the head of the table, feeling as though I’ve been pawned off for him to babysit as the rest of my board sits at the opposite end of the conference room.

Vaughn and Patrick Kincade lead the firing squad, much like they did at the last meeting, quick to comment on every point of evidence Nikki presents against my father.

It sucked to hear about them last night. It sucks even more to see the photos taken at various league parties of my father talking with the umpires who went to the press, saying he bribed them to call games in the Renegades’ favor. That’s how The Foul Line knew about the scandal before we did. The photos themselves aren’t damning, but paired with the slew of texts from a burner phone the umpires claim belonged to my father and a multitude of monetary transactions from an offshore account, it”s bad.

They’re saying it’s an open and shut case and Commissioner Falco agrees. As a result, pending the official investigation, the Renegades will be fined five-million dollars and will be forced to give up our first and second round draft picks for the next two years. In addition, anyone found to have knowledge of the cheating will be penalized accordingly.

So much for building the team of my dreams.

Not that any of them hold a flicker of a chance anymore. It’s also been decided that all my plans will be put on hold until we’re able to do damage control and assess our standing within the league.

Never mind that, now more than ever, we need to solidify our trust with the fans and the general public. We need to create a space that’s welcoming and indicative of turning over a new leaf. We need to show we are a new team and not to be punished for the sins of our predecessors.

But I don’t say any of that. Even if I did, the board has proven it would fall on deaf ears.

I sit quietly with my hands in my lap, well aware that this isn’t a battle I’m going to win. They’ve insinuated more than once it’s my father who landed us here and I’m not to be trusted. Which is fine. I’ll bide my time. Especially because I have a bigger battle ahead when news breaks of my relationship with Bishop. I can only hope that when it does, we’re able to come out unscathed.

Wishful thinking, I know.

“If that’s everything…” Nikki hits her stack of papers into a uniformed pile on the table. Her gaze lingers in my direction, as if she’s waiting for me to put up a fight. I give her a slight nod to continue and her face falls. “Okay, we’ll adjourn for today and hand over everything we have of Mr. York’s to the league’s investigators. We’ll reconvene Monday after the gala this weekend.”

Her declaration is met with nods and a few grunts of agreement before the room erupts in a shuffling of chairs as the board attempts to hightail it out of there for their nine AM tee time. I heard them talking about how they’d have just enough time to play nine holes and still make it back for drinks at the game after lunch.

My stomach twists, and I swallow the bile that threatens at the back of my throat. None of them care about this team as long as they receive a paycheck and can continue their memberships at the country club.

How the hell am I supposed to fix this? At every turn, I take one step forward and two steps back.

Bishop was my win, and even though I’m ecstatic we’re on the same page, I still want this. This team is my future as much as he is.

“Willow?”

I glance up at the commissioner. He hasn’t moved from his seat. Hands flat against the tabletop, he looks at me with a hint of pity I don’t want or need. What I need is for him to step up and do his damn job instead of rolling over for the boys’ club he only barely has a leg up on.

Calm and collected, I address him with a flat voice. “Can I help you, George?”

His eyes dart around the room, like he’s looking to see if there’s anyone in earshot. Once the room clears out, he speaks. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry this is happening. You have a good head on your shoulders and don’t deserve this.”

I chew my cheek to stop my mouth from dropping. The words are hollow and filled with inaction, but at least he said them. That’s a step up from where we were even a month ago.

“Thank you for saying that. I hope the league will keep that in mind moving forward.”

George nods, slides his chair back, and stands. He hesitates, wrapping one hand around the fist of his other, and shakes his head like he’s warring with himself. His eyes track back to mine and the pity is replaced by determination. “When this all blows over, I’d like to discuss your plans without the board.”

“I—” My words stutter as I process what he just said. “I’d like that.”

“Good. They may not be suited for the Renegades, at the moment, but some of them are heading in the right direction and I think the league will benefit from considering the fans who support us.”

Then he’s gone. Leaving me to sit in stunned silence.

What was that? Did I just witness the beginnings of George Falco growing a spine? Was this my small win?

Relaxing into the plush conference room chair, I exhale a sigh. This entire meeting was nothing but a power move by the board, but if I walk away with an ally in the commissioner it will have been worth enduring.

I check my watch and see that I have about forty minutes until the team meeting in the clubhouse. Just enough time to find Bishop and update him—or invite him to my office to pick up where we left off last night.

Definitely the second option.

I shoot off a text asking Bishop to find me, grab my things, and head out into the executive corridor with a renewed pep in my step. That is until I see Vaughn leaning against the wall just outside the door, clearly waiting for me.

My stomach churns. Nothing good can come from the wry smile on his face. Why can’t he just leave well enough alone?

“Willow,” he says. “A word?”

My mouth goes dry, and I don’t miss how his smile stretches higher when I swallow hard. “What now, Vaughn?”

He pulls something out of his inner coat pocket, offering it to me.

The stack of photos might as well have been a live grenade. My ears fill with the sound of my pulse as I flip through them, each one more damning than the next.

Bishop and I walking up the steps of my private jet.

Me entering his room at the team hotel.

Him entering my gated community.

Bishop’s hand wrapped in mine as I lead him into the elevator in Miami.

The two of us on my balcony kissing.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out Vaughn had someone tailing Bishop, probably to catch him doing something that could be grounds for trading him.

We handed Vaughn his golden opportunity.

Dragging my eyes from the evidence of our affair, I meet Vaughn’s Cheshire grin. “You had him followed?”

He shrugs callously. “Unlike you, I take care of my team and protect it from situations that have the capability to ruin us.”

Ruin us. I refuse to believe that’s what Bishop and I are doing. If anything, we’ve made each other stronger. But that’s not how the world will see it. Not if Vaughn has anything to say about it.

“What’s it going to take for you to forget these exist?” I ask, stretching my hand out to give him back the photos.

“Those are yours to keep. I have copies of my own.” He pushes off the wall and crosses his arms over his chest, offering me an unapologetic smile. “As for what I want, it’s simple. I can either use these photos as grounds to trade Lawson, or you can step aside and make me the acting owner like your father and I always planned in the event something happened to him. It will look as if you decided, after the allegations against him, you realized you were in over your head. You can go back to your little philanthropy project and everyone wins.”

The slimy prick. His greed knows no bounds. Especially when he holds all the cards.

That’s when everything clicks into place and I gasp, “You were the leak, weren’t you?”

Vaughn’s brow pops, and he lets out a sardonic laugh that makes his belly shake. “Of your plans? Absolutely. The board wouldn’t do what was needed to take you down a peg, so I did.”

My jaw tightens, anger coursing like lava in my veins. I want to yell and demand he tell me why the hell he would do that, but I already know. Vaughn only gives a shit about himself. He wants what he believes is rightfully his.

Shit.

It all makes sense.

Relaxing my shoulders, I lift my chin and ask the question I pray I’m right about. “And the deal my father made?”

Vaughn barks a laugh. “Ha. Undoubtedly. Your father wasn’t smart enough to put that plan in action. We needed to win. We were hemorrhaging money trying to get butts in seats. If we had known the crash was going to happen, we would have left well enough alone. Now everyone wants to be a part of the team who came back from tragedy. I’m not about to let you or anyone else jeopardize that with ideas of grandeur.”

His words exonerate my father, but do nothing to stop the tightening of my chest. I fist the photos in my hand, crumpling them.

We.

He didn’t do this alone.

I can’t help but wonder how deep this betrayal runs. Is this the skeleton in the closet Patrick Kincade referred to? Not the scandal itself, but the orchestration. How many more secrets are there I don’t know about? I don’t want to live constantly having to look over my shoulder waiting for one of them to pop up.

“You’re in over your head, little girl,” Vaughn sneers.

I lift my head, hoping he can’t see the way my lip threatens to tremble or the tears that prick the corners of my eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, but I play to win. You have until tomorrow to decide what you’d like me to do with those.”

“How do I know you won’t use the photos against Bishop even if I decide to step down?”

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me,” he says with a wink and pushes off the wall, stalking past me in the direction of his office.

When he’s gone, I let out a loud and long, “Fuuuuuuuuck.”

“Ooooh, she cusses!”

My eyes dart up to see a giddy Carson, rounding the corner at the end of the hallway opposite the direction Vaughn headed.

Luca steps out beside him, his brow furrowed and hands fisted. It’s all I need to see to know they heard every word.

God, could this morning get any worse?