Epilogue
Opening Day
It’s a perfect day for baseball in New York. Rain came through last night and pushed out the gloom, leaving a perfect crisp spring day with fluffy clouds and sunshine.
As much as I loved my time in Fort Myers, I’m happy to be back in the city that never sleeps and ready to get this season started. It feels like a brand-new start—for me, for Bishop, and for our team.
But there was one stop Bishop needed to make before he could move forward.
Compared to the sea of headstones tarnished by weather and time, Tommy’s is pristine. A simple oval top with shoulders on either side. It reads:
Thomas Jeramiah Woods
1994 - 2023
Loving Son, Brother, and Teammate
We stand, hands intertwined before his grave, the weight of loss heavy upon us.
Bishop looks down at me, tears rimming his deep brown eyes.“Give me a minute.”
“Of course.”
I let go of his hand and step back, praying he can still feel my love as he crouches down like he would behind the plate and softly speaks to one of his best friends.
My heart aches for him, but it’s accompanied by a swell of pride. This man has endured more loss than one person should in a lifetime, and he still managed to claw his way back and learned to persevere.
That doesn’t mean there still aren’t hard days. Sometimes he’ll stare out at the field he loves and get a far-off look in his eyes, and I know he’s not seeing his current teammates, but the ones he lost. I hold him a little tighter on those nights and always on the ones that come after a session with Jolene. She’s good for him. She pushes him to think outside the box and make it make sense. Just like he does for me. In that aspect, we make a good team.
I’m not sure how much time has passed when Bishop falls to his knees and his shoulders shake with heavy sobs.
In an instant, I’m there, wrapping him up in my arms.
Bishop clings to my coat and buries his face in the crook of my shoulder as he releases the emotions he’s pushed down for so long. Silent tears run down my face as I run my hand up and down his back to remind him, and myself, we’re not alone.
After he’s let every tear fall, Bishop pulls back and wipes his eyes. “You know I haven’t been here since the memorial when this was nothing more than a pile of dirt. Seeing it and not hearing him anymore, it’s like it’s finally sinking in that he”s really gone.”
I cock my head to the side. “Hearing him?”
Bishop chuckles. “After the crash, I heard him, Jackson and Norah in my head a lot. Norah filtered out early on. And when Jackson woke up, his voice disappeared too. But Tommy—Tommy was with me until the day of the fight.”
I gasp. “When you accepted the new team.”
“Yeah,” he says, a strangled laugh bubbling from his throat. “You know he would have loved you. I can imagine the two of you would have had a blast ganging up on me. Even for a rookie with a fuckboy mentality, he had his head on straight. He was a good kid.”
“He always will be.”
He nods. “Jolene said something the other day that’s resonating with me right now.”
“What’s that?”
“Healing isn’t linear.” Bishop’s lips twitch upward, and he tips his head toward me. “You said something similar to me that day in the equipment room. But sitting here, in front of Tommy’s grave, I feel like I’m being tugged back to those moments after the crash. Guilt and anger are slamming me from all sides, settling in my stomach like an endless pit. But at the same time, it’s different.” He laces the fingers of his left hand through my right. “I have you. I have the team. I have my family. And unlike before, I’m open to those things bringing me back to life—bringing me joy. I want to live. I didn’t back then. But fuck, if I don’t still feel the weight of it all.”
Tears burn at the corner of my eyes. I run my free hand through his wind tousled-hair and cup his stubbled chin. “You’re allowed to feel all those things. Feel them, acknowledge them, give space to them, but as long as you continue to remember who you are and how far you’ve come, then grief and joy can coexist. And that’s what makes life beautiful.”
Bishop stares at me with hope in his eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to my lips. “I’m so damn lucky to have you.”
I shrug playfully. “I like to think so.”
We spend the next half hour sitting there enjoying the sunshine, and I listen as Bishop tells me stories about Tommy and the rest of his teammates.
The peace in his voice gives me hope for his future.
“You missed the turn,” I say, whipping around as the street that leads to my father’s penthouse fades from view.
Bishop’s eyes don’t veer from the road. “That’s because I have plans for us before the game.”
I raise a brow. “What plans?”
There’s a part of me that wants to argue. The gala went off without a hitch. Birthdaypalooza might have been a bust, but that one night was the best birthday present I could have asked for. We raised well over a million dollars for Renegade Hearts, and it was the first time Bishop and I got to step out as a couple. The media went nuts, labeling us a love story for the ages. Of course, there are those who love to troll the internet and say we are going to ruin the franchise, but for every one of those assholes, there are a thousand more people there to cheer us on.
Between that excitement and all the meetings for the league investigation into Vaughn’s cheating scandal and the board”s involvement, Bishop and I have had next to no downtime to just be a couple. I was looking forward to the few hours before Bishop and I have to be at the field for today’s game.
Then again, given the hint of mischief glinting in his eyes, I’m curious what these plans are.
Bishop reaches out and places his hand on my thigh, digging his fingertips into the denim of my jeans. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
For a planner like me, they are the worst. I like to know what’s coming. I want to plan for any and all possibilities.
I roll my eyes. “I hate surprises.”
He looks over, gaze narrowed above a wicked smile. “I know.”
A few moments later, he pulls his truck into the player parking lot at Manila Stadium. It’s empty except for a few members of the ground crew who are here to prepare the field for the game.
After helping me out of the truck, he silently leads me with a hand at the small of my back through the player entrance to the newly renovated clubhouse.
“I like my decorating better,” he says offhandedly under his breath.
I scoff and roll my eyes. “Maybe if the guys wanted splinters in their asses every time they sat down.”
Bishop laughs and wraps his hand around mine. He leads me to his locker and sits me down on the plush high-back rolling chair.
“I have a belated birthday gift for you.”
Reaching up, I finger the dainty silver gargoyle pendant at my throat that he gave me the night of the gala—my actual birthday. “You didn’t need to get me anything.”
“This was always the plan. It just took me a little bit to get everything from Nikki.”
I raise a skeptical brow as he turns and pulls out a worn orange binder from his locker and hands it to me. The leather is soft except for where a black gargoyle is embroidered on the front. I run my hands over it and flip it open.
My heart swells, and I let out a tiny gasp. There, nestled in plastic protectors, are signed playing cards of every member of the Renegades current lineup, starting with the man standing before me.
“You—” I look up at him, tears streaming down my face. “You did all this for me?”
“I’d do anything for you, Kitten.” Love drips from every word. “I know this was something you shared with your dad every year on your birthday, but I didn’t think one should pass, especially this one, and you not have a reminder of him.”
“This is perfect.” I flip through the pages, running my fingers over every card and commit to memory the team that brought us together.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it.” I smile and set the book down on Carson”s chair to the left of Bishop’s locker. Cupping his face with both hands, I melt into him, desperate to feel his arms around me. “Thank you.”
Bishop’s gaze heats as he sweeps me into his arms and brushes his lips against mine. “You’re welcome.”
He kisses me again and I let myself get lost in him. This man holds my heart with renewed reverence and gives me presents worthy of a book boyfriend. And he’s all mine.
Bishop lets out a low and gravelly moan, and I shiver, making it my personal mission to hear it again before he steps out on that field.
“Fuck, Kitten,” he curses softly, breaking away. “I can’t wait to take you up against this locker so, every time I dress for a game, I remember this moment.”
I shudder an exhale and grin. “Yes, please.”
He takes a step back. “But first, we need supplies.”
“You brought the toy bag?” I ask incredulously.
Bishop chuckles, his joy infectious. “Not this time.”
He twists around and grabs something from his locker, bringing it between us.
I slowly blink, checking to make sure I’m seeing correctly. “Is that a jar of dirt?”
“Only the best from Manila Stadium,” Bishop says proudly. “And a four-leaf clover.”
My mouth drops open, and I tip my head back and laugh as I remember the words I typed in an attempt to make him smile. “Oh my gosh, you thought I was serious?”
“Baby, you never mess with a baseball player when it comes to superstition. Today we fuck for luck.”
“I don’t even know what that means.” My side hurts from laughing, and I can barely breathe. “I made it up.”
“Too bad.” Bishop shrugs, pulling my hips against his already lengthening cock. “I have plans that include taking this team all the way to the playoffs. That means we start today with luck in abundance.”
I can’t hold back my smile, even as I roll my eyes. “How did you even get a four-leaf clover?”
“I had one sent from Ireland. I wasn’t sure if it had to be sourced from the motherland.”
“I made it up!” I cry, unable to believe the lengths this man has gone for a chance at luck.
“You gave it life. Now it needs to happen.” He reaches up and runs his thumb over my lower lip. “Think of the team, Willow.”
I clench my thighs together, heat coiling in my lower belly. “I’d rather not if I’m about to fuck you covered in dirt and a four-leaf clover.”
His eyes shine with curiosity, and I realize he’s not going to let this go. I’m about to get fucked in this state of the art club house with dirt smeared all over my body. What does it say about me that I’m not turned off by it?
I take a step back. Bishop sucks his lower lip between his teeth as I peel off my coat and pull my shirt over my head.
This all started locked on a balcony with him giving me the strength I needed to face the future. Now here we are, survivors of tragedy, building a life neither of us could have imagined. We don’t need luck on our side. We made this all on our own and will continue to do so every day for the rest of our lives.
But if this is what he needs—dirt and a four-leaf clover—I’m more than willing to give it to him.
I reach up and unclasp my bra, letting it fall to the floor.
“Pop the top off that dirt.”
THE END