Bishop: A True Lover's Story

Fucking great.

“Are you shitting me right now?” Trent’s voice rose as he slammed his palms on the table, drawing the attention of a few people around them. Bishop watched him. “That’s why we’re here? That’s why I’m coming off eight dollars for breakfast because of him? I can’t believe you.”

“Lower your voice,” Bishop said calmly.

Trent shook his head, but at least his tone went down to a muted roar. “After what he did?”

“And what did he do, huh? Get us less time because he was the only one brave enough to take the stand on our behalf. He’s the only one who spoke up for us… for me.” Bishop cut his eyes to Royce and saw him motion for him to meet him around the back. Great, another back-alley meeting. He was on a roll. “We’d still be incarcerated right now if he hadn’t.”

“I’d rather still be in jail than called an illiterate moron with the IQ of ant.” Trent sat back with a grimace when Bishop winced at the reminder. “He betrayed your trust. That’s unforgivable. Pure and simple. You’ve only ever told me and Mike that secret. The second you told him, you see what he did with it. Made it fucking public knowledge.”

“It’s easy to say you’d rather still be in jail when you’re sitting here free to eat hot pancakes, cheese eggs that don’t give you the runs and coffee that doesn’t taste like tar.” Bishop got up. “I’ll be right back. I just wanna clear some things up.”

“Fine,” Trent grumbled but turned on his megawatt smile when Natalie reappeared to refill his coffee and Bishop’s water. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You’re asking for trouble, B.”

“Most likely,” Bishop murmured. He eased out of the hideous camel-colored booth and left through the front door, not bothering to look back at Trent’s disapproving stare. He was asking for it in the worst way.

The air was getting warmer as the sun broke through the early morning overcast. Yeah, it was gonna be a scorcher today. But August in Hampton Roads, Virginia, typically was. The closer Bishop got to the end of the street the more anxious he became. He was about to be within inches of his ex. He hadn’t seen him once in five years and six months—not even a letter. His rhythm slowed until his feet were barely moving. The few pedestrians on their way to work or hauling their kids to daycare became annoyed as they maneuvered around him. Trent was probably right. No matter how much Bishop tried to justify what Royce had done, what he’d said about him in front of a full courtroom was hard to forgive. A huge choking pill to swallow. Was that how his boyfriend had seen him? Stupid and gullible, or had he just said anything he could to keep them together? He would never know asking himself.

Bishop turned the corner ready to face the music. He’d avoided this conversation long enough. Royce stood by the restaurant’s back door with his phone in his hand, his eyes riveted on whatever was on the screen, as if he wasn’t waiting on him. How could he look so cool when Bishop’s own insides were in a shambles? His head confused and hurting. He was foolish to want Royce to want to see him. To be as excited and as nervous as he was. But, then again, his ex was damn good at acting. At least he had been. He wondered if he was approaching the same man he’d left all those years ago, because Bishop sure had changed.

He kept walking until they were only a few feet apart. “Hey,” he said, happy that his voice was steady.

Royce tucked his phone into his crisp khaki pants pocket and gave Bishop his full attention. He wore a dark blue button-up shirt with a simple Champion logo over his right pec. His shoes were nice, still regulation, but not the dirty non-slip shoes most restaurant managers wore. Bishop worked his gaze up Royce’s long throat to his sinful mouth, then to those dark lashes that outlined big blue eyes. He’d been Bishop’s weakness at one point.

“Well. Look at you.” Royce smirked. He didn’t seem happy to see him but he didn’t look disappointed either. Simply unbothered. “You really filled out.”

He tried not to close his eyes at the sound of Royce’s voice. “Not much else to do in prison besides lift.”

Royce nodded, still watching him closely, his gaze wandering all over him. Bishop forced himself to sit still and take the inspection. He was wearing the same jeans and black sleeveless tee he’d had on last night, and his work boots. He looked like a hoodlum standing in front of Royce. He watched him run his slim fingers through his messy locks—deep golden hair that he now kept longer on the top.