Page 112 of Hard Pass

Interesting. It matters to him what I think of him.

Is he trying to figure me out? I have to admit, I like that. He wants to know me.

“You know that despite that this case is almost over, it doesn’t mean I want to be done with whatever this is, right? Not even close.”

And as much as I don’t know what to do with those words, the possibility sends a small, unexpected thrill through me. I’m the one who figures people and patterns out and rarely has that been turned back on me.

So I deflect.

“What’s a thing people always get wrong about you?” I ask.

His grin fades, not completely, but enough.

“That I don’t care,” he says after a beat. “I do. Too much sometimes.”

I look down at him, my smile soft, compassionate. “Why act indifferent then?”

He closes his eyes and sighs. “Because years of hearing you need to be fucking better than that makes you numb, in some respects.”

I’m glad he can’t see me struggling to withhold the dozen follow-up questions swirling through my head. Every single one of them leads back to his dad.

“Cole . . .”

“Don’t,” he says gently, his mouth curving but his eyes don’t reflect it.

Fine. I won’t go there. Won’t push.

“Your turn,” I say quickly not wanting to be in this space for too long.

He doesn’t hesitate. “What do you do when you’re not . . . this?” He gestures vaguely. “The job. The brain. The always on thing.”

I chuckle quietly. “I don’t know that I have an answer for that.”

“Try.”

Why is it so hard to talk about myself? Why do I feel like I’m letting him into a world only I know—and why do I want to?

“I read. I run. I people watch in airports and make up stories about them so my brain can stop thinking of everything else.” I glance down at him. “You?”

“This,” he says. “Nothing. Silence. People who don’t need anything from me.”

My fingers twist around his hair.

The man I once saw as the life of the party needs to step back and recalibrate?

I would have never thought that. It’s something I can relate to, but I’m me—structured and scheduled. And he’s, more of a free spirit. I wonder if his need to do this is because of his—

“How long was the last time you stayed?” he asks.

“Stayed?” I ask.

“Instead of leaving another broken heart behind?” His eyes search mine as I still.

Guess he wasn’t finished with that topic.

“Long enough to know I shouldn’t,” I say, but not referring to any relationship in particular.

“Is there a story there?” he asks.