Page 133 of Hard Pass

I swallow. “I could have my agent put out a statement. He’s fielding calls and—”

“The last thing I need is for him to speak for me. That’ll look . . . I don’t know.” She rests her forehead on my shoulder, and I run my hand up and down her back.

Sure, she’s here in my lap, accepting my comfort, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say there wasn’t an underlying tension between us. An unspoken anchor that’s tying us together but that’s also weighing us down.

And stupid or not, curiosity is about to add another knot in that tether.

“So is this a bad time to ask who or what the Murdoch thing is?”

Her sigh is immediately followed by the sagging of her shoulders. “That was a long time ago. I shouldn’t be surprised they dug it up, but . . . fuck, man.”

“Talk to me,” I murmur.

“He was the first major case I was involved in. I was just an assistant,” she says, irritation peppering her voice. “He was a high-up executive with the Mavericks who found himself in a messy, unethical situation. Bribes. Gambling. Pay-offs. Most of the accusations were just noise—personal stuff getting dragged into an investigation that was strictly professional.” She grits her teeth and meets my eyes. “The wife was looking for a way out since it was likely he’d take the fall. She accused me of being involved with him to help sell her justification of why she wanted a divorce and a sizable settlement.”

“Were you?”

“No.” The answer is immediate. “But it didn’t matter because at the time people believed the version of the story they wanted to believe.”

“Fuck.”

“Nothing was proven. Hell, I don’t even think I was ever alone in the same room as the guy, but that didn’t matter. Videos were doctored of him entering the facility late at night and then me following shortly after. The reality was that it was two completely different nights, but who believes my word when they can see it with their own eyes? The wife paraded around receipts for expensive dinners swearing he was wining and dining me when I never even ate with him. The implication of impropriety was all it took though, for his wife to win her fat divorce settlement while ensuring no team wanted to work with that GIA assistant. The damage was done.”

The silence returns but now I see it. Now I see why she called this—it’s the same playbook but just a different headline.

“Did Marcus stand by you then?”

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “Yes, as he should have. I did nothing wrong other than put myself in a position to look like it. He wasn’t able to stop the outside noise, but he did mitigate it by putting me on case after case to prove my value and quiet any doubt about my integrity. This time though—you’re too well-known, social media is bigger than it was then, and frankly second time’s not a charm.” She shakes her head. “I can’t fight something I’m actually guilty of doing.”

“We’re guilty of doing,” I say, putting my finger under her chin and lifting it so she’s forced to meet my eyes. “You forgot the we’re part. I was wrong to leave earlier. I know you said you wanted me to, but I shouldn’t have left like that. I shouldn’t have left at all.”

“It’s okay—”

“No. It’s not. I have a habit of letting things happen and going along with them. Not pushing. Not making it worse. I’ve lived my whole life trying not to rock the boat.” I clear my throat and say it in terms she might understand. “Comes from growing up with my dad. It’s always been easier to take it than to fight it.” I exhale as nerves hit. I’ve never been this honest with anyone and it’s terrifying. “But I can’t do that to you.”

Her expression softens. “Cole . . .”

“No. I need to finish. You’re not alone in this and I’m sorry I made you feel that you were.” I’m desperate to brush my lips against hers, to kiss the tears away on them, but I don’t want her to think my proclamations are solely because of sex. “I left because you asked me to. I was trying to respect your wishes, and not because I agreed with you.”

Tears well in her eyes and I pray to fucking God they’re good ones because I can’t stand seeing her hurting anymore.

“I appreciate you coming back,” she says. “For saying all that, but I’m going to be honest and say it won’t change what’s out in the world.”

“First, fuck what’s out in the world and fuck what people think of it. You know the truth. I know the truth. As long as we can look each other in the eye, we can move forward.” She goes to speak and I hold up my hand. “I know, it’s easier said than done, but it means we don’t sit here and let them decide for us. You don’t walk away from everything you built, and I don’t stand here and let them drag your name through the mud.”

“Great. So we ignore it. It doesn’t fix anything.”

“No. We don’t ignore it,” I say. “We fight back.”

She blinks almost as if she’s afraid to hope. “How though?”

“You keep doing what you do. You go rogue and figure out what actually happened off the record. Solve the case and prove to Marcus you are the investigator he thought you were and I know you to be. And I’ll handle my side. Locker room, teammate, waterboy, whoever it is because we both agree that it’s someone with close access.”

“What will that accomplish though if no one will believe its validity?”

“It’ll provide proof that they’re wrong. Marcus. The media. The fans who’ll believe it. And us.”

“Us?”