Page 146 of Hard Pass

It says I care about him. About what happens to him. About what happens to . . . us.

Christ. That’s why I hesitate, because that scares the shit out of me.

I exhale slowly and pull the jersey over my head. It falls to mid-thigh, the fabric swallowing me in a way that feels warm and closer to him in some weird way. Warmth spreads through my chest—dangerous and comforting all at once.

Because this doesn’t feel like just a jersey. It feels like I’m stepping into his world.

Like I’m letting myself belong here for the first time.

Pride swells unexpectedly. It feels foreign and new and exciting and I hold tight to it.

The voices hit me the second I open the door.

“. . . told you.”

“There’s no way he’d actually—”

“The man doesn’t do anything halfway.”

It’s like listening to a bunch of brothers finish each other’s sentences and thoughts—a clear indication of how close these guys are and how long they’ve known each other. There’s a history there that no one could ever deny.

I shouldn’t do it, but I pause just outside the frame, unseen for a beat, listening to them. It’s an occupational habit. It’s how I understand people best, through what they say when they don’t think they’re being watched.

“—you see the way he handled that restaurant paparazzi shit?” Jaxon asks. “Man went full scorched earth in the parking lot.”

“Yeah.” Malachi shakes his head. “For her.”

Tristan goes to speak but I step in.

“I didn’t ask him to, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I say.

All three of them jump and turn to face me. I expect expressions etched with regret but am met with three pairs of honest eyes.

“We weren’t saying anything we haven’t already said to his face,” Tristan states.

“I wasn’t offended. You’re just watching out for him. I get it.” I hold my hands up. “For what it’s worth, I pushed him away. He’s stubborn and wouldn’t listen.”

“We know that better than anyone,” Malachi says and then smiles as he takes in the jersey. “Nice.”

Jaxon emits a low whistle.

“Subtle,” I deadpan.

“Nah. Subtle’s never been his thing,” Jaxon says.

“That’s becoming painfully obvious,” I say, and they laugh.

“C’mon,” Tristan says, motioning to the front row closest to the field. “Front row’s all yours.”

I hesitate because stepping forward means stepping fully into this. Into visibility and public scrutiny. And right now, that still feels terrifying.

“I’m fine back here,” I say automatically.

“Cole’s orders. He said you needed to be up front,” Malachi says.

I blow out a breath. “Of course he did.”

“We’re about to do a shot, if that’ll help,” Tristan says.