Page 148 of Hard Pass

“Hey, Malachi?” I say without thinking. “How did you know that?”

He glances my way. “Know what?”

“That Cole was going to have one.”

He shrugs and accepts the shot Jaxon hands down to him. “Watch someone long enough, you know when they’re on and when they’re off. Know them personally? You don’t even have to watch that hard to know.”

He holds his shot up as Tristan thrusts one into my hand and says, “Cheers! We’re winning this game.”

“There’s still lots left to play,” Jaxon says.

And there is. Especially when Cole’s issues have been starting in the second half. But I don’t say that. I don’t become a Debbie Downer. Instead, I let the game own me.

I lean forward with every play.

I hold my breath with every throw.

I laugh when Jaxon screams like Cole can hear him.

I yell in pained protest every time Cole’s tackled roughly.

And somewhere in the middle of me falling in love with a game I’ve only ever allowed myself to analyze, the realization hits. Hard.

How is this happening?

A month ago I was buried in data. I was detached and objective and safe. A state I thrived being in. And now I’m here, in his world, wearing his name across my back, my life unraveling in ways I can’t control, and somehow . . . somehow it doesn’t feel like I’m losing.

Halftime comes and goes in a blur of noise and movement.

The third quarter flies by, we’re still up by seven, and when the commercial timeout hits between quarters, I finally take a seat, realizing how exhausting this emotional roller coaster is when you’re invested personally with someone playing the game.

The crowd cheers at a replay shown on the scoreboard. As I turn to look, my gaze sweeps over the field and my breath catches when I see Cole. He’s standing on the sideline, helmet in one hand, bottle of water in another, when he looks up and somehow finds me.

It shouldn’t be possible.

There are too many people. Too far a distance. Too many boxes. Too many distractions . . . and yet his gaze locks on mine like he knew he’d find me here. Like he felt me here.

Everything else fades. The noise and the chaos. All of it just disappears until it’s just him and that crooked, shy smile he offers that I can see all the way up here.

Yeah, there’s definitely something special about Cole Valor . . . and for one reckless, impossible moment, he feels like mine.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Cole

The whistle blows and I don’t wait for anyone to tell me to get off the field. I’m already moving, helmet in hand, jaw tight, breathing not quite as calm as it should be.

Third quarter is done. One quarter left. We may be up, but that last play was too damn close for comfort.

It replays in my mind as I cross onto the sidelines. My read was right, but my throw was a fraction too late. A bit off. A case of too much thinking and not enough doing.

Or maybe I’m mindfucking this whole thing knowing that the fourth quarter has been where my weakness shows since all this shit happened . . . and knowing it has the pressure wearing on me.

But how can I not overthink this all? Now that I know what might be triggering the betting, I’m thinking too much about it.

“Hey,” Lucas says as I pass him, stepping in my path to slow me down. “The hitch? Thought we worked through that?”

“I’m good,” I say automatically.