Page 149 of Hard Pass

He lifts his brows. “Didn’t say you weren’t. I just asked why it happened.”

I don’t answer because I don’t have one for him that I’ll put a voice to. I know exactly what it was but I’m not about to admit it.

He studies me a half a second longer and then nods once. “Then fix it,” he says. “We need this win to stay in playoff contention.”

With a nod, I push past him, barely hearing the rest of the sideline noise as I head toward the bench. I regulate my breathing like Dr. Hawley suggested. I call shit on it, and yet here I am still doing it, desperate for any way to staunch the usual bleeding that follows.

I glance up and catch sight of a guy in the crowd right in front of me. His head is down, his Rebels hat hides his face, but for a split second I think it’s my dad.

Can’t be.

And yet when the fan lifts his head, I still see my dad’s face on him. Still cringe from that sneer of disgust and disdain and disappointment I’ve had directed my way so many times in my life.

The man isn’t him, but it’s prompting thoughts of his pre-game phone call. That’s on me for unblocking his number. I close my eyes for half a second.

Not now. Please, not now.

You think that’s good enough, Cole-y boy?

I can’t shut off the call I shouldn’t have taken this morning from him.

You keep playing like that and they’ll replace your worthless ass before the season’s over.

Out of habit, I flex my fingers once. Twice. There. That subtle, almost unnoticeable tremor.

I switch my helmet to that tremor hand. If my fingers are gripping on to it, then no one will catch the tremble.

But I’ll still feel it.

I’ll still know it’s there.

My jaw tightens until it aches. Breathe, Cole. Reset. Forget about him.

But it lingers. He lingers. Always does. I take a long drink of water I don’t need.

You don’t get to hesitate. Only losers hesitate. Oh, don’t look now, you’re hesitating.

“I’m fucking not,” I mutter under my breath as my hand trembles again and I hide it by tightening my grip on my helmet cage.

Don’t do this. Not today. Not this game.

I know what comes next. Dublin showed me in clip after clip what comes next.

“Valor!”

I glance up at the sound of Lucas’s voice.

“Fourth quarter.” His voice is steady, and the look in his eyes says he believes in me. “You’ve got this. I have faith in you.”

Good thing he and Coach do.

“I do.” My answer is automatic because anything else isn’t an option.

He studies me for a beat and then nods. “Then go finish it.”

I roll my shoulders, grab my helmet with my throwing hand and put my other hand inside of it, hiding it. I flex it out of everyone’s sight. The tremor is still there. My hand still doesn’t feel right.

C’mon, Cole. Come the fuck on.