Page 163 of Hard Pass

He leans back as my arms come around him and hold tight to the warmth of his chest, one hand right over his heart. I press a kiss to the side of his head as he rests it back on my shoulder.

Who would have ever thought that the man everyone thinks is Cole Valor—the confident, cocky, untouchable persona he shows to the world—is so much deeper and complex?

He’s a damaged soul trying to do the work to better himself. A perfectionist desperate to fine-tune the repercussions of that damage. A man who just bravely opened up to me when he sees vulnerability as being weak.

Is it no wonder I’ve fallen for him?

“Thank you for trusting me, Cole. For letting me in,” I whisper as the colors slowly streak across the sky.

He links his fingers with one of my hands and brings it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to it.

We sit there for some time, together but lost in our own thoughts. Me holding him together for the first time.

“I could get used to this,” he says quietly.

I smile and squeeze his hand. “What’s that? Baring your soul or early mornings watching the sunrise with me?” I joke.

“Yeah,” he says.

I go still for a second, the meaning setting in slowly.

Not just the mornings.

Not just this moment.

Both.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Cole

I should’ve let it go to voicemail.

I knew that the second I picked up.

My phone is still in my hand, screen dark now, but his voice lingers like it always does—dripping in disgust and impossible to ignore.

I haven’t seen one good thing from you all season. Not a single fucking shining moment. Aren’t you embarrassed about that? I know I am. Mediocre doesn’t cut it for a Valor. Go out there and fucking play like it.

I toss my phone into my stall harder than I need to and drag a hand over the back of my neck. Shake it off before it sticks, Cole.

Before it follows me out onto the field.

“Valor,” Coach’s voice cuts across the locker room.

When I look up, he waves me over and then disappears into his office. I follow and try not to make too much of it on the short walk there.

“What’s up, Coach?” I ask.

“Hale says you’ve been working hard in practice. Extra reps. Staying after.”

“Yes, sir.” I nod. “Gotta get out of this funk somehow.”

“Good. Good,” he says as he leans back in his chair. “And your head? It’s good?”

I hold his gaze. “Mental game is strong.”

He studies me for a beat longer than necessary, like he’s trying to decide whether he believes that. “You sure? Because we need you today.”