Page 167 of Hard Pass

My gaze drops briefly to his hand. “What was that about with Malachi?”

“How long where you standing there?”

“Long enough to hear you tell him your hand’s giving you trouble.”

His expression closes off instantly. “I’m fine.”

“Cole.”

“It’s handled,” he says.

“That’s not an answer.” What is going on?

His jaw tightens slightly before he flexes his fingers once. Steady with no visible tremor at all.

“Is your hand messed up again?” I ask quietly, cautious of those around us.

“No.”

“But you just told Mala—”

“I’m fine,” he says softly. I’m so confused.

The man standing before me looks steadier than he has in weeks, but I know what I heard him say.

“I don’t understand.”

“Valor,” Coach barks. “Need you with me.”

“Coming, Coach.” Cole glances his way before looking back to me. “We’ll talk later?”

The question sits between us, innocent in nature but feeling loaded in context.

I nod. “Yeah.” And then I step up to give him a kiss, trying to will the worry away. “Have a great game.”

“That’s the plan.” His gaze lingers another second before he heads out the doorway toward the locker rooms.

And I stand there long after he’s gone, my thoughts twisting tighter and running rampant.

Because if his hand is fine, why did he tell Malachi it isn’t?

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Cole

“Listen up,” I say seconds before we’re set to take the field. My teammates mill around in their uniforms, helmets off. Some are chilling to music. Others are sitting with their eyes closed practicing visualization.

Brody whistles loudly and heads snap in my direction where I’m now standing on a bench. The room slows down to a hush.

“Big game today, right? I know their record is shit but their defense is punishing so uh, let’s protect this pretty face of mine as best we can.” A chuckle goes through the guys.

“You’ll still be ugly, Valor,” our tight end yells, earning him a laugh.

And I’m suddenly at ease and in my element. I feel better than I have in weeks for various reasons: my time with Dr. Hawley, how well things are going with Dublin, finally telling someone about my dad, and a killer week of practice.

“Look, I know some of you may think I’ve been distracted, not on my best game for the last . . . forever—”

“Nah, really?” someone yells out from the back and more laughs ring out.