Page 170 of Hard Pass

He picks up the beer bottle. “You mean maybe whoever it is, is done screwing with my career?”

“Maybe? That’s all I’ve got because this isn’t normal. I’ve never had a case like this before.” I pause. “Not that it’s technically my case anymore but . . . you know what I mean.”

He studies me for a second. “You need a break. A vacation.”

I snort. “I think we both do.”

He nods, slower this time. “We do.” He takes a sip. “That’s on me and I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For this.” He gestures around us, like it explains everything. “Football schedule. My structured life. The fact that I can’t just up and leave and take you somewhere to get you away for a few days.”

“There is zero need to apologize.”

A wistful smile plays on his lips. “Somewhere like Bali. Just sun and sand. No phones. No noise. No . . . nothing.”

I smile. “Sounds like heaven.”

“After the season’s over,” he says quietly.

“After the season’s over?” I don’t know why the words come out. I don’t know why they sound so shocked. And more importantly, I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to fathom that Cole’s thinking that far ahead when it comes to us.

Any normal person would be thrilled. I feel overwhelmed.

“That’s what I said.” He leans his hip against the counter. “Is there a problem with that?”

I stare at him, unsure how to phrase my answer without making it bigger than it is.

“No. Yes. I mean, whatever this”—I gesture between us—“is . . . it’s—”

“Whatever this is?” he repeats. His voice has a sudden edge to it, each word emphasized.

“How do you want me to define it?” It’s a loaded question. One to give me clarity, but it comes off defensive. Hurt. Like I’m already going to be let down by the answer.

But I don’t correct myself as he stares at me like I’ve just said something completely ridiculous.

“Let’s see,” he says slowly. “You’re currently living with me. Currently sleeping in my bed every single night. I’m pretty sure that qualifies as a relationship.”

This is where a normal person would grow wide-eyed and squeal in delight.

But the past month or so has been far from normal. It’s been full of twists and emotions and as much as I trust Cole, I don’t feel like I can trust that word. That definition. As if I admit to wanting it, to liking it, then the one good thing that came out of all this might get taken from me too.

So instead of explaining those thoughts to him, I simply hold his gaze.

He frowns slightly. “What?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess I thought that word might . . . spook you.”

His expression shift. “Yeah,” he says flatly. “Being a fuckboy and all.”

My stomach drops. “Cole. That’s not what I—”

“But it is what you meant,” he says. “Because how could I be capable of anything more than that?”

“No,” I say quickly. “I didn’t—let me ex—”

“Then what is this to you, Dublin?” he asks, voice tighter now. “Because I’m starting to think that word scares you a hell of a lot more than it scares me.”