Page 172 of Hard Pass

“If you have to think about it, then we’re not in the same place. Sorry I said anything.”

The door opens.

Then slams shut behind him.

The sound echoes through the house. Through me.

I’m left here dripping wet. Stunned. Trying to breathe through the sudden, hollow space he left behind.

Because the worst part isn’t that I don’t feel it.

It’s that I do.

And I was too afraid to say it out loud.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Cole

The bar is half full.

Low lights. Two of today’s games replay on televisions around the bar, sound muted. Some guy at the other end is arguing with the bartender about a bad call from our game that ended over three hours ago.

Normal clamor that doesn’t require anything from me.

I pull my baseball hat down lower on my forehead and do my best to blend into the shadows. I have a beer in front of me I haven’t touched, and it’s so much easier to stare at the condensation sliding down the glass than replay what just happened at the house.

It doesn’t work. I still replay it.

I shouldn’t have left. I know that. Hell, I knew it the second the door shut behind me, but pride can be a real asshole once it gets behind the wheel. And mine? Mine apparently has a lead foot with no intention to ask for directions.

My phone sits faceup on the bar. No new messages.

Not that I’m looking.

I’m absolutely fucking looking.

Either she’s giving me space or she’s well restrained in the text bombing. Every other woman I’ve ever known would have lit up my phone by now.

The door opens behind me, letting in a slice of night air and street noise. A few seconds later, the stool beside me scrapes back.

Lucas drops onto it, takes one look at me, and then glances around the bar.

“You dragged me away from my very hot wife in a very warm bed for this?”

I lift my beer. “Hello to you too.”

He nods to the bartender. “Whiskey. Neat.” He looks back at me. “Last time we were in this bar together I was dragging you out of it, and you weren’t too happy with me.” He slides a twenty across the bar when the bartender sets his drink down. “What am I doing here, Valor?”

I don’t fucking know.

I huff out a breath. “You’re the one person I know who’ll give me honest feedback.”

His mouth twitches. “That’s a dangerous thing to ask for.”

“Yeah, well . . . feel free to go back to that warm bed of yours. I’ll manage just fine with about ten more of these,” I say, lifting the beer I’ve barely touched.

He takes a sip, leans back in his chair and nods. “I’m here. Let’s hear it.”