Page 212 of Hard Pass

I finally feel like the truth will catch up to all of us.

And for some, it will set them free.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Dublin

My heart races as the TV sparks to life with Cole’s voice in my ear.

“Trust me.”

Two words that should not calm me considering the last few weeks of my life have been an absolute masterclass in why trusting anyone is a terrible idea.

But it’s Cole.

So I do.

The screen cuts to a live feed from what looks like a press room. A press room that . . . hey, that’s the Rebels offsite facility. Where I watched film.

“What?” I whisper as the camera pans over reporters gathering with their recording devices and notes.

If I thought my heart was racing before, it’s thundering now.

“What is this?” I ask, not even sure if Cole is still there.

He doesn’t answer. Or maybe he does and I can’t hear him over the blood rushing in my ears.

A man I recognize steps up to the microphone. Cole’s agent—Finn Sanderson.

“Thank you all for being here on such short notice,” Finn says, voice polished and controlled. “For those who don’t know me, I’m Finn Sanderson. Several months ago, an investigation was launched regarding my client, Cole Valor, specifically alleged betting irregularities tied to his performance.”

My stomach drops. Did GIA finalize a conclusion? Is Cole’s agent there because he’s been found guilty?

That can’t be right. Cole wouldn’t have told me to watch if that was the case.

My head races with so many things that I can’t focus.

Oh. God.

“Cole?” I whisper.

“I’m here,” he says quietly. I don’t even realize until then that I still have the phone pressed to my ear.

“Accusations involving point shaving, insider information, and intentional underperformance were all raised. Those accusations then alleged and insinuated inappropriate behavior to influence said investigation,” Finn continues. “Today, we’re here to set the record straight.”

Why this? Why now? Where was this declaration weeks ago—

“Tristan?” I whisper as one of Cole’s oldest friends walks into the frame.

I stop breathing. That’s not the Tristan I know. Not the easygoing guy with the arrogant smile. Not the charming friend who made everything sound like a joke.

The Tristan on the screen looks hollowed out. Exhausted bordering on terrified.

“Please tell me what I’m thinking is wrong,” I whisper.

“You’re not.”

Two words. Low and rough and with enough hurt in them to make my eyes sting.