Page 219 of Hard Pass

“Why this time, Cole? Why now?”

My smile is sad. “Because after talking to Doc, we realized he was the culprit to everything. I mean, not that I shouldn’t have already known that, but . . . my hand. It’s a reaction to the years of pressure. A trigger telling me that it’s gotten to be too much. And clearly, it was a tell to opposing teams—and Tristan—that there was a high probability I was about to fuck up.” I exhale slowly. “She said the only way to try and get rid of it, to retrain my mind, was to confront him.”

“That had to have been a long, nerve-racking drive out there.”

“I almost turned around numerous times.”

“But you went,” she says. “And you confronted him.”

“Yeah.” The word scrapes raw. I clear my throat. “I did.”

“I’m here if you want to talk about it,” she says. “But I’m also okay if you don’t.”

She links her fingers with mine and squeezes. I stare at our hands for a few seconds and then I . . . let her in.

“When I walked in there, it felt like I was stepping back in time. And it hit me for the first time how I’m not the same person anymore who walked out that door.” I pause and stare at the sunset for a few more seconds. “I said what I needed to say. I was way nicer than I should have been, but . . . he didn’t magically become a different person. I don’t know why the little kid in me thought he would. But he didn’t. And he didn’t apologize or suddenly see the error of his ways. It felt like I finally stopped carrying around this constant need for his approval.”

Dublin’s thumb rubs back and forth over the back of my hand. “That’s huge.”

I look over at her as a breeze moves through the patio, stirring the loose strands of hair around her face.

God, she’s beautiful.

And not in the polished, intimidating way she was that first day in the conference room. Now it’s different—softer. More genuine. Mine.

The thought settles into my chest with terrifying certainty.

I kiss her lips and then rest my forehead against hers. “It’s time for me to focus on what I do best now.”

“Loving me?” she asks playfully.

I lean back and look at her, my chest swelling with love for her. “I stand corrected”—I grin—“what I do second best.”

Her brows lift. “Football, then.”

“Yes. Football. Winning. Getting this team to the playoffs. I know the tremor won’t be gone, but I’m pretty sure knowing that I’ve taken steps to begin the process will help from spiraling on the field like I was.”

“You weren’t spiraling,” she says, “but I get what you’re saying and that’s truly significant. Physically. Mentally. Welcome back, Cole Valor.”

I let her words take hold. And she’s right, I feel more like myself than I have in months. At the same time, I feel so very different. Free. Invigorated. Supported. Loved.

“Give up your apartment,” I murmur into the crown of her head. The words surprise me.

“What?” She leans back and looks at me. Blinks.

“Move in with me,” I say as her jaw falls lax. “I’m serious.”

“Cole . . .” Emotion flickers across her face too quickly to read.

“We practically live together already. Your stuff’s here. You’re here. I mean . . . not much has to change other than you admitting it.”

“I think you’re feeling good and want to ride on that wave,” she jokes.

“And I think I’m tired of worrying you’re halfway out the door.”

She stills and her brows pull together. “You thought I was going to leave?”

I huff out a laugh. “Trouble, I’ve considered hiding your apartment key at least six times.”