Page 226 of Hard Pass

He smirks. “You investigate for a living. Everything is suspicious to you.”

“Always.”

“I assure you when I don’t put the cap on the toothpaste that it isn’t some passive-aggressive way to tell you I secretly hate living with you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I laugh.

He lifts his eyebrows. “Might want to take some of your own advice, Locke.”

“You’re deflecting.” I pull my sunglasses down and peer over them at him. “That makes you suspicious and my prime suspect.”

He laughs low and easy. God, I love that sound and the way it rumbles over me.

Eighteen months ago, laughter from him felt like something hard-earned. Something I wanted to keep in my hands and protect from anything trying to steal it.

Now it comes easier. Not always, but it does.

Maybe that’s because he still sees Dr. Hawley, so processing all the shit he’s shoved down for years is easier. Maybe it’s that even now, when he’s overwhelmed the tremor returns, but he uses strategies so it no longer rattles him.

It hasn’t always been easy for him, but how can I not love a man who tries to better himself every damn day on the field, off the field, and in our relationship?

“You’re staring,” he says.

“I’m observing.”

“Same thing.”

“What if I said I was staring because I was just thinking about how much I love and adore you?”

“Well, in that case, you’re forgiven.” He chuckles and then motions to me. “Come over here.”

I narrow my eyes and say playfully, “Why?”

“Because we finally made it to Bali, Trouble. Because we finally escaped at a time when neither one of us has a plane to catch, a case to solve, or a game to win.”

“That sounds suspiciously reasonable.”

He tilts his head to the side and smiles. “I have my moments.”

I walk toward him, letting my bare feet skim over the warm stone surrounding our private villa’s deck. Our place is tucked away from everything but the ocean, the palms, and the most spectacular sunset that makes it look like the whole sky’s showing off.

Cole catches my hand and pulls me into him.

“There she is,” he murmurs.

I rest my palms on his shoulders. “You keep saying that like I go somewhere.”

“Sometimes you do.”

I smile. “But I always come back to you,” I say.

His gaze holds mine and for a second all the playfulness fades and my heart falters.

“Cole?”

He exhales slowly, and there it is again. The weirdness. The nerves. The look of a quarterback about to attempt a play he hasn’t practiced enough to trust yet.

“Oh my God.” I whisper. “Are you breaking up with me in Bali?”