Page 23 of Hard Pass

And right now, he’s protecting himself.

What are you hiding?

“Walk me through the last few weeks,” I say. “Anything that changed in your routine. Training, recovery, communication. Anything that deviates from the norm.”

His brows pull together. “You want my daily schedule now?”

“I want to understand variance.”

“That’s your fancy way of saying you think I screwed up.”

“Incorrect. It’s a factual way of saying something changed. Whether you intentionally had anything to do with it is what I’m here to find out. Contrary to what you think, I’m not the enemy here. As I stated, the data suggests that someone has advanced knowledge of your performance variability and is using it to place bets. So, use this as your opportunity to discharge any liability or guilt.” I pause. “Has something changed?”

He bites his bottom lip like he’s deciding whether he’s going to answer or not.

“Yeah,” he says. “The change is I’m playing like shit.”

Blunt, but not useful. This is the part I find frustrating. If players could look past their ego and hear what’s being suggested and simply answer the damn questions honestly, my job would be far simpler. However, this is what I get nine times out of ten. Ego always speaks first.

“Why?”

“Why?” He laughs, sharp and humorless. “If I knew that, fixing it would be a hell of a lot easier, wouldn’t it?”

Sarcasm as a defense mechanism. That laugh as a means of deflection. Expected but I make a mental note anyway.

“What about outside communication?” I ask. “Conversations with third parties. Friends. Family. Anyone who might have insight into your condition or mindset?”

“How many team clubhouses have you been in?” he asks, ignoring my question.

“Plenty.”

“Then you know how many people it takes to make this all work. How many people are in and out of the team facility every day. Players, coaches, support staff. There’s easily over one hundred people, not to mention the reporters.”

“And beyond that?” I ask. “It could be someone you’re in contact with outside the clubhouse.”

“I keep my circle tight,” he says. “Same three friends since college. My dad wouldn’t dare risk his own ego. Oh, wait.” He snaps his fingers. “My mom called me three times in the last two weeks to make sure I was eating enough. Must be her feeding insider information to Vegas.”

Deflection again but lighter this time. Less bite. Less armor.

I take a mental step back and study him. The data says one thing, but his behavior says the opposite. Sure, it’s frustrated and defensive, but I don’t read it as calculating. Not yet anyway.

“You good, Valor?” Carter asks.

“Define good,” Cole mutters. “Because I can’t give answers to anything else she’s asking.”

“How about you stop making this harder than it needs to be and we can all get back to focusing on the game this weekend?” Carter asks.

There’s a history there. Noted. Possibly useful later. Then again, anyone with a history has to be looked at.

“I’m answering the questions,” Cole says.

“Is that what you call it?” Carter snorts. “How about more answers and less sarcasm so we can get out of here?”

I let them have the moment. People reveal more in irritation than they do in calm.

“Let’s talk about game day,” I say. “Any changes to your pregame routine? Physical discomfort? A concern you might have mentioned in passing to someone—anyone—that could affect your consistency?”

“My job is to play football,” he says. “I don’t think about what I’m saying to who.”