Page 45 of Hard Pass

I shake my head and sit forward with my elbows on my knees. It doesn’t matter. She’s not the Cabo girl anymore. She’s the one trying to take me down. And if she purposefully forgot to disclose that we knew each other to her boss, that’s leverage. Has to be. Plain and fucking simple.

Yeah. I can use that if I need to. I’m just not sure exactly how, quite yet.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

I pick up my phone and stare at the screen.

Of course. It took him long enough.

“Yeah,” I answer.

There’s silence on the other end of the line for a beat. No doubt he’s trying to contain his anger. “Explain what the fuck is going on.”

Definitely contained his anger. That was probably one of my dad’s nicer greetings as of late. There’s never a hello, never a just checking in, and most certainly never a benefit of the doubt.

Always straight to the point. One way of saying it.

“I’ve got it handled,” I say, already moving to the door.

“Handled? That’s what you call it?” he snaps. “Because it looks like you’re embarrassing yourself on every scale possible.”

And you.

You forgot to add that I’m embarrassing you too.

My grip tightens on the phone. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

His chuckle is pure derision. “You think this is a joke, Cole-y boy?” he continues, calling me his go-to whenever he feels I’ve disappointed him. “You think you can play like shit for the season, have your name tied to betting scandals, and just—what? Shake it fucking off?”

My teeth grind together. “Appreciate you giving me the benefit of the doubt. Thinking the best of your son and all.”

“Do you really want to go there—”

“I haven’t bet on anything, Dad.”

“Huh. So then you’re choosing to play this horribly for no reason? Or are you just so damn soft now that you can’t handle the pressure?”

There it is—that word—soft. It only took a minute into the conversation to get there.

Always. Fucking. Soft.

“I have to get back to the team.” I’m done with this conversation.

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “Do that. Get back to a team who thinks you’re cheating on them, fucking them over, all while playing like shit. See how hard they work for you when they think that.”

“I’m working my ass off to figure out what’s going on with my performance.”

He snorts. “Hopefully those high-dollar coaches of yours can work a miracle because you need it. Let’s hope you can keep your focus this weekend for once.”

The line goes dead and I exhale hard, dragging a hand through my hair.

Why the fuck do I even pick up?

I don’t have to. I could ignore it, block him, and just be done with his shit once and for all.

You wouldn’t be here without him, Valor.

That’s why I do it. It’s uncomfortable as hell and not exactly good for my mental health, but his time and dedication and tough love made me the most sought-after quarterback in the country out of college.