Page 76 of Hard Pass

I don’t stop.

“Cole. Wait.”

Her footsteps behind me are quick and determined.

Her hand wraps around my arm. I react before I think, yanking it free as I spin around.

“Don’t.” My voice is a low warning. “I can’t handle much more right now . . . and the fucking breaking point can’t be you.”

The words hang there between us. Honest and raw and true.

Her fingers loosen and for a second, I think she might let me go. I don’t wait to find out. I turn, walk down the hall, and just as I pass Brian, the security guard, I say, “He’s no longer allowed access and needs to leave the premises.”

I don’t wait for his response because within seconds, I’m out the doors, and back into the rain.

The storm hasn’t eased. It’s as relentless as he is. And that’s exactly what I need. Exactly what I deserve.

I don’t look back. Don’t check to see if she followed me. I just climb in my SUV, slam the door, start the engine, and drive.

The windshield wipers are the only sound in the car and my hands ache from gripping the wheel so tight.

My rage should burn off. That’s how this usually works. He shows up out of the blue. He does what he does. I’m consumed by anger, frustration, and shame.

Then I drive aimlessly to let it settle and try to regain a modicum of control.

But tonight is different. Nothing fucking dissipates. Every mile from the complex to my house just makes it worse.

His voice.

Her eyes.

That moment on the field when I look up to see her standing there. It replays on a loop I can’t shut off.

You used to have control.

You look like a boy who’s about to lose everything.

Fucking pathetic. You think this betting scandal is your problem? It’s not. It’s this, your piss-poor excuse for talent.

You always needed pressure to perform. But this? This is what happens when you don’t have it in you anymore.

Of all people to see it, to see me like that—her.

My knuckles turn white on the wheel as I push faster than I should through the sheets of rain.

It’s all too much. I can’t deal with it. Not the yips. Not the accusations. Not him. Not her. Not the way my life is unraveling.

My tires hiss against the wet pavement as I pull into my driveway a little harder than necessary. I cut the engine and sit there for a second, chest rising and falling, pulse still pounding in my ears.

It didn’t go away this time. It got fucking worse.

I fling the car door open, step out into the rain, and head for the front door.

Get inside. Shut it off. Lock it down.

And just as I have the front door unlocked and am pushing it open, “Cole.”

I whip around to see Dublin standing in the rain behind me. Soaked. Breathing hard. Eyes searching in a way I don’t want to be seen.