Page 123 of Hard Pass

I let out a breath that’s half laugh, half . . . something else. “Feels like everyone’s digging into me lately.”

“Maybe,” she says. “Or maybe you’re finally letting them in.”

I don’t respond. I just open the door and step out into the hallway. Her words follow me though.

You don’t need to be ashamed.

I don’t even know what that means. But if I’m honest, there’s a hint of clarity there. Maybe there’s a way through this. A way to fix this fucking hand and come out on the other side of it.

Things are looking up, right? GIA knows I didn’t have any part in the bets being made. We won the last game—and the W still holds even if the win wasn’t pretty.

And then there’s Dublin.

She’s not supposed to be any part of this. Not the case. Not the mess. Not me. And yet she’s the only thing that feels steady right now.

That doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense. But it’s there anyway. And if she’s willing to stand in this with me, knowing what it could cost her, then maybe I’m not as far gone as it feels.

I flex my hand as I walk. There’s no tremor. It’s still . . . for now.

But I know better than the lie I told Doc.

This isn’t new.

It never was.

And someone clearly knows that and is willing to ruin my career over it.

The question is the same one it’s always been—who?

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Dublin

The knock comes sooner than I expect.

Like he came the second he got my frantic texts without knowing what the problem is. For all he knows, this could be something simple. Fixable. Something with options.

What we’re facing now . . . isn’t.

I stand there for a beat too long as I try to calm myself already knowing it’s futile.

Knock. Knock.

“Dublin.” His voice cuts through the door—and through me.

I close my eyes for a second, steadying myself, and trying to gather a semblance of control before I open it.

It doesn’t work.

Nothing about this situation is remotely under control right now, and it’s only going to get worse once the article is released.

Will I ever be able to earn Marcus’s trust back?

I open the door. Cole’s standing there, shoulders tight, jaw set, and irritation written all over his face.

Good. At least one of us is still functioning, still feeling.

“What the hell is going on?” he asks immediately. “I got your texts. I told Coach I had to leave and missing anything right now—even if it’s nothing—isn’t exactly a great look for me.”