Page 192 of Hard Pass

His hand stills. His body tenses. “I will,” he says quietly. “When I can, I will.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“I just . . .” He presses a kiss to my neck. “I need to figure some things out first.”

“That’s okay,” I say. “Take your time.”

His arm tightens around me, pulling me closer. “It has nothing to do with you and me,” he says.

“I know.”

And I do know.

Because whatever this is, it’s bigger than us.

He didn’t come here for answers. He came here because he needed somewhere to land.

And somehow, that place is me.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Dublin

I wake up reaching for him.

As my hand slides across cool sheets to find the spot next to me empty, my eyes flutter open, the quiet of the room settling in before the rest of it does. Cole’s side of the bed is rumpled, the imprint of him still there—but he’s gone. I push up onto my elbow and glance at the clock.

Early.

Too early for him to be gone without a word.

I sit up, dragging the sheet with me and listen. No shower running. No footsteps downstairs. No muffled voice on the phone from talking quietly in the backyard.

Just silence.

A thread of unease pulls tight in my chest. It’s not that he left, that’s happened before, but it’s how he left.

Like he didn’t want to concern me. Or maybe he just didn’t want to explain.

I get out of bed and grab his T-shirt from the dresser, slipping it over my head before making my way downstairs.

Everything about last night replays in my head. The look on his face. The raw need in his voice. The way he held on like he was afraid to let me go.

The I love yous on repeat.

The kitchen comes into view. My pink mug and a coffee pod are on the counter right next to the coffee maker.

He didn’t just leave. He thought about me before he did and even though that should ease my apprehension, it doesn’t. I’m worried about him. What happened last night to put him in such a destroyed state?

“He’s fine,” I murmur to myself.

But the words still don’t settle right.

I reach for the coffee pod and that’s when I see the sticky note that’s fallen on the floor.

Doc H

8 a.m.