Page 211 of Hard Pass

“She respects the hell out of you, Marcus.” Surprise actually shows on his face at that. “She looks up to you. You’re everything she aspires to be professionally.” I pause. “And when things got difficult, when her integrity was called into question, you forgot everything she’s added to you and your company, and you folded.”

His eyes narrow. “You have no idea what that meeting with the league looked like.” Irritation peppers his voice.

“You’re right. I don’t. But I know what she looked like afterward.”

Marcus jolts. Good. My words have shocked him when they shouldn’t. He exhales slowly as he gives a lone shake of his head. “My decision isn’t personal. The optics—”

“No. I think the problem is that perception mattered more to you than the truth.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and chuckles in a way that tells me he’s trying to keep his temper at bay. I’d be pissed if someone was calling me out on my fuckup too.

“When you backed Dublin into a corner, do you know what she did” I shake my head once. “She worked harder.” My chest tightens. “She went back through every detail of the case to make sure no one could question the integrity of it.” I hold his stare. “She wasn’t worried about herself, Marcus. She was worried about the damage this did to you. To me.” My jaw tightens. “That’s who you’re willing to cut loose.”

Marcus looks away first. His lips pursed and the tendons in his neck taut. “You care about her a great deal,” he says quietly.

The understatement almost makes me laugh.

“I do. Yes. And I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if this investigation remained inconclusive forever except for what it does to her. I can easily live with a cloud over my name.”

And I could. I realize that now. After my dad. After Tristan. After all of it, the stain on my name is nothing compared to how desolated it makes her feel.

“But I refuse to let there be a cloud over hers.”

Marcus’s Adam’s apple bobs but he doesn’t speak. He just stands there with his arms still crossed.

“She’s relentless and ethical and smarter than half the people in this league combined,” I say. “And she deserves someone willing to fight for her when things get ugly.”

He studies me for a long moment. It’s as if he’s trying to reconcile the quarterback he expected with the man standing in front of him. His eyes narrow. “Who do you think you are exactly?”

“The person fighting for her now.”

Silence. It’s almost crushing.

Marcus laughs softly under his breath. “I underestimated you,” he says.

“Seems to be a theme lately.”

He blinks, seeming confused, then motions to the people walking by in the hall. “The press conference starts in three minutes,” he says carefully. “What am I here to see?”

I grab the remote off the table and turn the screens on the wall in front of us so that we’re front and center, with a bird’s-eye view of the podium in the other room. Sports media fill the room—reporters, blinding lights, microphones, a league backdrop.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“I wanted you to have privacy while you watch this. You’re welcome to be in there, but you can see it all from here too.”

“What kind of game are you playing?” I lift my cell to my ear.

“Cole? Are you okay?” Dublin asks by way of greeting when she answers the phone, concern threaded through her voice. Just hearing her voice steadies something in me. “Why did you tell me to call you at 9:58 exactly? What’s—”

“Turn on the television. Channel is already set.”

“Why . . .” Marcus goes completely still beside me as Tristan walks toward the podium.

He looks haggard. Sure he has a suit on, and his hair is styled, but he looks like absolute shit.

“Trust me,” I murmur to her.

My agent, the one facilitating this, steps up to the mic.