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.”
I hear his words, but they don’t appease anything, because all I can think is, at least you still have something to lose.
I take a step back to let him in, a hollow laugh slipping out before I can stop it. “You might want to get used to that,” I say and close the door behind him.
His brows narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I hesitate because the moment I say it out loud, it becomes real.
“My boss was here,” I finally say.
His expression shifts immediately. “Marcus?”
I nod. “Flew in this morning.”
Cole’s posture changes, irritation giving way to something stiffer. “Why? Did something happen with the investigation?”
“An article is about to drop.”
“What kind of article?”
I draw in a deep breath that doesn’t quite steady me. “About us.”
“The investigation?” It’s almost as if he’s trying to will that to be the answer but the look in his eyes says differently.
“No. About us,” I say and gesture to him and then back to me. “They called Marcus before releasing it. A professional courtesy. Asked him if he wanted to comment.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “So now he knows about us.”
Cole goes still. “How?”
“Like I know,” I say, voice rising. “A security guard. Someone walking their dog by your house. Someone intern who cashed in on information they thought was juicy. It doesn’t matter how—someone saw and now it’s about to be out.” Just like the investigation itself was leaked.
“We were careful. We—”
“Does it fucking matter? It happened, and now the whole goddamn world will know.” My voice breaks, a sob catching before I can stop it. I turn away, walking toward the window, staring out at the street like I can escape this if I just don’t look at him.
“What does this mean?” he asks.
“For me? It means my credibility is gone. I’ve been suspended indefinitely and am officially off your case. And when that article hits, it’s not just going to look bad for me, it’s going to look like we were part of it.”
“Part of what?”
“The cover-up they’ll invent . . . or worse, insinuate.” I let out a breath. “Think about it. The lead investigator sleeps with the quarterback she’s investigating? That’s not just inappropriate, that’s a scandal. The more salacious the better for their viewership and clicks.”
“They can’t prove anything.”
“They don’t have to. You’re an NFL star.
I am the woman investigating you. And they can play it one of two ways: either you seduced and slept with me to get cleared of any wrongdoing or I’m just a slut so mesmerized by her star client, she couldn’t control her urges.
” And then it hits me. “Oh my God. My parents are going to read this.”
My breath comes in short, sharp gasps.
This is going to—I have to call them as soon as I’m done talking to him.
“It’s going to be okay,” Cole says. “I promise it’ll be okay.”
I struggle to catch my breath. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can try.” He drags a hand through his hair as his jaw tightens. “You think people will actually believe the seduction or slu . . .”
“Slut story?” I finish for him when he blanches and doesn’t finish the word. “Yes. I do. But it doesn’t matter what we believe. We don’t control the narrative.”
I tilt my head back, but all I see is Marcus’s face. He was so . . . disappointed in me. And that’s what sticks. Not the suspension. Not the article. That look.
“How did you leave it with him?”
“I’m suspended effective immediately.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Out of a job. Unable to finish what I started.”
“I’m sorry,” he says evenly as he steps forward in an attempt to give me a hug that I shrug out of instantly.
That’s the last thing I want right now.
“No. Just . . .” How was it we were sitting on my couch forty-eight hours ago, talking, enjoying each other’s company in all ways, and now it’s all fucked up? “I can’t.”
“We knew this could happen.”
“Yes,” I snap. Wrong fucking thing to say. “That’s why I tried to stop it.”
His eyes lock on mine. “Did you though?”
Fuck, that stings.
“So you’re saying this is on me?” I ask, needing an argument so I stop blaming myself when I know I’m at fault.
“It’s not on anyone,” he says. “Dublin—”
“I thought I could manage it,” I admit, voice unraveling at the edges. “I thought I could keep it separate. That I could still do my job and . . . God, I was so wrong.”
The admission hangs there, fragile and exposed. He watches me like he doesn’t know what to do with it.
“It is what it is. We just need to mitigate the fallout,” he says like the voice of fucking reason.
“Mitigate the fallout?” I screech. “Like what? The fact that I just destroyed my career?”
“You didn’t destroy anything. You’re suspended. It’s temporary. Your boss knows your worth. It’ll blow over and—”
“No, it won’t,” I shout, feet needing to move again. “Why aren’t you more upset? Why aren’t you furious that now your name can’t be cleared because my word and therefore my conclusion means nothing?”
“What will my anger fix?”
“Right. I forgot. You’re you,” I say, my voice rising.
“You throw a ball well. You win games. You get paid millions to do it. You could do the most heinous thing imaginable, and it wouldn’t matter because so long as you keep racking up Ws in the win column, a team will find you valuable. You’ll survive this just fine.”
“That’s not fair—”
“It is.” I throw my arms out, my chest heaving like I can’t catch air fast enough. “That is how this works. I live on the opposite side of that, Cole. My name is everything. My credibility is everything. I don’t get a second chance simply because I’m good at my job.”
He doesn’t respond. He just looks at me with concern in his eyes and an understanding that while he can charm his way out of this by playing a great game, I don’t get that same opportunity.
“And now?” I laugh. “Now I’m the investigator who slept with her subject. That’s it. That’s the headline. That’s what people will remember when they hear my name.”
“Your body of work will speak for itself in the end.”
I shake my head. “Appreciate the vote of confidence, but you’ll get an atta boy from the guys while I lose my career because of this. Because of you.”
The undeserving words hang between us. Heavy.
Irreversible. Probably extreme but in the moment, that’s how I feel.
For a second I think he’s going to push back and argue.
He doesn’t. He just stands there, looking at me like he’s trying to decide what hurts more—what I said or the fact that part of it is true.
His Adam’s apple bobs. “You don’t get to put this all on me,” he says finally, his voice quieter, but no less steady. “We both walked into this.”
“I didn’t ask you to come to my house,” I shoot back, even though the fight is already starting to drain out of me.
“You didn’t tell me to leave either, and I gave you every opportunity to.”
His words are harsh but true.
I press my lips together, shaking my head, pacing a step away from him like distance might help me think.
“Okay,” he finally says.
I stop and look at him. “What?”
“You’re right.” It doesn’t sound like agreement. It sounds like surrender. “We should’ve left it at one time. I shouldn’t have gone to your house. I shouldn’t have pushed it.”
My chest constricts, because his mouth is saying one thing, but his eyes are reflecting something completely different.
“You don’t believe that,” I say softly.
The muscle in his jaw ticks. “I’ll believe whatever you need me to if that makes this easier for you.”
That breaks the anger and resentment I was holding on to.
“Don’t,” I whisper, tears welling.
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t do that.” My voice shakes. “Don’t make this smaller than it is just so I can pretend I didn’t choose you.”
He stills completely and I can see the part of this that hit him too.
He left here yesterday morning with bedhead, desire-drugged kisses, and fingers laced with mine stretched between us as he left until we couldn’t hold on anymore.
I’m not the only one who feels there’s more here than a casual hookup.
“I’m not trying to make anything smaller,” he says. “I’m trying to own that part of it that’s mine.”
“You can’t,” I say as the first tear slips down. “Unfortunately, you can’t fix this.”
“Then tell me what you want me to do,” he says, frustration bleeding through now. “Because standing here and letting you tear yourself apart over it isn’t helping either of us.”
I laugh but there’s no humor in it. “You want an actionable item? Fine. Go back to practice. Go be who you were before this . . . because you can.”
His eyes narrow. “And you?”
“I’m done, Cole.” The words feel like fire in my chest and burn when I say them. When I lie. “With this. With us. With whatever this was.”
Whatever this could have been. Because for a moment, I’d felt a sense of completion with Cole. That I had met an equal in so many ways—someone who both complements me and challenges me.
And maybe it took for this to happen for me to realize that.
Too bad we won’t even be able to explore it.
I see the flicker in his expression, and then he nods once like he’s accepting something he doesn’t agree with but isn’t going to fight me on it. “Okay.”
Oh.
There’s the word again and somehow it hurts more the second time.
He turns toward the door and for a second—just a second—I almost stop him because this feels too easy. Too final. Too real.
But I don’t call his name out because if I do, he’ll know that everything I just said is a lie.
He reaches for the handle, then pauses. “You know,” he says without looking back, “for someone who claims she hates gray areas, you sure hide in them when things get messy.”
Yep. That stung.
Then he finally glances over his shoulder, expression tighter now. Controlled. “Send me the article when it drops,” he says. “I want to see exactly what we’re dealing with.”
We.
Cole opens the door and just before he steps out, he adds, quieter, “For what it’s worth, I don’t regret it.”
My throat tightens because that’s the one truth I didn’t let myself say.