CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Cole
I shouldn’t have opened the link.
Not because I didn’t want to know what it would say—I could already assume—but because I knew once I did, there’d be no unseeing it.
And I was right.
There is an undercurrent in the locker room around me that tells me other players have seen what I’m currently looking at. The headline that feels like it’s burned into the screen of my phone, backlit, and staring right back at me.
LINKED ROMANTICALLY.
COMPROMISED INVESTIGATION.
QUESTIONABLE JUDGMENT.
I clench my jaw as I scroll, slower this time, forcing myself to actually read the article instead of reacting to it.
What I didn’t catch the first time though is how every word is aimed at her. Every implication tied to her decisions, her credibility, and her judgment.
And me? I’m barely more than a prop to justify why she crossed a line.
They made her the story. There isn’t a single line about me being in the wrong. There isn’t a single question about what I wanted or what I did.
Just Dublin.
Fucking hell. Whoever wrote the article made a very deliberate choice about who takes the fall.
My phone buzzes yet again. The group chat that never stops—especially right now.
JAXON: bro???
MALACHI: are we talking about the article? It’s fake, right?
TRISTAN: You dawg. Did I not call this? Both you fuckers owe me $50
JAXON: Not the time, dude
MALACHI: Cole? You good?
I stare at Tristan’s message longer than I should.
Did I not call this? Both you fuckers owe me $50.
The fuck, dude? He’s never known when a joke was inappropriate and he nailed this one. Fucking idiot. At least Jax and Malachi are taking it seriously.
Another buzz. My agent. Ignore.
Another. Rebels PR firm. Ignore.
Another. My dad. Shocker. I unblock him and he gets right back to it. Ignore.
Another. Lucas Hale. Ignore.
Because none of them matter until I fix the one thing I actually can.
Her.
No. Not fix—there’s nothing that can fix this—but I can remedy how I left things between us when I left earlier.
I grab my shit and step back from my locker as the noise from the room presses in around me. Music. Voices. The usual rhythm. All of it feels off.
Like I’m not a part of it anymore. Or maybe I just don’t care about it right now.
And as I make my way through the space to the door, the entire fucking room shifts. There are glances my way. There’s subtle silence falling just a second too late when I pass.
“Yo. Valor,” a receiver says as we wait for the logjam of players clearing the doorway. He nudges me—actually fucking jabs me with an elbow while offering me a shit-eating grin. “Look at you, hitting that fine piece of ass. Doing us proud.”
Fuck. My chest goes still. And there it is. Right on cue.
. . . you’ll get an atta boy from the guys while I lose my career because of this. Because of you.
Damn it. She was right.
I keep moving without acknowledging because what the hell do I say to that?
“Valor? Where are you going?” another teammate calls out.
I don’t slow down but say over my shoulder, “I’ve gotta take care of something.”
The drive is a blur filled with snapshots of earlier. Dublin’s face when I left. The way her voice broke when she said she was done. The way I just . . . let her.
Because that’s what I do. I let things happen and don’t push back. Don’t make it worse. That’s how I survived growing up. That’s how I’ve handled everything, but this . . . this isn’t that.
This is her.
She told me exactly how this would play out and I still let it happen.
It’s not like I could have stopped what was already in motion . . . but I could’ve tried to devise a plan. I could’ve stayed.
When she opens her door, when she looks at me, my heart sinks.
Her eyes are red and her face is pale. Oh fuck. This is not okay. How will she survive this?
Will she let me in? I shoulder half the blame here and yet when she looks at me, I feel like I should be taking all of it.
“Hey,” I say softer than I expected.
She doesn’t say anything but steps back to let me in. Fuck.
This is what Dublin Locke looks like when her world truly implodes. And the fact that I’m here, that I couldn’t leave her to grieve alone, says what’s going on for me.
I can’t shrug this off, stay silent, not engage . . . the way I’ve managed to with many fucked-up things in my past. Including my dad’s constant barrage of insults and fault finding. Including my teammates giving me shit. Including my mom and what she failed to provide.
Shrugging it off means the woman before me doesn’t mean anything to me and for fuck’s sake, she does. And in ways I don’t think I realized until she opened the door with a quivering chin and desolation in her eyes. She’s been trying to be strong.
And you left her to deal with this all on her own, Valor. That’s on you. Fuck me.
So I step inside and correct my error, doing what I should have done before. I pull her into a hug and hold her tight. I don’t have the words to fix this fiasco, but I do have arms and yeah, pulling her against me, holding her while she cries, that’s what I should have done before.
I lead her to the couch and pull her onto my lap, my chin on her head, offering comfort even when I know it won’t take the damage away. I don’t offer empty platitudes. I don’t tell her it’ll be all right.
Both are things I doubt she wants to hear nor will believe. Instead, I just hold her while she exhales the pent-up fear and worry and shame so that she knows she’s not alone in this even though that goddamn fucking article made it sound like she was.
When her sobs subside and her breathing finally evens out, I press a kiss to her temple and murmur, “It was a shit article.”
“We already knew that,” she says but doesn’t release the grip she has on my shirt.
“You were right. About where they’d place the blame. How they’d frame the story. How people might see it and us individually.” I sigh and it’s coated with shame. “I’m sorry I disregarded your concerns. Call me an asshole. Call me naive. Call me all the things. They’d all be right.”
“As good as it might feel in the moment, calling you names won’t fix anything,” she says, eyes fluttering open and up at me for the first time. Jesus. The heartbreak. It’s killing me. “Nothing will.”
Knife? Meet heart, then twist.
“Right now, maybe. But in time, it’ll eventually die down. I know that doesn’t help at this moment”—I brush a kiss to the tip of her nose—“but it’s the truth.”
She nods rapidly as if trying to make herself believe me. “I’ve talked to the people who matter to me—my parents, Willa—and ignored the dozens of other calls asking for a comment . . . but it still just sucks knowing people out there will hear this and that’s all they’ll ever know of me.”
“Why don’t you give a comment then?”
“Why?” She snorts. “So I can give them yet another thing to pick apart about me? I’m either too mopey or not sorry enough.
My shirt is too low cut so clearly, I’m a slut.
My voice is too whiny. I mean . . . at this point it doesn’t matter what I say or don’t say, they’ll both be just as damning in someone’s eyes. ”
I swallow. “I could have my agent put out a statement. He’s fielding calls and—”
“The last thing I need is for him to speak for me. That’ll look . . . I don’t know.” She rests her forehead on my shoulder, and I run my hand up and down her back.
Sure, she’s here in my lap, accepting my comfort, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say there wasn’t an underlying tension between us. An unspoken anchor that’s tying us together but that’s also weighing us down.
And stupid or not, curiosity is about to add another knot in that tether.
“So is this a bad time to ask who or what the Murdoch thing is?”
Her sigh is immediately followed by the sagging of her shoulders. “That was a long time ago. I shouldn’t be surprised they dug it up, but . . . fuck, man.”
“Talk to me,” I murmur.
“He was the first major case I was involved in. I was just an assistant,” she says, irritation peppering her voice.
“He was a high-up executive with the Mavericks who found himself in a messy, unethical situation. Bribes. Gambling. Pay-offs. Most of the accusations were just noise—personal stuff getting dragged into an investigation that was strictly professional.” She grits her teeth and meets my eyes.
“The wife was looking for a way out since it was likely he’d take the fall.
She accused me of being involved with him to help sell her justification of why she wanted a divorce and a sizable settlement. ”
“Were you?”
“No.” The answer is immediate. “But it didn’t matter because at the time people believed the version of the story they wanted to believe.”
“Fuck.”
“Nothing was proven. Hell, I don’t even think I was ever alone in the same room as the guy, but that didn’t matter.
Videos were doctored of him entering the facility late at night and then me following shortly after.
The reality was that it was two completely different nights, but who believes my word when they can see it with their own eyes?
The wife paraded around receipts for expensive dinners swearing he was wining and dining me when I never even ate with him.
The implication of impropriety was all it took though, for his wife to win her fat divorce settlement while ensuring no team wanted to work with that GIA assistant. The damage was done.”
The silence returns but now I see it. Now I see why she called this—it’s the same playbook but just a different headline.
“Did Marcus stand by you then?”
She worries her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Yes, as he should have. I did nothing wrong other than put myself in a position to look like it. He wasn’t able to stop the outside noise, but he did mitigate it by putting me on case after case to prove my value and quiet any doubt about my integrity.
This time though—you’re too well-known, social media is bigger than it was then, and frankly second time’s not a charm.
” She shakes her head. “I can’t fight something I’m actually guilty of doing. ”
“We’re guilty of doing,” I say, putting my finger under her chin and lifting it so she’s forced to meet my eyes. “You forgot the we’re part. I was wrong to leave earlier. I know you said you wanted me to, but I shouldn’t have left like that. I shouldn’t have left at all.”
“It’s okay—”
“No. It’s not. I have a habit of letting things happen and going along with them.
Not pushing. Not making it worse. I’ve lived my whole life trying not to rock the boat.
” I clear my throat and say it in terms she might understand.
“Comes from growing up with my dad. It’s always been easier to take it than to fight it.
” I exhale as nerves hit. I’ve never been this honest with anyone and it’s terrifying. “But I can’t do that to you.”
Her expression softens. “Cole . . .”
“No. I need to finish. You’re not alone in this and I’m sorry I made you feel that you were.
” I’m desperate to brush my lips against hers, to kiss the tears away on them, but I don’t want her to think my proclamations are solely because of sex.
“I left because you asked me to. I was trying to respect your wishes, and not because I agreed with you.”
Tears well in her eyes and I pray to fucking God they’re good ones because I can’t stand seeing her hurting anymore.
“I appreciate you coming back,” she says. “For saying all that, but I’m going to be honest and say it won’t change what’s out in the world.”
“First, fuck what’s out in the world and fuck what people think of it.
You know the truth. I know the truth. As long as we can look each other in the eye, we can move forward.
” She goes to speak and I hold up my hand.
“I know, it’s easier said than done, but it means we don’t sit here and let them decide for us.
You don’t walk away from everything you built, and I don’t stand here and let them drag your name through the mud. ”
“Great. So we ignore it. It doesn’t fix anything.”
“No. We don’t ignore it,” I say. “We fight back.”
She blinks almost as if she’s afraid to hope. “How though?”
“You keep doing what you do. You go rogue and figure out what actually happened off the record. Solve the case and prove to Marcus you are the investigator he thought you were and I know you to be. And I’ll handle my side.
Locker room, teammate, waterboy, whoever it is because we both agree that it’s someone with close access. ”
“What will that accomplish though if no one will believe its validity?”
“It’ll provide proof that they’re wrong. Marcus. The media. The fans who’ll believe it. And us.”
“Us?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Because you can pretend this didn’t matter, but I’m not buying it.”
“The article though, I mean. We were in the wrong. I did cross lines. I—”
“We don’t hide from it, Dublin. Hiding makes it worse.”
“That’s not exactly how my world works.”
“Then we change how it works.”
She emits a small, disbelieving breath. “You make this all sound so easy.”
“It’s not,” I say. “Far from it, but neither is what you’re doing right now—swallowing your pride and taking it.”
“So you’re saying we act like none of this happened?”
I take another step forward. “No. All of this happened. You. Me. Us. All I mean is why act like we’re ashamed when we have no reason to be?”
“You’ll be forgiven. I won’t.”
“That’s why we do this together in all aspects. It’ll make someone look like a complete ass to overlook one of us and not the other when we’re both doing the exact same thing.”
“Together?”
“Yeah,” I say softer and reach up to cup her face and rub my thumb back and forth on her jawline.
“Together. I meant what I said. I don’t regret a single moment we’ve spent with each other.
What I regret is not getting more. What I’d regret is if we let this decide that there isn’t going to be more. ”
Her breath hitches. “What are you saying?” she whispers.
I reach out and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. She closes her eyes briefly and catches herself before she leans into my touch.
“You know whatever this is between us, is unique. Special. We waited five years to start it, right?”
Her lashes flutter as she looks up at me. “And hopefully worth all this fallout,” she jokes. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I am.” I lean in and brush a kiss against her lips and then rest my forehead to hers so my next inhale meets her last exhale. “Does us being together fix anything? No, but it sure as shit’s better knowing someone is fighting beside you.”
I feel her lips curve into a smile against mine. “This is no way for a fuckboy to act.”
I bark out a laugh and lean back so I can meet her eyes. “So long as mine’s not one of the broken hearts you leave behind.”
Her smile is slow and welcome and fills all the holes her tears caused.