CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Cole
“It’s like I’m watching this all happen to someone else from afar,” she says, eyes serious. “I know I should feel more than I do, but I’m just numb. And I hate being numb.”
She’s not telling me the whole truth. As much as she thinks she’s a hard-ass, Dublin Locke still wears her emotions on her sleeve. Right now, I can see them there, but they don’t match the controlled words coming out of her mouth.
Hence the trip to the steakhouse. Walking straight into the fire instead of hiding from it. Forcing her to see it—to see that maybe it doesn’t break her the way she thinks it will.
Then again, I’m going to work every day like nothing happened. Yeah, the guys chirp. Yeah, there are the looks. But my agent put out a statement and life moves on.
For me.
Not for her.
And that doesn’t sit right. The goddamn double standard.
“Am I feeling a little lost? Sure. But that’s also me feeling sorry for myself.” She offers a small smile. “It’s early days yet. I’ll get over my pity party.” Her head tilts as she studies me. “What about you? What’s going on in your world? Are you holding up?”
“Game’s on Sunday. Just trying to keep my head where it needs to be.”
“And is it?”
I smile softly. “It’s hard to be when I know how this is affecting you.”
“That’s the last thing I want.”
“I know.” I lace my fingers with hers, grounding us both. “It’ll all get straightened out. Your job. Your reputation. The asshole behind the bets. My yips.” I bring her hand to my lips and press a kiss to it. “We’ll figure it out.”
She watches me like she wants to believe that. Like she’s afraid to.
“You always this optimistic?” she asks.
“Not even close.”
“Then why now?”
“Because you seem to bring out the best in me,” I say, joking simply because that’s a hard concept to accept. “And because this is something I want to take a chance on.”
Her breath hitches just slightly, but I see it. I feel it. And for a second everything else fades—the noise, the headlines, the mess.
It’s just her and her eyes that tell me she wants to take that chance too.
“What do you say we get out of here?” I lift my chin toward the door.
She exhales slowly. “Are you asking me if I’m ready to be thrown into the fire?”
I smirk. “I figured we’d skip the warm-up and go straight for the burn.”
“Of course you would.”
I stand, offer her my hand, and then head toward the exit.
The second we step outside, chaos erupts. Cameras flash. There’s shouting. It’s aggressive and suffocating. And if I’m thinking that when I’m used to attention like this, I can’t imagine what Dublin’s thinking.
“Cole! Over here.”
“Dublin! Did you compromise the investigation?”
“Were you sleeping with him before the case?”
Her fingers tighten in mine, so I shift closer, my hand sliding to the small of her back, guiding her forward while I hold my forearm up to block being blinded by the flashes.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur and I feel her nod.
We push through the crowd. The bodies never stop pressing closer and the questions never stop flying.
“Dublin. Is trading sex for information a normal practice for you?”
I stop. Everything in me goes still and my world narrows to that one voice. To that one question.
What the fuck did he just ask?
My rage is instant—hot, violent, and immediate. The instinct to turn and grab him and shut him the hell up owns me.
Every muscle in my body locks because I want to hit him. Desperately.
Don’t, Valor.
The second you swing and knock the fucker out, this becomes a whole different kind of story. The kind that will drag Dublin down even further.
So I swallow it—barely—and focus on getting Dublin into the back seat of my SUV where she’ll be protected by the blacked-out windows from the cameras.
“Get in the car,” I say, voice tight as I open the door for her. She hesitates for a second, no doubt the fury in my voice evident, but she slides in.
I shut the door and turn with every intent to get to the driver’s side without another word.
But somewhere between rounding the hood to walking in front of the car, I realize that I refuse to stay silent.
I’m sick of disengaging. Keeping my mouth shut is going to hurt her more, right?
That’s all I’ve done when it comes to my dad and it’s fucked me up, so why the hell would I want to do the same to her?
Fuck it.
“Hey!” I shout, the words cutting through the noise. My voice is controlled and that makes them all pause. Not silence, but close.
“You can say whatever you want about me,” I start, my voice steady despite my blood boiling under my skin.
“That’s part of the job. Comes with the territory.
” A few cameras shift. Phones lift higher.
“But you don’t get to tear her down like that.
” I scan the crowd, find the fucker who said it, and hold his stare.
“She didn’t compromise anything. She didn’t do anything wrong. ”
“Then why were you involved with her during the investigation—”
“Because I pursued her. I didn’t take no for an answer,” I say bluntly with a shrug.
“And no, it wasn’t because I was trying to get my name cleared.
Sometimes you meet someone and walking away isn’t an option you’re willing to take.
” Silence creeps in now, curiosity replacing the noise.
“That woman is one of the most intelligent, ethical, and relentless people I’ve ever met.
She did her job, better than anyone else could have, and the fact that this”—I gesture around us—“is how you choose to frame her tells me a hell of a lot more about you than it does about her.”
A few glances shift. They’ve gone from being bold to uneasy. Perfect.
“If you’re looking for someone to blame, then look at me.” I take a step forward. “I’m right here. I crossed the line. I pushed. I didn’t take no for an answer—and that’s on me. You don’t get to drag her name through the mud to make a better headline.”
“Valor—”
I hold my hand up to stop the question. “You want a headline? Fine. Here it is. You wanted to break her with this slanderous abuse,” I say quieter now, but I know it will carry more.
“Congratulations. All you did was prove exactly how strong she is.” I pause and run my eyes over the people standing there.
“Keep following us. Don’t follow us. I don’t give a damn. ”
Done, I turn, walk to the car, and slide into the driver’s seat, the noise fading the second it shuts.
I draw in a deep, even breath as a heavy, charged silence fills the car. I don’t even turn to look at Dublin right away but start the engine and pull out of the parking lot.
I don’t look back at them.
I don’t need to.
“Cole. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Just give me a minute, yeah?”
And it’s in that moment—right there, hands tight on the wheel, adrenaline still humming through me, the assholes growing smaller in my rearview mirror—that I know.
Fuck.
This woman has done what no one else ever has. She didn’t just get under my skin. She pushed and challenged. She agreed to fight.
And somewhere in the middle of all that, I fucking fell for her.
Motherfucking hell.
Is that what this is? This feeling beneath my breastbone that aches every time she’s upset? The need to protect her when I know it’s futile? The want to be with her instead of doing fucking anything else? Hanging my hat on a scandal that I could have walked away from?
I start laughing. It’s deep and loud and long and draws an odd look from Dublin in the rearview mirror.
Here I thought I was just being a good guy. Just making sure all the blame didn’t fall on her.
And yeah, that’s part of it, but the other part? The part that just blindsided me like a three-hundred-pound linebacker?
It’s none of that and all of it at the same time. I went and fucking fell for her.
“Cole?”
I shake my head and let the laugher fade. “Yeah. I’m good. I’m fucking great actually.”
“You sure?” Concern floods her voice as she shifts and places her hand on my bicep from the back seat.
“Yes.”
She squeezes. “Thank you,” she whispers. “You didn’t need to do that, say that.”
“I know, but . . .” I’ve taken it for so long and don’t want to take it anymore. “It would make me less of a man to preach to you about walking through the fire with me but not showing them I’m willing to fight their fire with our own.”
“You’ll never know how much that meant to me.”
“I told you that you bring out the best in me.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but I struggle to swallow over the lump in my throat. “You don’t deserve any of that shit. Someone needed to say it.”
I glance at her in the mirror and even though it’s dark, I can see the tears glistening in her eyes. Can see the gratitude in them. I hold her stare as long as is reasonably safe before I look back toward the road.
“May I ask where we’re going?” she says quietly.
“Home,” I say. “To my house where you’re going to stay until this all blows over.”
“I’m fine. You don’t need to—”
“I know you are, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to make sure of it.”
“This isn’t necessary.”
“It is to me.”
She falls quiet and our eyes meet in the mirror again. She’s watching me, trying to read me.
“My neighborhood is gated. No one can get in past the security gate unless I authorize it. That means that you don’t have to be worried about photographers lurking around outside your windows. No assholes yelling shit at you. No one harassing you.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I’m well the fuck aware you can.” My grip tightens on the wheel.
“I have more rooms than I need. You can have one to stay in. The other to work out of. I’ll take you to your place in the morning to grab your things.
I just . . . let me do this one thing I know I can’t fuck up—take care of you—since you feel like everything else is just that—fucked up. ”
She is slow to respond and when she does resignation is in her voice. “Okay.”
Good. Because I wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“Both of us are involved in this. The last thing I’m going to do is let you carry this alone.”
And this time, I mean it.