CHAPTER FORTY
Dublin
“I liked you better when your life was boring.”
I glance up from my wine and narrow my eyes at Willa. “You’re such a supportive friend.”
“I am,” she says, completely unfazed as she leans back in her chair. “I’m supporting your right to not completely implode.”
“Comforting.”
She lifts her glass. “Cheers to that.”
I clink mine against hers and settle in on the small patio in the back of a bar near her apartment. The city hums around us, quieter than usual—or maybe it just feels that way because my head hasn’t stopped spinning in weeks.
“Okay,” she says after a beat, eyes studying me. “Real answer. How are you doing?”
I watch the rosé swirl in my glass for a second before answering. “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.”
I knew that answer wouldn’t fly with her. “I really don’t,” I say.
Because how do you explain the upheaval my life has been through?
“Fine,” she says. “Checklist. We’re starting somewhere.”
I roll my eyes. Of course we are. “That’s really not necessary.”
“But it is for me so I can accurately assess if my best friend is okay.”
I sigh. Better give her what she wants or she’ll just keep digging. I pick the easiest of all the topics she could ask to start with. “I talked to Marcus yesterday.”
Her brows lift. “How’d that go?”
“He was . . . controlled. Cordial. Both of which is worse than if he were yelling at me.”
“Ooof. Yeah. That’s never good.”
“It’s like I could feel the disappointment oozing through the line.”
She grimaces. “Did he say anything about you coming back?”
“He said that until the investigation is complete, the decision whether I’m coming back or not is put on hold. Especially now that they’ve brought in a whole new team to start over.”
“So they started from scratch? Doesn’t he trust any of your work?”
I hesitate. “More like he doesn’t trust me,” I whisper. The words taste bitter. “But I can’t blame him. I can see his side. I can see the NFL’s side. I can see the public’s side.”
“But no one’s seeing yours.”
I shrug. “That’s not exactly surprising.”
“And yet you’re still secretly working the case.”
“Naturally.” I smile. “When have you ever known me to walk away from a job half finished?”
“Never.” She glances around and waits for the server to move past us and out of earshot. “So where does your investigation stand?”
“Manny’s still feeding me information off the record. I told him he didn’t have to, but it keeps showing up in my inbox.” I shrug.
“And?”
“I still stand by my conclusion. Cole’s not throwing games. He’s not involved.”
She studies me. “But . . .?”
I don’t take the bait. Because the rest? The tremor. The pattern. That stays with me.
Sure, I’ve broken a lot of rules lately, but sharing the details of an investigation won’t be one of them.
“If it’s someone inside the Rebels—staff, janitor, teammate, anyone with access to him—that’s considered insider information and it’s illegal. They have special information no other bettors have.”
“And if it’s not? If it’s pure luck?”
I snort. “The probability is highly unlikely. But that would mean it’s someone reading him in real time. Watching for a tell others don’t catch.”
“That would mean they’re crazy observant.”
“Mmm,” I say. “And if that’s the case, whoever Marcus has on the case will probably find the results inconclusive.”
“But you wouldn’t?”
“I need a name. A person. That’s the only way to truly clear Cole.”
She nods. “And I’m assuming you haven’t found anything yet.”
“Manny is chasing down some small internal errors the bettor made, but it could be a wild goose chase. Technology’s getting too good such that it’s getting harder and harder to trace those discrepancies.”
“And last game? Were there any of these bets placed?”
I think back to Sunday. To the guys. To the tequila. To the suite and the corner afterward. I fight the smile because that’s the last thing I want to explain right now.
I don’t think there’s any sound barrier that would contain Willa’s shocked and excited shriek if I told her what Cole and I did in that corner.
“No large or notable bets,” I say.
She frowns. “Do people normally just . . . stop?”
“That’s the problem,” I say. “They don’t. And if they did, it would have been the first public mention of the investigation. But they placed bets the next two games after the world knew. Then it’s been sporadic since. The why behind it though is what I’m trying to figure out.”
“So something changed.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t know what.”
“Not yet.”
She nods and bides her time asking the next question. “So do you think you’ll get your job back when all is said and done?”
My inhale is slow and measured. “I think Marcus would have fired me already if he was done with me. But I’m not—so far. So . . . I’m hopeful.”
“He’ll take you back. I know it.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but it’s feeling rather desperate. I don’t have a job. My investigation’s going nowhere. And—”
“And you’re living with a star quarterback in his ritzy house where you’re safe in a gated community while thumbing your noses at the press.”
I snort and choose the easier of those two points to tackle first. “Thumbing my nose at the press is really just code word for my personal life is apparently everyone’s business now.” I sigh. “It’s a mess.”
“Mm-hmm.” She takes a sip of her wine. “Such a mess you’re eating out and going to football games and making sure the world knows you don’t give a fuck what they think of you.”
“Oh, I care all right. That perception comes to you courtesy of Cole. One hundred percent.”
“I love him for making you do it though. You know that, right?”
I blink at her. “You do?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I love someone who stands up for you? Every other guy you’ve dated sees this strong woman and assumes that you can handle everything on your own. Pretty sure Cole knows you can too, but he’s still making sure you don’t let them push you into hiding.”
“I wasn’t sure what you thought of him.”
“The jury’s still out but so far, I’m pleasantly surprised.”
Willa watches me for a second longer, and then her expression softens. “You’re spiraling, aren’t you?”
“I’m not. It’s just a lot.”
“Hence the spiraling. You’ve gone from controlled and anonymous to living with an NFL quarterback in the middle of a media storm,” she says. “That qualifies.”
She’s right on every level but one. “I prefer the term processing to spiraling.”
“Tomato, tamahto.” She grins. “So tell me about it. Him. You guys. You’ve been rather hush-hush about it all.”
“I didn’t plan this.”
“Of course you didn’t.” She laughs. “You never plan anything that’s messy.”
I sigh and tip my head back, staring up at the darkening sky.
“I love him.”
Shit. Did not intend to say that.
I freeze, then slowly lower my head, to find Willa staring at me.
“I’m sorry. I thought I heard you say something, but I need to make sure.”
“Didn’t say anything,” I say.
“Pretty sure you did.” She pauses, eyes narrowing as she studies me before shaking her head. “Um, holy shit, Dublin.”
“That pretty much sums it up.”
I can’t believe I just admitted that to Willa when I haven’t fully grasped the concept, the emotion, and its repercussions myself.
“It just kind of happened. Somewhere between everything falling apart and him not walking away.”
“The kiss to end all kisses,” she murmurs wistfully.
“Or maybe it’s trial by fire. Nothing makes your true character show like the pressure cooker we’re currently in.”
“And you think you’ve seen enough of it to know this version of Cole is the real one?”
My smile is automatic. “Yes.”
There are so many sides to him.
Bedhead Cole in the morning, fixing me coffee how I like it, without even asking, and handing it to me as I walk into the kitchen.
After practice Cole who walks in the house exhausted and while he probably needs some time to himself to unwind, makes a point to help plan dinner.
Late-night Cole who falls asleep with his playbook open in his lap while he mumbles the plays he’s dreaming of.
Then there’s spontaneous Cole who grabs my hand at midnight and tells me we’re leaving.
Our adventures have ranged from getting ice cream to taking a midnight cruise on the lake in his boat—the one I didn’t even know he had—to driving out to farm country so he could show me all the baby calves that he’d seen when he’d driven past earlier in the week.
And I sure as shit am not going to leave out sexy Cole. The man is selfless in bed. He’s fun and creative and attentive in ways I’ve never experienced before.
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “Okay. Wow. Not to sound like a harsh friend sounding like she doubts you, but . . . how do you know it’s love?”
I bark out a laugh. “Seriously?”
“Yes. Seriously. I need details. Signs. Symptoms. Scientific evidence.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “How did you know with Brian?”
Willa’s expression softens instantly. “That’s easy,” she says quietly. “He became my first call for everything. Good days. Bad days. Random thoughts. Stupid jokes. And somewhere along the way, I realized that every version of my future that made me happy had him in it.”
The fact that I understand her words, how they feel when I apply them to Cole, only reinforces how I feel.
“And?” she asks.
“They say you see the real person in their worst of times, and that it’s how they are then that defines their character.
We’re both there right now, both dealing with this shit, and he just keeps showing up for me in ways that matter.
Or rather in ways I never thought would matter before but now realize do.
” I smile. “He’s where I want to be when everything feels hard. ”
“That’s huge.”
“And,” I add dryly, “because apparently, I now own a football jersey. That should have been the first warning sign.”
“Dublin Locke, voluntarily wearing sports merchandise because of a man?” She snorts. “You really have fallen for him, haven’t you?”
“Apparently.”
“Well shit. I didn’t have that on my bingo card. I had you pegged for playing house and having incredible toe-curling sex while you waited this out.”
“There’s that too.” I flash a wicked grin that has her tapping her glass to mine and shaking her head.
“Good for you.”
I exhale. “But you’re right. I thought that’s all this was. Temporary. An offer to stay because he felt guilty. Some companionship to get through the storm.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know how to separate it.”
“Does he know?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Have I said the words out loud? Absolutely not.”
“You’re afraid he doesn’t feel the same?”
“Obviously.” I bark out a laugh as nerves jingle, but if he didn’t feel similarly, I’d know.
She smiles softly. “How wildly terrifying for you, the woman who hates feeling out of control.”
“Yes. No. I mean, let’s just see what happens when this all blows over and I move back into my place.”
“Love is love, Dub. You can’t turn it on and off.”
“Huh. That’s what I’m afraid of.” My phone vibrates on the table. “My ride’s here.”
She lifts her eyebrows. “You didn’t drive?”
“Cole dropped me off. Said he’d be my designated driver and pick me up.”
“There is such thing as Uber.”
“I’m aware,” I say as we both stand.
“I want to meet him.”
I pause. “Don’t say anything weird.”
She grins as we both put money to cover the check. “Like what? Like that one time you tried to flirt your way out of a parking ticket and didn’t realize it was the father of the guy you were dating?”
“Yes. Like that.”
This is probably a mistake.
“I would never,” she says.
Liar.
We head down the steps at the bar’s entrance, and my heart does that thing whenever I know he’s close.
The passenger door opens before I can reach for it.
“Ladies,” Cole says from where he sits in the driver’s seat. White T-shirt. Jeans. Damp hair from the shower.
Jesus. Talk about sexy. I swallow. “Hi.”
“Did you have a good time?” he asks.
“Yes,” Willa answers for me. “Though I should warn you, we mostly talked about you.”
He grins. “I’ll take the risk. And it’s all true.”
“Even the bad stuff?”
“Especially the bad stuff.” He nods. “You must be Willa.”
He flashes his megawatt smile, and I swear I hear my best friend sigh beside me.
“Long time no see. Cabo, was it?”
Cole glances up at her—and then throws his head back and laughs.
And just like that, everything feels a little less impossible.