CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Dublin
I rub my eyes and stare down at my phone again like maybe the words will change if I give them enough time.
They don’t.
MANNY: No large bets. Nothing significant found.
I sigh. Great in theory. Wonderful, in fact, but that gets me no closer to finding who’s doing this to Cole.
It just doesn’t make sense. Patterns don’t just disappear. People don’t just stop—
The front door opens. Closes. Footsteps come down the hall, and then there he is.
Cole stands just inside the doorway, shoulders heavy, posture reflecting just how physical the game was.
He has joggers on and a white T-shirt. There’s turf burn on one elbow. A bruise blooming across his forearm. A cut on his non-throwing hand that looks worse than it probably is.
And those are just the visible injuries.
His eyes meet mine, exhausted and depleted, but there’s a soft smile there.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” I say pushing to my feet, my heart already well past the tumbling when I see his face. “Are you okay?”
He huffs out a soft laugh. “You should see what the other guys look like.”
“I know you guys won, but . . .” I take a step closer, my eyes looking to see where else he’s hurt. “I thought this was supposed to be an easy team.”
“Easy as in they have a shit record. Yes. But that doesn’t mean they don’t have giants on their line who hit hard.”
“And your line wasn’t protecting you with Altman out sick. Your right side was weaker.”
“Look at you diagnosing the problem,” he says, smile widening.
“And your hand?” I ask, still stuck on the conversation with Malachi.
He groans when he shifts his feet and my question’s forgotten as I press a tender kiss to his lips. I love how his hand immediately goes to my waist to pull me in against him despite his pain. “Here,” I murmur as I lift his arm and kiss the bruise there. “Let me kiss it and make it better.”
He leans back, mouth curling into a smile. “While you’re at it . . .” He lifts his brow suggestively.
I snort. “Unbelievable.”
He starts to laugh and then groans as his hand flies to his ribs. “No. No laughing. That hurts.”
“Poor baby.” I run my fingers over his cheek. “Can I get you anything? A drink? A beer? An ice pack?”
“All of the above?” he jokes.
I move past him and cross the ten feet or so to the kitchen as he shuffles behind me.
“Anything happen?” he asks. I turn to look at him confused. “Manny. Bets placed.”
I shake my head as I pull a beer and a water out of the fridge. “Nothing notable. He said it was pretty quiet.”
There’s the subtlest drop of his shoulders. A quick inhale of breath. Relief? Frustration? I can’t tell but both are valid.
“Maybe it’s over,” I say.
He picks up the beer bottle. “You mean maybe whoever it is, is done screwing with my career?”
“Maybe? That’s all I’ve got because this isn’t normal. I’ve never had a case like this before.” I pause. “Not that it’s technically my case anymore but . . . you know what I mean.”
He studies me for a second. “You need a break. A vacation.”
I snort. “I think we both do.”
He nods, slower this time. “We do.” He takes a sip. “That’s on me and I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For this.” He gestures around us, like it explains everything. “Football schedule. My structured life. The fact that I can’t just up and leave and take you somewhere to get you away for a few days.”
“There is zero need to apologize.”
A wistful smile plays on his lips. “Somewhere like Bali. Just sun and sand. No phones. No noise. No . . . nothing.”
I smile. “Sounds like heaven.”
“After the season’s over,” he says quietly.
“After the season’s over?” I don’t know why the words come out. I don’t know why they sound so shocked. And more importantly, I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to fathom that Cole’s thinking that far ahead when it comes to us.
Any normal person would be thrilled. I feel overwhelmed.
“That’s what I said.” He leans his hip against the counter. “Is there a problem with that?”
I stare at him, unsure how to phrase my answer without making it bigger than it is.
“No. Yes. I mean, whatever this”—I gesture between us—“is . . . it’s—”
“Whatever this is?” he repeats. His voice has a sudden edge to it, each word emphasized.
“How do you want me to define it?” It’s a loaded question. One to give me clarity, but it comes off defensive. Hurt. Like I’m already going to be let down by the answer.
But I don’t correct myself as he stares at me like I’ve just said something completely ridiculous.
“Let’s see,” he says slowly. “You’re currently living with me. Currently sleeping in my bed every single night. I’m pretty sure that qualifies as a relationship.”
This is where a normal person would grow wide-eyed and squeal in delight.
But the past month or so has been far from normal. It’s been full of twists and emotions and as much as I trust Cole, I don’t feel like I can trust that word. That definition. As if I admit to wanting it, to liking it, then the one good thing that came out of all this might get taken from me too.
So instead of explaining those thoughts to him, I simply hold his gaze.
He frowns slightly. “What?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess I thought that word might . . . spook you.”
His expression shift. “Yeah,” he says flatly. “Being a fuckboy and all.”
My stomach drops. “Cole. That’s not what I—”
“But it is what you meant,” he says. “Because how could I be capable of anything more than that?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I didn’t—let me ex—”
“Then what is this to you, Dublin?” he asks, voice tighter now. “Because I’m starting to think that word scares you a hell of a lot more than it scares me.”
I’m afraid to make this any worse when he’s not entirely wrong.
“I just . . .” I exhale in frustration. “How am I supposed to trust something steady when the rest of my life is falling apart?”
“That’s why you would. Stability. Something concrete. There’s always going to be a problem or stress or outside noise,” he says. “That’s not a reason to walk away before you even try.”
“Who said I didn’t want to try?”
“Your hesitancy said it all.” His words land like a thud. His humorless laugh hits even harder. “Awesome. Perfect. I can’t do this right now,” he says, already moving toward the back door, sliding the door shut behind him.
I stand there for a second, mentally beating myself up over my reaction. Over my elation coated in fear.
Then I follow.
He’s pacing the edge of the pool when I step outside into the warm night air. Tension radiates off him as I move to where he is.
“Hey. I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m just . . . in my own head.”
He stops, turns, and levels me with his eyes. “Do you know what meeting you felt like? What all of this feels like to me?”
“What?” I blink.
“You think I make this look easy?” he shouts. “You walked into my life and flipped the whole goddamn thing upside down.”
Before I can react, he picks me up and throws me in the pool. I screech as I hit the water, cold shocking my system as I surface, sputtering.
“Cole!” I shout, shocked and already moving toward the steps.
“That.” His voice is rough. He steps down onto the first step as I push my hair from my face.
“That’s what it feels like. Every morning when I wake up and turn over and see you there.
Every time I walk in this house to find you here.
It feels like I’ve been thrown in the deep end without a goddamn warning. ”
My tank top and shorts cling to my chilled skin, but that’s not why goosebumps chase over my body. “What are you saying?”
He yanks me against him and slants his mouth over mine. This kiss is hard and messy and overwhelming. Like he’s trying to say everything he doesn’t have words for. When he pulls back, his eyes swim with emotion. “I’m in love with you.”
My world tilts.
“I don’t know when it happened,” he says. “Probably somewhere between Cabo and you telling me ‘hard pass’ like you meant it.” A pause. “Maybe even earlier.”
I just stare at him. Shocked. Processing. Scrambling to understand how he can be so good at expressing himself when clearly, I’m not.
“I’m sorry your world is still upside down,” he says, voice rough, “and that it doesn’t fit in your perfectly patterned box anymore. And I’m sorry mine finally feels like it’s starting to settle. And I’m sorry that after all this time, you don’t know how you feel about me.”
Fuck.
I love you, Cole Valor, but I don’t know how to get those words out.
Because knowing even in my messiest moments in my life, that someone found me beautiful, someone chose to love me, is overwhelming and unexpected.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he steps out of the pool.
“Cole. Wait. I—”
He lifts a hand to stop me. A quiet humorless laugh slips out. “Yeah. Not exactly how I imagined me telling you I love you would go.”
“Don’t,” I say quickly, stepping toward him. “That’s not—”
But he’s already moving grabbing a towel on the counter. Sliding on his flip-flops. Grabbing his keys. Hand on the front door.
“Cole—”
“If you have to think about it, then we’re not in the same place. Sorry I said anything.”
The door opens.
Then slams shut behind him.
The sound echoes through the house. Through me.
I’m left here dripping wet. Stunned. Trying to breathe through the sudden, hollow space he left behind.
Because the worst part isn’t that I don’t feel it.
It’s that I do.
And I was too afraid to say it out loud.