CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Dublin
The kitchen smells like butter, sugar, and emotional avoidance.
Which is ridiculous. Mostly because I’m a grown woman. A professional, rational, capable adult who built an entire career out of staying calm when everyone else spirals.
And yet there are two loaves of banana bread cooling on the counter, a batch of blueberry muffins lined in neat rows beside them, and enough chocolate chip cookies that just finished baking in the oven to feed half the Rebels offensive line.
Probably the entire defensive line too.
Another cookie slides from my spatula onto the rack.
The NFL needs reassurance moving forward.
Another cookie.
They’re concerned about optics.
And another that flips over accidentally.
Your relationship with Cole Valor compromises perception.
I press the spatula beneath the next cookie with enough force that it breaks in half. Perfect. Just like my career.
I fought for you as much as I could, but if I push too hard, I risk losing the league contract . . .
I close my eyes briefly and set down the spatula.
I don’t think I can keep you on the team anymore.
Fuck.
I blink fast, refusing the sting behind my eyes because I don’t have time for this. And I sure as shit don’t have the right to fall apart right now.
Not today.
Not when Cole texted me that he’d just left his parents’ house, and the needing to handle something was confronting his father.
Oof.
His father.
The wound he doesn’t talk about unless the words are dragged out of him. A man whose voice lives in his head and steals the steadiness from his hand. The reason Cole can stand in front of sixty thousand plus people and still somehow feel like a scared kid waiting to be told he’s not good enough.
He went there today and faced it.
I need to process it all, Dub. It might take a bit of time, but I will tell you about it. Just . . . not today.
And I’m here, baking like a lunatic because my boss may have just politely, professionally, devastatingly ended my career.
I exhale slowly, set the spatula down, and shove the two tears that fall off my cheeks.
No. Not now.
Cole doesn’t need to walk through that door and find me falling apart.
He’s dealt with enough today—probably things that ripped his heart out.
The last thing he needs to deal with is my absolute bone-deep panic that everything I’ve worked for is slipping through my fingers, because I broke one rule I’ve always kept. Proudly. Unreservedly.
Don’t get too close. Don’t become the story. And don’t give anyone a reason to question your judgment.
I look around the kitchen at the baked evidence of my unraveling. God, I hate that even my breakdown is organized.
But when the front door opens, my heart drops.
As quickly as possible I make sure my cheeks are dry and double-check my reflection in the kitchen window.
When I’m satisfied I look somewhat put together, I square my shoulders and reach for the spatula again, pretending the cookies require my full attention.
Footsteps come down the hallway seconds before he steps into the kitchen. Our eyes meet and the emotion swimming in his steals my breath. His muscle pulses in his jaw and his shoulders are taut with tension.
“You’re back,” I say as if it were any other day. Not that he just drove six hours to tell off his father. I think. I don’t really know because he doesn’t want to talk about it yet.
“Long drive.”
“How was it?” I ask about the drive.
“Hard.” One rough-edged word that’s heartbreakingly honest.
One word that’s about confronting his father, when I asked about the drive.
I nod because I don’t trust myself with more. “But you went.”
“Yeah.”
“That matters.” I smile softly. “I’m proud of you.”
The room goes quiet again. I think it’s because we’re both treading carefully about what happened with his dad, but that’s my mistake. Because Cole misses plenty of things when he’s trying to pretend he’s fine, but he missed almost nothing when it comes to me.
“Dublin.”
I flash a smile before turning around to move a cookie sheet that doesn’t need to be moved. “Hmm?”
I watch out of the corner of my eye as he eyes the baked goods blanketing his counters before landing back on me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I pretend I’m relaxed as I turn back toward him and rearrange a row of muffins for no real reason.
“You’re lying.”
A tired laugh slips out. “I’m baking.”
“Looks to me like you’re stress baking.”
“Okay, Dr. Valor. I wasn’t aware you were qualified to diagnose me.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but the words come out harsher than I expected.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Be a smart-ass because you don’t want me looking too closely.”
I move on to rearranging the cookies now. “Then maybe you should stop looking.”
“No.” The word is quiet but feels immovable.
“Cole,” I say softly, “you just got back from seeing your father. We don’t need to do this right now.”
“That’s not your call.”
“Actually it is.” I meet his stare. “Not everything has to be dealt with all at once.”
He braces his hands on the counter. “What happened?”
“I told you. Nothing.”
“Dub—”
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit,” he barks out.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I call bullshit. Something’s wrong.”
“Great. Awesome. So now we’re going to do this too?”
“Apparently.”
“Fantastic. Perfect timing.” I toss the dish towel in the sink with way more force than necessary. “Can’t wait to fight with you.”
His eyes narrow. “There she is. The woman who gets mean when she gets scared.”
“I’m not scared,” I sputter.
“Really?” He moves around the island so we’re in the same space.
“Because you’ve baked enough food to cater a team brunch.
Your hands are shaking. You haven’t looked me in the eye for longer than five seconds since I walked in.
” He takes another step closer. “And I know you’re trying to make sure I don’t notice because you think that whatever happened to me today matters more than whatever happened to you. ”
I grit my teeth. Damn him for seeing too much.
“I said, I’m fine.”
“Is it so fucking hard to need me?” he shouts, the question hitting with enough force to knock the breath out of my lungs. “I’m sick of hearing ‘I’m fine. It’s okay. It’s handled.’ It’s okay not to be.”
My spine stiffens. “Says the man who runs from everything.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I want them back. It’s a low blow that clearly isn’t true anymore considering where he just came from.
I can see the emotions shift over Cole’s expression. Anger then hurt before shifting to something more resolute.
“Finish the sentence, Dublin.”
“I don’t—”
“Finish the fucking sentence.” He grips the counter with one hand, his voice low. “Says the man who runs from every fucking thing except from you.”
I blink, his words hitting me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that—”
“And yet you tried to use something I confided in you to hurt me.”
“No. Cole. I didn’t mean it. Can we just start over? You had a rough day. I just want to be here for you.”
“And I want to be here for you. Don’t you get that?” His voice breaks and he steps closer, slow enough that I could stop him if I wanted to. I don’t. “Is it so fucking bad that I want you to need me? That I need you to, so I feel worthy of you?”
My breath shudders. “I do need you,” I whisper. “More than I even want to.”
His eyes close briefly like those words cost him something too.
“You’re dealing with so much. My God, you talked to your dad today. We should be talking about that. I should be holding you together, not making this about me.”
His eyes darken. “Dublin.”
“No. Don’t.” I laugh once. It’s broken and ugly. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not one more thing you have to fix.”
“You’re not a thing I have to fix.”
“Then what am I?”
“Mine.” Immediate. Zero hesitation.
Everything in me stills at the certainty in that lone syllable.
“You’re mine,” he repeats. “And I’m yours. That means I get to show up too.”
My eyes burn. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Then we’ll learn together,” he says, reaching out and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “You and me.” He pauses a beat. “What happened to upset you?”
“Marcus called earlier,” I say as Cole stills.
“He had his meeting with the league. Officially they’re requesting an internal review and reassurances and distance from any employee who could compromise perception.
” My laugh is brittle. “Which is a very polished way of saying I’m out.
He said he fought for me, but he didn’t.
Not really. Because if he pushes too hard, the league could pull the contract and if GIA loses that, over half the company goes with it. ”
“So he’s cutting you loose?”
“He doesn’t think he can keep me on the team because if I can’t work with the league on investigations, there isn’t exactly a role left for me.”
I press my palm to my mouth to hide the sob. Within seconds, Cole slides his hand behind my back and hooks the other behind my knees. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, but it’s not like I fight it.
He carries me out of the kitchen and lowers himself onto the couch with me in his lap. I’m stiff for a second, stupidly trying to prove I can hold myself together, but when his arms wrap around me—one between my shoulder blades and the other cupping the back of my head—and pull me in, I break.
Silent tears slide down my face. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Do not apologize for needing me.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I spent my whole life being told love is something I had to earn. Don’t make me stand here and prove I’m useful before I’m allowed to give it to you.”
My heart cracks wide open. “Cole.”
“I need this too.” His voice is simple. Honest. “You. Us. This. I need you to let me be here for you even when it’s messy.”
I snuggle into him and revel in the warmth. In the safety. In not feeling so alone. “I love you,” I say quietly.
“I love you too.”
“You saw your dad today,” I whisper. “You okay?”
“No.” He clears his throat. “But I’m better than I was when I first walked in here.”
His hand moves slowly up and down my back. “Marcus is wrong.”
“Cole—”
“He is. I know you. What you do. How you do it. What you gave up to protect the integrity of this investigation even when it cost you personally.” He brushes a tender kiss to my lips that I can feel all the way to my toes.
“And I know I’m not going to let them make a casualty of someone else’s betrayal. ”
Something about the way he says it makes me pull back slightly.
“Cole?”
He looks at me for a split second and I see it. The thing he’s not telling me. “What do you—”
“Not tonight.” His hand comes up, fingers sliding along my jaw. “Not now. You’re the only one I want to talk to about the shitstorm swirling in my head but give me some time with it first. Yeah?”
The want to push and ask is there, but his eyes are raw and mine feel swollen and for once, I don’t have the strength to dissect the truth from the silence. But he also told me when he’s ready, he’ll find the words.
I am definitely okay with that.
He pulls me back into his chest and I let him.
And finally, I stop bracing for impact.