CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Dublin
My heart races as the TV sparks to life with Cole’s voice in my ear.
“Trust me.”
Two words that should not calm me considering the last few weeks of my life have been an absolute masterclass in why trusting anyone is a terrible idea.
But it’s Cole.
So I do.
The screen cuts to a live feed from what looks like a press room. A press room that . . . hey, that’s the Rebels offsite facility. Where I watched film.
“What?” I whisper as the camera pans over reporters gathering with their recording devices and notes.
If I thought my heart was racing before, it’s thundering now.
“What is this?” I ask, not even sure if Cole is still there.
He doesn’t answer. Or maybe he does and I can’t hear him over the blood rushing in my ears.
A man I recognize steps up to the microphone. Cole’s agent—Finn Sanderson.
“Thank you all for being here on such short notice,” Finn says, voice polished and controlled. “For those who don’t know me, I’m Finn Sanderson. Several months ago, an investigation was launched regarding my client, Cole Valor, specifically alleged betting irregularities tied to his performance.”
My stomach drops. Did GIA finalize a conclusion? Is Cole’s agent there because he’s been found guilty?
That can’t be right. Cole wouldn’t have told me to watch if that was the case.
My head races with so many things that I can’t focus.
Oh. God.
“Cole?” I whisper.
“I’m here,” he says quietly. I don’t even realize until then that I still have the phone pressed to my ear.
“Accusations involving point shaving, insider information, and intentional underperformance were all raised. Those accusations then alleged and insinuated inappropriate behavior to influence said investigation,” Finn continues. “Today, we’re here to set the record straight.”
Why this? Why now? Where was this declaration weeks ago—
“Tristan?” I whisper as one of Cole’s oldest friends walks into the frame.
I stop breathing. That’s not the Tristan I know. Not the easygoing guy with the arrogant smile. Not the charming friend who made everything sound like a joke.
The Tristan on the screen looks hollowed out. Exhausted bordering on terrified.
“Please tell me what I’m thinking is wrong,” I whisper.
“You’re not.”
Two words. Low and rough and with enough hurt in them to make my eyes sting.
Oh, hell. This must be destroying Cole.
One of his best friends.
When Tristan steps to the microphone, he grips either side of the podium like it’s holding him up, and for a second he doesn’t speak. The room flashes with camera lights as he swallows forcefully, but none of those reporters know why this man is standing there.
Sadly, I do.
“Hi. My name is Tristan Hilliker, a close friend of Cole Valor’s since high school. And under the advisement of my attorney, I’m here to make a statement.” He holds up the paper in his trembling hand. “I’m here to take responsibility for my actions.”
The rustling that was happening among the reporters stills. They are all completely focused now.
“I am the one responsible for placing the bets that caught the attention of the NFL analytics company.”
I lower myself onto the edge of the couch because standing suddenly feels impossible.
“I want to be clear,” Tristan says, voice uneven and hands trembling. “Cole Valor did not place those bets. He did not ask me to place them. He did not knowingly provide me with any insider information that led me to place them.”
Camera flashes go off as a few reporters shout out questions. Tristan draws in a shaky breath, magnified by the microphone in front of him, and continues.
“I took advantage of our friendship and used what I knew about Cole’s subconscious traits for my own financial gain. His patterns. His habits. Things I noticed because I was close to him. Because I knew him better than most.”
The betrayal in that statement is so much worse than numbers on a page. It’s proximity. Access. Trust weaponized.
“I took advantage of that and him,” Tristan says. “And I am responsible for the damage that caused.”
My fingers tighten around the phone as I blink away tears. Cole has to be absolutely devastated. No wonder he was so quiet when he came home last night. Between his dad and Tristan, he’s been put through an emotional wringer and holding it all in.
“The GIA investigator, Dublin Locke, did not compromise her investigation either.”
“Cole,” I whisper.
“In fact, Ms. Locke and her team had worked out the how and when the bets were being decided. What I was watching for. The only thing she hadn’t figured out was who was placing them—a near impossibility seeing as my bets were made off-book and through outside and overseas channels.
Then on a stroke of luck, someone tipped off the media as to her and Cole’s relationship.
That’s when she was falsely accused of impropriety and the investigation derailed.
” He clears his throat and looks down for a beat.
“Ms. Locke did not protect Cole Valor. Any perception otherwise is because of me.”
The room tilts and I feel incredibly dizzy.
“Cole shouldn’t be under suspicion for my choices. And Dublin Locke shouldn’t have her integrity questioned because I hid behind someone else’s reputation.”
Another tear slips down my cheek, but I don’t wipe it away.
“I am cooperating fully with the league, the team, and any additional investigation into my conduct.” He pauses. “I understand there might be consequences if it’s deemed I exploited insider information. I accept them.”
I hear Cole exhale a thready breath through the phone.
Tristan then looks directly into the camera. “I’d like to apologize to Cole. To Dublin. For the chaos and confusion I caused. And more than anything, I’m sorry for betraying the trust that should have mattered more to me than any debt I owed.”
The words hang there, heavy and final, and the second he steps back and the reporters realize he’s done talking, the room explodes.
Reporters shout over each other. Cameras flash. Finn steps forward again but I can’t hear anything anymore . . . because it’s over.
The shadow over Cole’s name. Over mine. Over us. I know it’s not gone completely and that public perception won’t just vanish because someone told the truth. I still messed up and crossed lines.
But this is proof. Truth. The thing I was trained to find and somehow still missed.
I’ll beat myself up later over that, but for now, I’ll take the win.
I press a hand over my mouth. “Cole,” I whisper for what feels like the tenth time.
“I’m here.”
“You did this, didn’t you? This was why . . .” The secrecy. The silence. The introspection the past few days. “The hushed conversation with Malachi about your hand?”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I was testing each one of them.”
The pain in his voice makes my chest ache.
He didn’t just clear himself.
He fought for me.
Pride and relief and elation are a vicious combination of emotions that race through me, but I’m not immune to what this has cost him. His inner circle. His trust. His friend.
“Where are you?” I ask.
He exhales and somehow, I hear the emotion he’s trying to hide. “The offsite facility.”
Of course he is. The place that was our point of no return. Where everything changed between us.
I’m already on my feet, keys in hand. “I’m coming,” I say.
“You don’t hav—”
“Damn it, I’m coming,” I repeat.