Page 129 of Hard Pass

The phone slips from my hand and lands faceup on the table.

Fucking Murdoch.

Of course, they found that case, dragged it back out to use it like this was proof of a pattern. The irony in that.

I press both palms flat against the table, trying to breathe through the sudden, violent rush of humiliation and anger. Horror that spreads everywhere—over my skin, behind my eyes, down my throat until I feel like I might choke on it.

This is what Marcus meant. This is what I did to him, to the company, and to the work I spent years building brick by careful brick.

My phone lights up. Willa. I don’t answer.

It lights up again. Willa.

Then a text.

WILLA: I saw it. Call me. Now.

WILLA: Dublin.

WILLA: Do you need me?

I stare at the words until they blur. Need. What an impossible word. Because yes, I need someone.

I need Marcus to look at me how he used to before I disappointed him.

I need the article to be wrong.

I need Cole to have ignored my lies.

I need to go back to the moment before I followed him to his house in the rain. Before I let him in when he was standing on my doorstep. Before I let this become real enough to destroy me.

The phone rings again and this time I answer, because if I don’t, Willa will show up with wine, rage, and possibly a shovel to bury the bodies she plans on hiding.

“Do you need me?” she asks without hello.

I close my eyes. Her voice almost breaks me. “No.”

“Dublin—”

“Thank you, but I just need to be alone. I knew this was a possibility, I just didn’t realize it would be as vile.”

Silence.

Not disagreement. Not judgment. Just Willa knowing me well enough to understand that pushing too hard right now will make me shut every door I have left.

“Okay,” she says softly. “But alone doesn’t mean abandoned. I’m ten minutes away. Say one word.”

“I know.”

“And for what it’s worth? The article is complete bullshit. Sources, my ass. That’s lazy reporting.”

A laugh catches in my chest but never makes it out. “It’s not all bullshit.”

“No,” she says, “but it’s cruel and there’s a difference.”

I don’t have an answer for that, so I say nothing.

“I love you,” she says.