Page 151 of Hard Pass

The stadium explodes.

Hands are patting me left and right as I jog off the field. I just nod. I just say thanks, because while it was good, this still isn’t me at my best.

The clock winds down. We win.

Thank fuck.

I’m still running over the plays in my head, critiquing my mistakes—but it was enough.

It was a glimmer of hope that I’ll find my way back to the cocky fucker I used to be when the season started.

And right now? Enough is what I’ve got.

• • •

“You sure got out of that locker room in a rush,” says Barry, the stadium attendant who supervises access to the suites, as I get off the elevator.

I fist-bump him and nod. “Too much damn testosterone down there.”

“Especially after a win,” he says.

“That’s for sure.”

“That means there’s less in your suite. She with you?”

I flash a grin and shrug. “I’m a lucky man, Barry.”

“Don’t hate the player, brother,” he says and laughs as I move down the hallway.

It’s definitely quieter up here than the locker room—decibels quieter—but that doesn’t mean my pulse hasn’t caught up yet.

Game’s over. We won. That should make me happy.

But my feet are already moving toward the one thing that will make this day even better. Dublin.

I push the door open to the suite and stop. She’s in the middle of the space, in my jersey, surrounded by my best friends. They’re all laughing so hard that Jaxon’s clutching his stomach and Tristan’s wiping the corners of his eyes.

For a second, I just take it all in. Because my best friends—my family—and my woman are . . . together.

And they’re not circling her. Not sizing her up. Not holding back.

They’re laughing with her like she’s always belonged.

I don’t have time to unpack how settled that makes me feel.

“Uh-oh. The man of the hour has made his entrance,” Tristan yells, hands up to double high-five me and then pull me in for a quick bro-hug.

I catch a glimpse of Dublin stepping back for what I assume is a chance for me to be with my buddies.

But it’s fleeting as Malachi steps in our line of site, holding his hands up. “It’s not my fault.”

Jaxon straightens up, hands matching Mal’s. “It was all in fun.” Then he barks out a laugh. “We may have had a few shots.”

Ah. That explains it.

But he moves and I finally lay my sights on the one person I wanted to see more than any of them.

Dublin’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes are a little brighter, and her movements looser than usual.