Page 36 of Hard Pass

His gaze drops briefly—to my lips, my posture, my body—before snapping back to my eyes.

“When I’m being falsely accused, yes,” he says.

“Then earn my trust and prove the data wrong,” I say.

He nods and is about to speak when a knock at the door interrupts us. The woman who enters is mid-forties, composed, with eyes sharp behind her black-framed glasses. She’s seen every version of panic an athlete can cycle through.

“Josie Hanson,” she says with a stunted smile. “Crisis PR and media training.”

“Perfect timing,” I say and step back to make room for her.

“You must be Cole,” she says to which he nods before she introduces herself to me.

“Nice to meet you,” I say. “I’ll step out so you two can have your privacy—”

“Stay,” Cole says, surprising me. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Besides, you might learn a thing or two for when you have to deal with the media to clear my name.”

He lifts his chin and raises his eyebrows as his eyes meet mine. My feet falter on their way to the door.

Challenge accepted. Or maybe it’s a way to ease the unfounded guilt.

With a frustrated exhale, Cole drops into a chair. “Let’s get this over with.”

And Josie does just that. She takes a seat across from Cole while I move to the back corner and out of the way.

She starts the session exactly how I expect it to go. Josie lobs softball questions at Cole that he answers with practiced ease at first—measured tone, careful phrasing—with the kind of responses designed to say something without actually saying anything at all.

His responses are polished and vague, showing he has a strong grasp of what media training is all about.

But the first time Josie tosses him a question about the investigation, his body language shifts. It’s subtle—the tightening of his jaw a fraction too long before he answers. A flicker of irritation that slips through before he reins it back in.

Most people wouldn’t catch it, but I do, because I’m not listening to what he says. I’m paying attention to what he doesn’t.

“Let’s try that again,” Josie says after his third answer skirts too close to the defensive. “Less explanation. More control.”

“I am in control,” Cole snaps.

“Control doesn’t sound like that,” she replies calmly.

The rebuke doesn’t faze him, but when he leans back in his chair, frustration is written in every line of his body.

“This is a waste of time.”

“No,” I say before I can stop myself. “A waste of time is pretending this isn’t happening.”

His gaze cuts to mine instantly. “Did I ask for your input?”

“No,” I say, “but you need it.”

Josie glances between us, interest flickering, but says nothing.

“Answer the question,” I add. “Directly and without snark.”

“I did,” he says. “And why do you care?”

“No, you deflected,” I say, ignoring his question.

“I clarified.”