CHAPTER 17 LINCOLN

This has been the day from hell.

After the press release went out, my phone never stopped ringing. Megan is able to screen my professional calls, but it's all the personal ones that are keeping me from getting a single fucking thing accomplished.

I declined calls without even checking to see who they were from, and eventually I had to mute the damn thing and ignore it.

I've been in and out of meetings all day, and I've discovered my brother will not be getting a paycheck while he's suspended, which means I'm out seven hundred fifty K for the moment since I paid off his debts for him and he doesn't have the money to pay me back.

And since he doesn't have a paycheck, he has a decision to make about where he's going to live. He had planned to share a house with Gabe Kessler and Noah Hawkins, two rookies new to the Aces, but if he can't make rent, he can't stay there, and he really shouldn't stay with anyone on the team.

Including me.

Which means that for now, the twenty-seven-year-old adult will be moving back in with dear old Mom and Dad.

I'm not sure being with Dad is the best place for him, but it's his life to live, not mine. And I'm currently struggling with my own, as it turns out.

Things start to quiet down after regular business hours when most everyone heads home, but I stick around the office a while longer. I order in dinner, and it's almost nine when I finally head home.

And I find my father sitting in his car in my driveway as he waits for me to get home.

Fuck.

I consider driving around the block and running the fuck away because the last thing I want to do right now is face him, but I know he saw me, and furthermore, I know that's not a real option.

I pull into my garage, and he stands in my driveway waiting.

"Hey there, Pops," I say more brightly than I feel, and he just shakes his head as he glares at me.

"What the fuck have you done?"

I blow out a breath. "The right thing?" I say it as a question, but I mean it like an insult.

He rolls his eyes. "The right goddamn thing is protecting your family. Protecting your own. Not turning your brother in like some goddamn criminal."

"Would you like to come inside to have this private conversation, or would you like to continue berating me in my own driveway where anyone can overhear your nonsense?" I ask.

That sets off the rage.

"Inside. Now," he demands, and I feel like a kid about to get the belt.

But that's the thing. I'm older now. Wiser. Stronger—certainly stronger than this old man who has let himself go over the last few years. And once I let go of needing to hear him say he's proud of me, like most parents might've done by now…well, it's pretty freeing to not give a fuck about what he's about to say. He can't hurt me physically, and I will no longer allow him to hurt me emotionally.

We head inside, and he follows me toward the kitchen. I pour us each a glass of whiskey.

"It's her fault," he hisses. "I told you she'd ruin your life, and here you are."

I can't help a laugh at that. "Ruin my life? Are you fucking serious right now?" I hold my glass up in a toast to our surroundings. "I have a kickass house, the world's best job, and a girl who loves me." I take a sip of my whiskey and offer a lift of a shoulder. "Can you say the same?"

It's a low blow, but I'm all out of fucks to give at this point.

"That's none of your goddamn business," he snarls at me.

"Neither is this!" I yell at him. "This is between a head coach and a player. It doesn't concern you."

"It involves my two sons, and it certainly does involve me when the girlfriend I got rid of a long time ago when I was doing what was best for you wants to be the one to break the story first," he points out.

"And did she?" I ask, and then I answer my own question. "No. A press release was issued after the league handed down the punishment. End of story. It has nothing to do with her, and it has everything to do with Asher making a bad choice and having to face the consequences of his actions."

"That's bullshit and you know it," he hisses.

"Is it? Because I think I'm right, and you think you are, and you know we're two stubborn assholes who aren't about to give in. Now I have work to do, so you can see yourself out." I nod toward the front door, but he doesn't budge. I blow out a breath as the hairs on the back of my neck start to stand as I tilt my head and study my dad.

The way his eyes dart around reminds me of the day he came into my bedroom and told me what he'd done at practice.

"There's something you should know."

He's hiding guilt. I can tell. There is only one other time I can think of when he was this furious about something he thought he was so right about…when he looked all around the room for a few beats before his eyes landed on me.

Just like he's doing now.

Last time, it was followed by the confession.

"What did you do?" I finally whisper, calling him out.

"I did what I had to do to get you to see that what you're doing is a huge mistake." His voice is even and quiet, and there is zero regret in it. Zero remorse.

Zero emotion.

It's just flat out facts, and the same alarm bells in my brain that rang twenty years ago start to go off again…except this time, they're louder. More intense. More…everything.

"What did you do?" I repeat, my voice full volume this time. "What the fuck did you do?" I finally roar as I get in his face.

He never wavers. He should. I could kill him right now, but he does not back down, and for that, I suppose I have to give him some credit.

"I did it to protect you, Lincoln."

"Did what?" I yell.

"I bought those pictures from that reporter and made sure to get them into the right hands," he finally admits.

My jaw drops for a beat as his words plow into me. "Jesus Christ, Dad. It was you?"

"Well, I can't take all the credit. There was an entire team—"

I shut his mouth the fuck up when my fist connects with his jaw. He jumps back in pain as his hand goes to the sight of the offense.

"What the fuck, Lincoln?" he screams at me, and I hope it hurts. I hope it fucking bruises. I hope he can't sleep or eat or fucking drink because of the physical pain, and I hope my mother asks him why he has a bruise on his jaw and Jesus, I hope all the worst things for him.

How could my own father do this to me and disguise it as fucking protection? Is he really that delusional?

He did it once to me, though. I never should've put it past him to do it again. I should've seen this coming from a mile away. Instead, I was too wrapped up in everything else—the season kicking off, hiding what I've been developing with her. It's been overwhelming, and now this.

And I don't for a second believe there isn't more coming from him. I don't believe he's done with us yet. He will rip and tear until we're left in a pile of shards on the ground, and he won't care who he hurts so long as he gets the resolution that he believes is right.

Even if it's wrong to everyone else who doesn't share the lack of conscience this man clearly has.

Because fuck it all, I belong with Jolene, and I will no longer allow my father to be the one to keep us apart.

"Get the fuck out of my house. Do not ever come back here again. Ever." I push him toward the front door, and I open it, shove him through it, and slam it in his face.

And then I lean against the door and allow myself to break down.