CHAPTER 20 LINCOLN

"What the fuck is this?" I demand.

"I'm sorry, boss. Don't shoot the messenger," Megan says, and she turns and walks out of my office.

I read over the press release someone just hand-delivered to my secretary.

Across the top I find the words scrawled in my father's familiar handwriting: Don't want this getting out? Break it off before she hurts you even more than the first time.

I should've known this morning was too good to be true. I should've known that feeling I woke with wasn't going to last the day.

I read the press release below my father's handwriting.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Second Chance Romance? A Look at Coach Lincoln Nash and reporter Jolene Bailey's Sordid History

I glance through the accompanying text. It's an entire article detailing how we were each other's first loves and how we reconnected and decided to keep it from everyone, including our families.

My father had enough connections to get our photos splashed all over the gossip sites practically overnight. I would not put it past him to do the same thing to us now with this article, and while anybody could've dug it up…nobody has.

It's one more scandal on top of the pile we're already dealing with, and I know my father is pissed about Asher—and probably pissed that I clocked him in the jaw—but this is a few steps over the line.

He insinuates things about Jolene that simply aren't true. He says that she had the potential to ruin my future when that's clearly an opinion. He details literally everything about our first courtship, and how he remembers some of the finer details is beyond me. And then he tells about how we reconnected once I got back to Vegas, how we tried to stay away but we eventually found ourselves in the same hotel room in Ohio. It's like he talked to everyone in our personal lives and pieced together a story that's actually pretty darn accurate.

But there are parts of it that aren't, and the insinuations he makes would be damaging to both her career and her reputation.

He says she got the position as team correspondent the same way she lost it, and I know that'll hurt her more than anything else to see those words in black and white.

I know why he's doing this.

He wants to throw shade off what happened with Asher.

But it won't work. They are totally separate issues, and anyone with a brain could see that.

I dial him up, and he answers right away. "Crawling back already?"

"How's the jaw?" I can't help my own smirk at that even though he can't see me.

"So do I click send?" he asks, ignoring the jab. "Or did you break it off?"

I don't answer his question. "I know why you're doing this."

"I'm doing this to protect my family," he hisses.

"You know, you keep saying that, but all you're doing is hurting all of us."

"Not Asher," he points out. "You're the one who hurt him."

"Excuse me? Who was pushing him to gamble high stakes? Not me, Dad. That was all you."

"So you're saying it's my fault he's suspended for an entire year?" he demands.

I laugh. I can't help it. The thought is so ridiculous. "No. He took responsibility for what he did because he chose to do it. I'm saying these are separate issues, and you're trying to throw shade off one son by shining a spotlight on the other. Can't you see how fucked that is?"

"I'm protecting my family," he repeats. "Did you end it with that backstabbing manipulator?"

"No."

"All right, then. I'll send this little article along to my friends. Bye now."

I try to protest, but he has already cut the call.

I guess now I sit back and let him do his worst. Jolene and I have lived through worse. We'll hold hands and face this together.

That's what I think will happen.

That's not exactly how it goes down…because the press release he sent me is actually quite different from the one that ends up on the gossip sites.

I'm busy reviewing film when the call comes through from Jolene.

She's sobbing hysterically, and I can hardly understand her.

"What's going on?" I ask, a little confused.

"Did you see the article?" she finally manages.

Do I tell her about my father's role in the article?

I opt not to. It won't help. Instead, my chest tightens as more lies pile on. "What article?"

"There's an article about us. Saying we found our second chance, blah blah blah, and then it says some pretty nasty things about me." She seemed like she was holding it together until she got to the last part.

"Send me the link," I say.

I see an email come through a few beats later, and we're still on the phone. I scan the article, and it's the same thing my dad sent me.

Except for the last paragraph.

The motherfucking bastard left off the last paragraph in the press release he sent me.

Shit.

This is bad.

Really bad.

Jolene Bailey has reportedly been reassigned at VG03 as she is back to a sports beat reporter. Sources say it's because she was using her femininity to score details from players that her male counterparts would not have been successfully able to use. News recently broke that Bailey has been carrying on a secret relationship with Nash, but a look back at her recent history also shows her on what appears to be a lunch date with Austin Graham, where she was photographed kissing the Aces tight end upon the conclusion of their meal. Was this for a story or her personal life? Her recent reassignment is proof that her actions conflict with how the local news station assumed she'd act as team correspondent. It also begs the question as to whether the coach is the cheater in this relationship or if Bailey isn't just the other woman, but also a cheater.

This is still an emerging story that will be updated as new details come to light.

Fuck.

Fuck!

This is exactly what she didn't want—for people to think she got the position because of her vagina, and this article plays exactly on that.

And the worst part of all is that my own goddamn father had a hand in it…and I could've stopped him.

Or, that's what he led me to believe, anyway. Whether or not anyone could actually stop him is anyone's guess…and my guess is no.

"I'm so fucking sorry. We'll fix this. Okay? We'll fix this," I say, and I hear the desperation in my own voice.

"How?" she asks.

Good fucking question.