CHAPTER 14 LINCOLN

I feel like I'm getting somewhere with her.

Finally.

We have future plans on a shared calendar. That has to mean something…doesn't it?

Still, she only contacts me when she has to for the podcast. I thought about talking to her last night about what Jack told me, but I haven't quite decided how I'm going to reveal the good news.

She ended the call before I had the chance, anyway, so maybe I'll tell her today.

I'm at the office, naturally, playing with the tablet from FDB. It does have some interesting features that helped us in our preparations against the Lions, and this week we're heading to Cincinnati. I've been looking at different scenarios in particular with Brandon Fletcher, who could probably be great if he could manage to keep his personal life out of the headlines, and I have a solid game plan in place.

And that's when a text comes through.

Jolene: Can I see you today?

Players aren't in today, and my plan is to meet with my coordinators as we devise our strategy for the week. But I think it's pretty solid given what I've been doing on this tablet, and I'm sold on the system.

Especially given what Jack told me.

Me: I have meetings from ten until one. I would love to see you.

What I really mean is I would love to tell you what Jack helped me do. I would love to show you that you can trust me. I would love to get you back in my life.

But I'll tell her all that in person.

Jolene: Can I come by your office at two?

Me: I'll be here waiting.

I meet with Mike and Andy. I meet with Steve. I call in a couple players and meet with them...including Brandon, who I inform needs to come up with a plan to correct the image regarding his personal life. I give him Ellie's number so he can get some advice since clearly his own publicist is failing.

It's hard to issue that advice given my own scandals, but his newest scandals are keeping my name out of the media, anyway.

I even squeeze in a workout.

By one-thirty, I'm back at my desk waiting for her. Nerves flitter around my chest as my eyes keep flicking to my clock.

I can't wait to see her. It's been far too long, and hope explodes within me that we're finally going to get back on track. It might take some time for her to trust me again. It might take some time to rebuild what we had. But my father is out of the way now since I want nothing to do with him, and I want her to know that I will never put him or his lies first again. Ever.

The clock inches closer to two, and about ten minutes before she's set to get here, Asher appears in my doorway.

"Asher," I say, setting down my tablet. "You can't be here. You're suspended."

His face is, well, ashen, and he looks downright terrified.

I've never seen him like this.

I lift to a stand, and some papers shift around on my desk. "Ash. What is it?"

"It's Dad."

My chest tightens. "What happened?"

"He's in the hospital."

"Jesus," I mutter.

"It's bad, Linc. Really bad." He rubs his forehead. "And it's all my fault."

I don't want to go. I want to stay here. I want to talk to Jolene. The last person I want to see is my father.

But Asher is panicked. He's here in this building when he's suspended, and he knows he could be fined for that. I need to get him out of here.

I'm doing this for my brother, not for my father.

"Let's go," I say.

We take the stairs down to the parking lot, and I hop into Asher's car with him.

And then he takes off toward the hospital.

I reach into my pocket for my phone so I can let Jolene know I won't be at the office, and that's when I realize my fucking phone is still sitting on my goddamn desk.

Fuck.

I finally got a shot to talk to her, and I'm not even going to be there when she shows up.

And I don't have my phone to let anybody know where I am.

God dammit!

Focus, Lincoln. Focus.

"What happened?" I ask Asher.

"He owes some guys some money, and they beat the shit out of him," he says, his voice trembling.

"And how is this your fault?" I ask.

"I introduced Dad to them," he says. "I promised I'd stop making bets, so he did it for me."

Jesus. "It's not your fault, bro. He's a grown man who made his own bets."

"For me," he emphasizes.

Okay, maybe it's a little his fault.

"How bad is it?" I ask.

"I don't know. I just got the call from the hospital, and I was working out at the gym next to the Complex so I came straight to you. I guess he's unconscious."

"How'd they know to call you?" I ask.

"They didn't. They called Mom first." His voice is quiet.

My poor mother. She went to New York to get away from him, and his stupid bullshit followed her there anyway. Or Asher's stupid bullshit did.

I run a hand along my jaw. We arrive at the hospital, and Asher tells the front desk who we are. We already have his room number, so we head up there.

He's awake when we walk in. He's got a wrap around his head, two black eyes, and a crooked nose, and he looks old and weak lying there.

"The fuck are you doing here?" he grunts when he sees me.

"Are you okay?" Asher asks.

"A few broken ribs and a broken nose, but I've taken worse hits than this. I'll live to tell about it."

"I'm sorry, Dad," Asher says, and he's nearly crying as he says the words.

"Not your fault, kid."

Once again I realize the very real contrast between the father Asher has and the father I have.

And, as it turns out, I want nothing to do with the father I have.

I'm not even sure why I'm here other than to support my brother.

"It is my fault," Asher argues. "I introduced you to them. I asked you to place those bets."

"Yeah, well," he says. "I didn't have to place more of my own, and I didn't have to lose every goddamn time."

"Stupid. Both of you," I chide, looking between them. "What a waste. You might've lost your fucking career because of this," I say, looking at Asher. I turn to my father. "And you almost lost your life. For what? A few bets?"

"High and mighty Lincoln has a few things to say," he says, clearly goading me into a fight.

I scoff. "Look where you are now, old man. I'm not sure why I spent my entire life protecting you. I regret every second of it. You make me sick." I turn to Asher. "I will always be here for you, brother. But don't involve me in his shit ever again." I jerk a thumb toward his father, and then I walk out of the room.

Asher drove me here, and I don't have a phone to call up a car, so I rush down to the front desk and ask them to call me a cab.

And then I wait, hoping against hope I'm not too late.