CHAPTER 14 JOLENE

I rewind the film as I listen to my own question.

"Is your father proud of you?"

I zoom in on his face as I listen to the blank space that spans the distance between the two of us, my question hanging in the air like an accusation.

There's an unmistakable falter when I ask the question. He tenses. I watch his sharp intake of breath and flared nostrils while he considers the right way to answer, and his eyes shift away from the camera for a beat as I recall them landing on me when he finally gives his answer.

They were cold as they landed on me, and clearly the rivalry between our families still affects him deeply.

"That's a question for my father."

At quick glance, he looked wholly affected by my question, but upon closer inspection, I see the way his mouth moves into a tight line, the way his eyes dilate a bit as he forms the measured answer.

To anyone else, he looks calm and collected.

To the person who once knew him better than anyone else did…I can tell even now how the question threw him off guard.

Maybe Marcus wants me to befriend the new coach, but maybe I can use our history to my advantage. It might be more fun pressing Lincoln Nash's buttons than being his friend.

God, he's hot—even hotter when he's just a tad unhinged the way he became with that final question. Tension simmered between the two of us for the duration of the interview, and I watch his smolder at the camera all thanks to the woman sitting across from him.

I wonder if he'll smolder like that during the press conference. Doubt it.

In any event, the women of Vegas are going to fall head over heels for him when I air this interview, and the men are all going to want to slide in line to become his new best friend.

He has this charm about him, this air that makes him seem like he belongs to all of us, like he's already your best friend when the truth is he's maybe more untouchable than anybody in this building.

How I wish we could've had a different ending than we did.

How I wish we could bury the past behind us.

The truth is…we can't.

Befriending him now would be a huge stab in the back to my own father—just as it would to his father if he befriended me.

No, the days of the two of us are long over, a realization that came to me back when his father took my father to court over Rivalry.

It was an ugly battle, but I was mid-college by the time the court battles began. I was focused on studying and figuring out how I'd be launching my career, but my mom filled me in on every little detail when we talked.

My rage at the entire Nash family only grew, and I still have my suspicions that what Lincoln's dad did to mine was on purpose.

It doesn't matter now. We should bury it in the past.

But I still want to stay far, far away from the Nash family. They will lie and manipulate to get what they want. They will hurt others to protect themselves and their family dynasty, and it makes me sick.

My dad opened a bar here in Vegas that does very well. He named it the Gridiron and he happened to open it right across the street from the Complex. Just like he and Eddie wanted, it's a place where the players hang out during the off-season and where fans hang out to watch the games during the season.

But it's the barbecue joint my dad always envisioned combined with the sports bar feel that I guess Eddie wanted. The Gridiron is known for having the best wings in town, but to me, it's like a second home.

It's my family's bar. It's my father's legacy.

I wrap up my story and send it to Marcus, and I glance at the clock as I close my laptop and stretch.

I have fifteen minutes to kill before I need to head down to the press conference, and I'm still sitting in the same conference room where I interviewed Lincoln.

I glance over at the chair where he sat, and then I turn my gaze out the window. Dave left after he sent me the film, so I'm by myself in here.

I decide to call my dad. I feel like I need his voice of reason to clear out the haziness my interview with Lincoln left behind.

"Hey, pumpkin," he answers. "What's the scoop?" He's answered that way ever since I declared journalism as my college major.

I chuckle. "I've got a big story brewing."

"Good news or bad?" he asks.

"Depends which side you're on."

"Usually does, but your tone tells me you're on the wrong side of it. Good news first?"

I'm a daddy's girl through and through, and the fact that he can tell just from my tone reminds me why I chose to stick by my family.

"Well, the good news is I got the Aces correspondent position."

"Whoa! Congratulations!" He sounds truly excited, and I almost don't want to tell him the next part.

"Thank you. It'll be quite an adventure this season, that's for sure. Marcus told me I need to become best friends with the new coach."

"Any word on who it is?" he asks. Given his former career and his current one, he gets a lot of insider information about the Aces. But I guess I got this particular scoop first.

"I just interviewed him in an exclusive. The press conference announcing him is starting soon, but I guess I just wanted to talk to you first."

He's quiet as he waits for me to give him the name.

"It's Lincoln Nash, Dad."

He makes some grunting sound that's sort of a cross between a hum and a snarl.

It pretty much sums up how I feel about it myself.

"And you had an exclusive with him?" he asks. "How'd that go?"

"We both kept it professional, but it took everything in me to get through it without landing an uppercut on his jaw."

"That's my girl. But what about Marcus's request to become his new best friend?"

"You see my dilemma. I'm not sure how I'm going to be in close proximity with him and not clock him in the jaw." That handsome jaw with the scruff that I want to feel between my legs.

Scratch that. I don't want to feel it anywhere except when I land a punch on it and it scratches my knuckles. Maybe even an open palm slap where it tickles against my palm.

He hurt me. I'd never known heartbreak until I met him, and he walloped a doozy on me.

He changed me.

He made me question every man—every person—I got close to after him. Would they find some reason to leave me, too?

It was a lot for a fifteen-year-old girl to deal with, and I had literally no one to lean on. We moved clear across the country.

My mother didn't get it. She thought it was teenage heartbreak. I'd get over it. I didn't know what real love was.

She threw every cliché about young love at me, but it didn't help. If anything, it made me feel even worse. I knew what we had was special, and then just like that—poof—it was gone.

I couldn't lean on my dad since he was going through his own recovery. He was frustrated he wouldn't get to play again, and he didn't have anyone to lean on, either, as we were new to town.

So we spent a lot of quiet time watching movies together. We bonded over Jurassic Park and Indiana Jones. We played cards while my mother tried her hardest to find us a place to fit in. We were new to Arizona, and my mom had a sister in Vegas. Once my dad was done with his rehab, we moved here and we've been here ever since.

We didn't want to go back to New York. There were too many painful memories, but Vegas felt like a fresh start.

What Lincoln did to me made me scared to get close to anybody for a long, long time. And when I finally let someone else in, well, he cheated on me, and he's proven to pretty much be a deadbeat where our child is concerned. If the court didn't order me to allow my child to go over to his place every other weekend, I'd just as soon cut off all contact with him.

I've learned through experience the only man I could really trust is my dad, and apart from Sam, he's the first person I turn to when I have news.

"I don't blame you, pumpkin," he says quietly. "That whole family is evil. Nobody knows that better than we do. But you're strong, Jo. You're fierce. You earned that position on your own merit, and I'm so damn proud of you. Nobody can take that away, and you do what you have to do to keep that position, you hear me?"

I swipe at an errant tear that escapes at his words. "Yeah, Dad. Thank you. I need to get down to the press conference."

"Good luck," he says.

"Thanks. Love you."

"Love you more." He cuts the call, and my eyes move back to the chair.

My dad's words linger in my mind. Do what you have to do to keep that position.

He's right.

I'm just not sure what exactly I'll need to do to keep it…or how I can use it to run Lincoln Nash out of my town.