CHAPTER 15 LINCOLN

I can't pretend like I wasn't affected by seeing her again.

I can't pretend like I'm not curious what her life is like now.

Is she married? Does she have kids? Is she happy?

Those are all questions I lost the right to know the answer to back when I was forced to end things with her.

I've avoided following her life story even though curiosity has pulsed in me on more than one occasion.

I've thought about looking her up on social media, but I didn't have the heart to type in her name. Because what if she is happy? What if she's married with kids and enjoying life…without me?

So what if we were young? We still made plans. We still believed our future was one.

Instead, our families tore that future into two totally separate paths that were so painful I couldn't bear knowing whatever became of her.

I knew certain things—that she was in Vegas, that her father opened a restaurant, that she was in journalism. But the Bailey name didn't cross the Nashes tongues once the court case was settled, and eventually we got to a point where it was history buried in the past. Nobody on the Falcons knew about my former relationship with her once I got into my coaching position there, and all the details sort of just faded away with time. Nobody brought her name up to me anymore because nobody really knew there was a history to bring up.

I sit in my office in silence for a few beats, regrouping and focusing on the press conference ahead.

There's a knock at my door, and when I glance up, a woman I've never seen before stands there.

"Lincoln Nash?" she asks.

My brows knit together as I stand. "Yes?"

She stumbles a little as she walks into the office, and she glares back at the spot of the offense as if there was someone standing there that leapt from the floor specifically to make her trip.

"That dang snag gets me every time," she huffs a little as she walks toward me.

I can't help a little chuckle. I have no idea who she is, but I already find her to be charming, and clearly she's been in this office before.

"I'm Ellie Dalton. Luke's wife, Jack's sister-in-law. I believe he mentioned to you that I'm a publicist?" She stops at the backside of my desk and reaches across it to offer a hand to me, and I shake it.

"He did, and it's nice to meet you."

"You too. Are you looking for representation?" she asks, cutting right to the chase.

"I don't currently have publicity. I didn't really need it as an offensive coordinator. Do I need it as a head coach?" I sit, and she does, too.

I realize asking that question to a publicist is probably dumb, but I want to hear her spiel and figure out if she's a good fit for the job.

"Look, I know you have a press conference to get to, so I'll be quick. My job is to present my clients in a positive light to the general public whether that's in managing socials, coaching prior to press conferences, bridging relationships with the media, smoothing over any potential blunders, and assisting with marketing and sponsorships. There are really so many advantages to having someone on your side who knows the field, and I've been doing this for a few years now exclusively with the Aces, so I'm privy to some insider tips that could help manage team relations, too, if you'd be so inclined as to want that." She offers a grin, and I can't help but smile back.

That about covers everything I could possibly need, and it'll take some other items off my plate so I can focus on what my team needs.

"You know, I haven't interviewed anyone else for the position, but if Jack recommends you, then my guess is you're a great person to have on my side. You're hired."

Her jaw slackens a bit. "Really?"

I laugh. "Really. I assume there's an NDA involved and I can tell you anything?"

She nods. "Absolutely."

"Great. As you know, my first press conference starts in a few minutes. What you don't know is that I just had an exclusive interview with someone who happens to be both an ex and an enemy to my entire family, so I need to get my head on straight. Send me a contract and I'll sign off on it, and you mentioned coaching prior to press conferences, so let's get to it."

"Oh we've got this," she says, and then she starts rapid firing questions at me to help me prepare to face the press.

And, oddly enough, it seems to work.

"I need to get downstairs," I say, and she stands to walk with me.

As we head toward the back set of elevators that keep us from entering the media room through the lobby, she says, "I'm going to give you my four Cs to ace this press conference."

"I thought the four Cs were for diamonds. Color, cut, clarity, carat." I press the button to call the elevator up.

Her brows dip as she narrows her eyes at me. "Have you been shopping for rings?"

I laugh. "Oh, fuck no. My buddy is married with a kid, though, and I helped him pick out the ring."

She nods as the elevator doors open and we step on. "Right. Well, these are different. Confident, Calm, Clear, and Courageous. Hit them with those four Cs and you'll win them over. Leave even one out and they'll see it as a sign of weakness."

"I thought you were supposed to hype me up before a press conference, not make me nervous," I say dryly as I hit the button for the first floor.

"Oh God, did I just make you nervous?" Her eyes grow wide like she messed something up already and we haven't even signed a contract to work together yet.

I laugh. "No. I've done plenty of press conferences before. I'm not nervous."

"But none as head coach," she points out.

"Are you trying to make me nervous?"

"I'll just stop talking now."

I laugh. "No, really. This has been great. You even managed to get my mind off my ex for a minute." Except now that I mention her, she's back on my mind again.

And what's worse, as Jack Dalton says a few words to introduce me, I look out over the group of reporters gathered in the room, and I see her sitting there, her eyes trained on me rather than on Jack.

Is your father proud of you?

No. I don't think he is.

I don't think there is anything I can do that will ever make him say those words to me despite how goddamn hard I've tried my entire life.

Giving her up was one of the hardest things I ever had to do, and I did it for him. It still didn't make him proud.

Playing in college and dominating records didn't make him proud.

A first round draft pick to the Saints didn't make him proud.

I really believed working my way up through the system until I landed a head coaching position would be the thing that finally pushed those words out of his mouth.

Hell, even working back in time, I can't remember hearing those words. When I learned to ride a bike, or when I aced a hard test, or when I saved a bird with a broken wing, or when I mowed Mrs. Paulson's front lawn without pay after her husband passed away.

And sometimes, even though I'm a thirty-six-year-old man now, I still feel like that little boy teetering without training wheels for the first time waiting for his dad's approval.

But maybe it's time to come to terms with the fact that I just may never get it.

"Your new head coach, Mr. Lincoln Nash!" Jack says, and I snap out of it as I head toward the microphone.

"Good evening," I say once the applause in the room dies down.

I think about the speech I prepared as I stare out over the sea of reporters staring back at me. I have a carefully constructed statement to be sure the message I'm delivering is uniform across the board. It's similar to what I said earlier to my players, but now in a different context for the media, and suddenly the entire thing is wiped clean from my brain.

Confident, Calm, Clear, and Courageous. Ellie's four Cs race through my brain, and my statement comes back to me as I draw in a deep breath. "Thank you for your warm welcome, and thank you for being here today. I'm so excited to be here to work with all the talent on this team. We have challenges ahead of us, but I'm confident that with hard work and determination, we can see another winning season. We're committed to winning games, and I'm ready to get moving to build on the legacy I've inherited. My job is to get the most out of the players on this team, and I look forward to building my relationship with this community and continuing the winning culture that's here in Vegas."

"Thank you, Coach Nash," Jack says. "We have time for a few questions." He calls on the first reporter as I mentally prepare to be raked over the coals.

"James Williams, CBS," the man says. "How do you plan on rebuilding the team to be on par with last season when so many of your key players retired?"

I study the crowd, and I suppose I've made a name for myself with the media because of my charm. I'm good at handling questions, but I've never done it in this role before.

And something about that sets me on edge.

My eyes fall on Jolene. She's staring back at me, a sour look on her face like she can't believe I was the one chosen out of all the potential candidates for this position, and I nearly laugh.

I hold it together, but something about seeing a familiar face out there—even a sour one—helps calm the rising anxiety.

Or maybe it's not because it's a familiar face at all. Maybe it has more to do with the fact that it's her sitting there.

And in the middle of this press conference as James Williams waits for me to answer his question, an old memory that faded from my mind years and years ago filters back in.

I was seventeen and angry about something stupid, something I can't even remember now—maybe getting in trouble in a class or something, but I clearly remember storming down the hallway between classes at school. And there she stood, leaning against her locker with that same sour look on her face.

"What?" I growled at her.

"Nothing," she said, shrugging. "It's just…when you're angry, I feel it. I get angry too, like your anger affects mine. Your happiness causes mine. Like we're so in tune I feel what you're feeling. Your mood affects mine, and I just want you to be okay."

Maybe I didn't get it back then, but I do now.

Jolene always saw through me. She saw past the tough guy exterior I tried to project back when I was a teenager right to the vulnerable boy inside.

It's why she asked me if my father was proud of me when I ended things with her. She knew me better than anyone else. Maybe she still does.

I've never let anyone else in the way I let her in.

I felt it, too—the mood thing. When she was sad, I was sad. When she was happy, I felt a little lighter. It felt like it was what set us apart. We were so connected emotionally that when that divide eventually came, I shut off those emotions to the best of my ability.

It doesn't mean I'm not affected. It doesn't mean I'm cold all the time.

But it does mean that I don't let anyone else see it, and that's the calm and cool man the reporters at this press conference are getting.

Still, I have a feeling she can see past it, even now. Even all these years later.

I brush away the memory and focus.

"That's a great question, James, and I appreciate you asking it. We have many challenges ahead of us, but I know we can rise to each of them. Mr. Dalton, Mr. Shanahan, and I are committed to developing our rookies and utilizing our existing talent while bringing in some new players with the skillset we're looking for along with the drive and determination that fits with our current culture."

Jack nods to another reporter.

"Kyle Broderick, Vegas Sun. Coach, what would you say to fans who are worried about the team's chances this season?"

I smile as a surge of confidence rushes through me. "I say we're going to give it everything we've got. I have no doubt that we will rise above the challenges we're facing to win games, and we're committed to working hard every day to prove that the Vegas Aces are the best team in the league."

"Jolene," Jack says, and my chest tightens.

"Jolene Bailey, VG-oh-three. Will you be trading for one of your brothers to play for the Aces?"

Of course she'd jump in like a shark. She didn't ask that question during our exclusive, which only makes me think she held onto it to ask it in a more public setting.

My eyes hold onto hers as the anger pulses through me.

Confident, Calm, Clear, and Courageous.

I can't let her see she's affecting me. "We haven't made any decisions on new player acquisitions just yet." I leave it at that. The other reporters got a much more courteous response, but I can't give her more than that. The truth is that yes, I want one of my brothers on my team, and we have an open position that needs to be filled by one of the greatest tight ends who ever played the game.

But I haven't even spoken to my brother about it yet. I haven't spoken to Jack about it yet, either.

I'll talk to him today or tomorrow about it, and then I'll talk to my brother in person when I head to New York for the weekend.

Still, her question bothers me.

It has to be because she is the one asking it when she already had her chance to ask questions.

But I have a feeling she's going to use this season to annoy the fuck out of me with her questions. I refuse to admit that it's kind of a turn on.

Jack takes a few more questions, but my mind lingers on her.

I need a drink. I need to get her out of my head.

Ellie meets me behind the press room afterward. "You did great, Coach." She offers a wide smile. "Our contract is in your inbox whenever you're ready to sign."

Jack laughs as he slings an arm around his sister-in-law. "You made quick work of that one."

She giggles and waves. "I need to get home to the kids. Jack, we'll see you tomorrow?"

He nods, and she scampers off.

"Steve and I would love to take you for a celebratory drink with Mike and Andy," he says, naming the offensive and defensive coordinators who I've yet to have a real conversation with. "We'll wait for the media to clear out then head to the place across the street in an hour or so. Work for you?"

I nod.

I don't have any other plans, and I can't think of four men I'd like to befriend more than the four he just mentioned…and besides, after that press conference, I sure as hell could use a drink.

Preferably a strong one.