CHAPTER 2 LINCOLN

"I need to talk to you in private," my father says. His tone is clipped and I have a bad feeling about what he's going to say to me. Why does he want to talk to me privately right now?

He leads me upstairs to my bedroom, and I can't help but glance at the bed where Jolene and I had sex just a few days ago.

My sheets still smell like her when I focus hard enough. I never want to forget that smell. It's flowery but not in an overpowering way, and I think she once told me it was some orange blossom perfume she uses.

I should pay more attention to those little details. They feel like someday they'll be big details, but we have all the time in the world.

"Something happened at practice today. I'm not sure if you've seen the news…"

I shake my head. "I've been at practice then got home and started working on a paper due tomorrow."

"Shit," he mutters, the curse not uncommon in front of his kids, but the way he says it tells me this is bad.

Really bad.

"Are you in trouble?" I ask him.

"I might be. I'm not sure yet."

"What happened?" I ask, my brows knitting together as I brace myself for whatever this is.

"Sit down."

Sit down? Why is he telling me to sit down?

I fold my arms across my chest and remain standing, ignoring his command.

"Sit. Down," he repeats, his tone intentional.

Fine. I perch on the edge of the bed—the bed where I had sex for the first time just five days ago.

My dad doesn't know that.

Except his next words tell me that in fact he does.

"When you have sex, son, you need to do a better job hiding the evidence." He gives me a pointed glance then opens the drawer beside my nightstand where the opened box of condoms sits.

"Maybe I'm just jerking off into those now," I say, my tone defensive.

"Or maybe you got caught. At least you're using protection, but do I need to remind you you'll be eighteen soon and she's still going to be fifteen? You're throwing away your future on a child, Lincoln, and I will not stand for it. I will not sit by and watch you give away your dreams to a little girl."

"What happened at practice?" I demand, ignoring his words. She's not some little girl, and the way he says it makes me feel sick to my stomach. I don't want to discuss her with him. What she and I share is sacred, and it's off-limits for any conversation with him.

He looks around the room a little nervously rather than meeting my gaze, and alarm bells ring in my brain.

"I fumbled during a scrimmage and Bailey picked it up. I made the tackle, and there was an injury."

My mouth dries instantly at his words. "An injury?"

"They called it a horse collar tackle. It wasn't, but I—"

"Is he okay?" I interrupt, not really caring about what happened but needing to get to the bottom of the story.

He blows out a breath. "I don't know. He was taken off on a stretcher. We're all waiting for updates from the hospital and Coach will call me as soon as he knows anything."

"Jesus Christ, Dad!" I yell at him, but he shows exactly zero remorse. "Why would you horse collar tackle in practice?"

His response is both immediate and vicious. "I did it for you."

Silence fills the room as my jaw falls open and I stare across the space at him. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"You're getting too close to her. You're going to fuck up your future with that girl. Your focus needs to be on the game."

"So you purposely hurt her father? How does that make sense?"

"I did what I had to do to protect you."

"Don't you dare blame me for what you did," I say, pushing to a stand as anger filters through me.

He ignores my words. "They'll ship him off somewhere for rehab and recovery. Probably Arizona, maybe Colorado. He's got some family in the southwest and he's in the final year of his contract. Age plus injury means that'll be it. End of career. He'll haul his family with him since family comes first." He says the words with no emotion, as if he thought the whole plan through and carried it out and now it's done and he can move on.

It's not quite that simple, though. He just ended the career of one of his best friends. Their wives are best friends. Their kids are best friends.

And he's so cold and ominous about it, as if he doesn't even care.

"What if it was you someone took out, Dad?" I ask softly.

He doesn't answer my question. "You will tell no one about this conversation. Ever. Blood is thicker than whatever it is you have with that girl. Think about your mother. Think about your brothers. Right now that girl next door seems like something you want, but the shininess will wear off and she'll destroy you. Someday you'll see that I just did this to protect you. I know you think you love her and trust her, but one fight and that little girl could run to the police and fuck up your entire future. You deserve better than that. I want you to focus on what you love. The game. Football. Get out there and fight. Have fun in college, play your heart out, and get a nice draft pick. You take the shots you have to take to protect yourself, and that's how you get ahead in football and in life."

He really sees what he did as protecting his family. He really thinks he did the right thing.

What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

I'm choosing between the girl I love and my family.

Do I even have a choice?

I'm seventeen, a senior in high school. Sometimes I think I know everything about the world, but my parents raised me with a good head on my shoulders—despite what I'm learning about my father today. I love Jolene. I feel like what we have is once in a lifetime. But what if that's my naivete talking? What if my father is right?

She's fifteen. How will that look when I'm in college and I'm dating a high school junior?

And worse, I'll be eighteen, and she'll be sixteen, and even though we were together before that, it won't matter. The age of consent here in New York is seventeen, so the law states that it would be illegal for me to sleep with her once my eighteenth birthday hits. And as much as I trust her, it's an awful lot of power to give someone.

It's hard to reason all this out right now when the flames of anger are burning so brightly.

And it's not just anger. It's this feeling of complete and total despair. My father might have just as well told me Jolene died in an accident with the way I'm feeling, but instead I have to live with the truth that she's still here on this Earth but is no longer mine to have.

I fucking hate my father for doing this to me. To us.

But at the same time…is he right? Is it too dangerous to jeopardize my future on young love?

I have no idea, but it doesn't much matter right now.

What's done is done, and now we live with the fallout.