CHAPTER 18 LINCOLN

She has a kid.

And…

What the fuck was that?

What did I just do?

I saw her walk back toward a room with a door marked employees only.

Does she work here? I'm not sure, but something compelled me to my feet to find out. Or to confront her…or to ask her about her kid.

Who's the father?

Is she with him?

Is she married? She wasn't wearing a ring. I checked her hand when I threaded my fingers through hers. Her fingers tightened in mine when I shoved my hard cock against her just the way they did when I shoved into her tight pussy all those years ago.

Touching her was a mistake.

A fucking huge one.

But I had to. God dammit, I fucking had to.

And once I was close enough, I had to taste her. My lips grazed her neck and it took everything in my power not to kiss her.

It was one hit, and it wasn't enough.

But I can't touch her. I can't be close to her.

I can't smell her. She still wears the same perfume, and the scent transported me back twenty years to when I fell in love with her.

It was love.

Of that I am confident.

And there's definitely still something there, but too much has happened. Touching her was a betrayal to my entire family, and I can't do it again.

But how am I supposed to avoid it?

I've never been so tempted by anyone in my entire life.

But I know what her dad did to mine. And it wasn't just our fathers. It feels very much like my family banded together as we all watched my father try to save the bar. We helped where we could, and we watched as our parents very nearly got divorced over it. We watched as Joseph Bailey very slowly drained the money from my father's account and somehow managed to take everything else from him—not just his financial freedom, but his happiness. His patience. His excitement.

The Baileys tried to break us. They didn't succeed. Our family drew closer together over the loss of his dream, and when Grayson got his first big money contract, we offered to go in together to help him rebuild his dream.

But he didn't want it. He's never been the same, and somehow I think it has more to do with the loss of their friendship than the loss of the bar. But that's not something my stubborn father would ever admit.

I can't keep running into her, but I'm also well aware that I can't avoid her. The relationship between a head coach and the media is a delicate one, and I've seen my head coaches over the years befriend reporters. I've seen them kick back and have a drink or two—off the record, of course. In fact, one previous head coach I worked with was the godfather of a local reporter's kid.

Other coaches take a different stance on reporters, to be sure. But that's never how I wanted to coach, and besides, Jack wants me to form relationships here. I need to form relationships here, and who better to do that with than the people I'll be around the most?

I just can't do it with her.

I keep my eyes on Steve as he chatters on and on about the draft. It's still six weeks away, so we have time to prepare, and it's not like we're going to throw out any specific names here in public.

I'm sure I'm not making the best impression on Mike or Andy, who I've not had the chance to talk to apart from tonight. I get the distinct impression Mike doesn't like me. He's only been with the Aces for a year, but surely he was vying for the head coaching position. He didn't get it, though, and now he has to work under me—the guy who did get it.

Maybe I'm wrong. She's distracting me, and we keep getting interrupted as the legions of Aces fans who frequent this bar swing by to welcome me to town. Maybe this wasn't the best choice for a celebratory drink, or maybe Jack had an ulterior motive in bringing me here.

Today was a big day, but the first day back to the offices isn't for a few more weeks. We'll have some time off now, so at least I'll get to avoid her for a bit as I settle into this new position, this new home, this new life.

And I'll have a little bit of time to prepare for my trip back home where I'll have to face my entire family after nearly kissing our mortal enemy today at her father's bar.

Can't wait.

I see her get up with her friend and their boys out of the corner of my eye. I stared at the kid when I walked over to the table. It's not hard to tell who he belongs to. He looks exactly like his mother.

But what did he get from his father? Who is his father?

Jesus, that weight is going to press heavy on my chest until I have some answers.

Staring at him helped me avoid looking at her.

Would we have kids together by now if we would've had the chance to stay together?

It's something I think about often.

None of my brothers are married. None of us have kids.

I'm the oldest at thirty-six, and my brothers are thirty-two, twenty-nine, and twenty-seven. All four of us have played football professionally since we graduated college. I'm the only one who isn't still playing. Grayson is a defensive back for the Chargers. Spencer is a wide receiver for the Vikings. Asher is a tight end for the Colts. We're all single, eligible bachelors, and there's no shortage of women vying for our attention.

But nobody has caught it.

Or, at least, nobody since Jolene has caught mine.

What the fuck did our parents do to us?

I've said the words before to Grayson, the brother I'm probably closest to simply because of our ages. We both laughed it off, but maybe it's true. Maybe they ingrained hard work into the four of us from such a young age that we went too far the wrong way, putting our focus into the game instead of into our personal lives.

Am I personally fulfilled?

I'm not sure.

It's another puzzle I think about often.

Am I happy?

Sure. I enjoy coaching, and I'm excited to be here in Vegas.

But the older I get, the more I realize there has to be more to life than just football.

It's a game. It's my life. It's how I was raised.

I didn't care about anything beyond that when I was in my twenties. But my thirties hit me, and I'm more than halfway to forty now.

And where does that leave me?

If I do want kids someday, the clock is ticking. It's never really been a priority. My dad instilled that one in the four of us for sure—that having kids too young can fuck up your entire life.

He had four anyway.

But what about having them too old? Or not having them at all?

Would things be different if we had a sister? Maybe. My mom wanted a girl so bad she tried four times before she gave up, and then she was forced into raising four assholes who accidentally put holes in her walls and broke her furniture and had her taking weekly trips to the ER.

It's no different when we get together now. We may be adults, but we still wrestle and fight like we're teenagers. The recovery is just different now, and we can ease the ache with legal alcohol rather than sneaking it from the cabinet in the basement.

Alcohol to ease the ache. Now there's a novel idea.

It feels like the night is coming to a close, so I refrain from ordering another whiskey as I try to push her out of my head.

I'll have another one at home to banish her all the way out.

But I'm not sure how I'm going to get through an entire weekend with my family without Jolene Bailey coming up, and I'm really not sure how I'm going to field those questions.