CHAPTER 21 LINCOLN

My mom attacks me with a hug the second I walk through the door. My dad hangs back and offers a firm handshake.

That's their personalities to a T. My mom is warm and kind. My dad is cold and standoffish. I fall somewhere in between them, I think, though I like to believe I'm more like Mom than Dad.

Maybe because I don't want to be anything like my father.

Grayson is more laid-back and charming like my mom, the tallest of the four of us and second oldest at thirty-two. He can make anyone laugh, but he's all business when it comes to the game. He will do whatever it takes to win, and he's a huge asset to the Chargers in his position as defensive back.

And then there's me. A natural leader with charisma and ambition. Competitive and obsessed with winning, which often isolates me from others, including my own brothers. As a coach, I have to be careful what I share with them, and if we can't bond over football…what can we bond over? What else even is there?

To the Nash family…nothing.

What would it be like to bring a woman with me to one of these family get togethers? How would my brothers treat her?

Why am I even thinking about it?

It's not like I could bring Jolene here.

The thought nearly makes me laugh out loud.

Hell, Asher was only seven or eight years old when I broke it off with her. He doesn't even really understand what went down between the two of us.

I guess the only one who has any inkling about it is Grayson. Maybe that's why I'm closer to him than I am to the other two. He was thirteen, and even though there was a huge age span there, he was the one I relied on most during the darkest days. He always tried to cheer me up even when it seemed like an impossible feat.

But he still doesn't know about the conversation that took place between my dad and me the day Joseph Bailey was hurt during practice.

He still doesn't know the secret my father told me. It's been speculation for years, but most people have swept it away at this point.

Not me.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

And part of me is glad my parents lost the house when they were trying to save the bar. I couldn't bear to stand in my childhood bedroom today and relive that awful conversation.

I do enough of that outside of those bedroom walls. Inside them would be pure suffocation.

Mom ushers Grayson and me toward the snacks she has in the kitchen, jabbering on and on about how excited she is for the anniversary party tomorrow night, and Grayson walks right over to the fridge and grabs us each a beer.

I raise my brows in thanks as I can't help but think I'm going to need a few of these to help me through the next few hours.

We get settled, hauling our suitcases up to our respective bedrooms, and Spencer, the responsible one, arrives next, about a half hour—or two beers—after Grayson and me. He's the smartest out of the four of us, the second youngest at twenty-nine, and he's a wide receiver for the Vikings. He's quiet, but it's usually because he's thinking and strategizing—like my father would do. Of the four of us, I see him as the most likely to get married first.

Grayson offers him a beer after the greetings, and to my surprise, Spencer takes it and cracks it open. If we were in season, he wouldn't touch it, but I guess over time he's decided he can partake in some fun in the off-season.

"When is Asher getting in?" Spencer asks Mom.

Asher, the baby, is just twenty-seven. He's a tight end for the Colts, and he's our wild card. He's an adventurous risk-taker, most likely to jump out of a plane if the league allowed such risky activities. He's the fastest of the four of us, and while all four of us have been rumored to be playboys, he fits the stereotype better than the rest of us with his impulsive attitude. He's not like my mom or my dad. He's not like any of us, really, and that riskiness and adventurous spirit is exactly what we need on the team to take the spot of Ben Olson.

She glances at the clock.

"His flight landed about an hour ago, so he said he'd just meet us at the restaurant."

And he does. A couple hours later, I'm starting to feel a little beer buzz as we all catch up.

We bring up every game where one Nash brother played another one last season, and we analyze each game at length as we drink more beer, trash talk, and laugh like hell.

I've gone too long without this, and it's a clear reminder why family comes first.

The six of us banded together in some of our toughest times. We were all we had to rely on when things got bad—when accusations were flying at us and when paparazzi was waiting outside and when Dad lost the bar.

Were a lot of the hard times directly related to my father? Hell yes they were. But my younger brothers still see him as a hero, and for their sake, I'll hold onto his secret. I won't be the reason this family implodes.

And that's why I have to keep my distance from Jolene Bailey.

No matter how hard that might get.

Mom and Dad head to bed when we get back, leaving the four of us to our own devices. And that device just happens to be poker.

We get into a rousing match of Dealer Names the Game once Grayson finds the poker chips in the game closet. We agree to each put up a hundred bucks, but this game isn't about the money.

It's about the competition. All four of us are competitive by nature, and none of us takes losing well. We wouldn't have made it to the place we are in our careers if we did.

Still, Grayson is a cheater, and we all know that. He steals looks at cards when he shouldn't and he snags an extra chip off the top that doesn't belong to him. True to each of their individual styles, Spencer is careful to strategize, and Asher plays with risk. As for me…well, I will stop at nothing to win, whether that's charming my way through a bluff or raising the stakes aggressively.

We knock Grayson out first, and then Spencer, so it's down to just Asher and me. We play a few rounds until Grayson decides to call it a night, and Spencer heads up shortly after.

And that's when I decide to let Asher win. If I'm going to try to lure him over to the Aces, I need to tread carefully.

"Dude, you could've had that!" he says when he sees my cards.

I shrug. "You win some, you lose some. Want to go for a hike with me tomorrow morning?"

He nods. "I need to stretch my legs, so yeah. Six AM?"

"Sounds good." It's a little earlier than I would prefer given that I'm still on Vegas time, but if it gets me a minute with my brother alone and away from the rest of the family, I can talk to him about the trade.

I think about how to approach it as I get ready for bed, but when I slip into bed, the thoughts fade away.

This is the same bed where, nearly twenty years ago, I lost my virginity to Jolene Bailey. It may not be the same bedroom, but it's the same bed.

This bed is where I knew I was destined to end up with her until our entire world came crashing down just a few days later.

It was tender and sweet. It was full of love and passion.

I've heard plenty of horror stories about everything from first times to hundredth times in the locker rooms over the years, but what we shared was intimate.

I've never allowed that sort of intimacy anywhere else.

I was too afraid it would all be ripped away the same way she was. I was afraid I'd be forced into another choice I didn't get to make—a choice that was already laid out for me because father knows best.

I'm not sure how the fuck I'm supposed to sleep here with those memories plowing into me. I get up and pace around the bedroom, and it feels too small.

I need sleep—especially if I'm going for a hike in five hours with Asher—nine years my junior and definitely more agile than this old man.

Yet…I need to move. I need to get out of here.

I head downstairs to clear my head, and I find Grayson leaning on the kitchen counter, the light of his phone the only light in the room and making his face glow. A bottle of beer sits next to him on the counter.

"Whatcha doin'?" I ask casually, and he jumps about ten feet into the air. I laugh as he catches his breath.

"Fuck, dude. I'm getting too old for jump scares."

"Too old? You're thirty-fucking-two, man," I point out.

He nods and twists his lips as he reaches up to his shoulder to massage it a little. "Yeah. I guess I just…"

My brows dip as I watch him grapple for words. It's unlike him. "What's going on, Gray?"

"I just got word Kendrick Barber is heading to the ‘Fins. Another reminder we're commodities, not people."

"Do you really feel that way?" I ask, perching on the countertop across from him.

He holds up his beer. "Want one?"

I nod, and he grabs one from the fridge, the room lit from the light there for a minute before we're back in darkness again. He hands it to me then lifts himself up to sit on the counter where he was just leaning. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, the moon is lighting up the kitchen enough that I can see Grayson.

He draws in a breath. "Sometimes. I guess sometimes I feel like I might be ready to hang it up, you know? I'm tired. I'm beat up. I'm cupping and taking Toradol and trying to ease the aches rather than giving anything time to heal. The off-season isn't enough time. I guess…it just gets old."

"I know," I murmur. Oh, I know that feeling all too well. It only took three seasons to take me out. He's survived nine.

"But then I remember how many years Dad played and I know he'd be disappointed in me if I gave it up earlier than he did." He shrugs.

"The game has changed," I point out. In a lot of ways, it was easier back in the day. The paychecks were a little smaller, but the talent pool was also shallow and the physicality wasn't quite as brutal as it is today. "You've accomplished a lot in your career and you're still helping your team win games, but you're smart and you know your body better than anyone else."

He nods, and we're both quiet for a beat before I have to ask the question on my mind.

"Is Dad the only thing keeping you in the game?"

"Sometimes I think he is."

"Why do we give him so much power?" My voice is a low rumble as I ask the question. It's his house—granted, the house Grayson and I bought for him, but still. I shouldn't be badmouthing the man in his own kitchen, but I can't help when the words fall from my lips anyway.

"It's how we were raised, man. Family and football first. Blood is thicker than anything else. How many times was that beat into us as kids? If I give up football, it's giving up my family."

"You're not giving it up if you retire, dude. You put in a lot of good years."

"You're just saying that so you don't have to face me this season," he says, but he really does sound sort of tired.

"Or maybe I care about you because you're my little brother and I don't want to see you miserable." It feels like a good time to bring up my own little issue, too, since we're having this nighttime confessional, but I don't know how to broach the topic.

He does it for me. "Thanks. I appreciate that. How's Vegas treating you?"

I clear my throat. "The Aces are incredible so far. It feels like home already. But there's this one thing…"

"You need a defensive coordinator and you're offering me the position?" he supplies.

I laugh, but I turn serious a moment later. Could Grayson come coach with me? I never really considered it, but I can do whatever I want with my coaching staff. "Not a DC, but potentially a position coach or an analyst. Is coaching something you'd want to do?"

He shrugs. "It's something I've thought about. I've watched you do it for years, and you're really good at it. It'd be kind of cool to learn under you and work my way up."

"I'm going to talk to Asher about a trade tomorrow," I admit. "You think he'll take it?"

He chuckles as if I just asked a stupid question. "Fuck yeah I think he'll take it. It's Asher. He's not an Indiana dude. He's a Vegas dude all the way."

He's got a point.

"There's something else," I add before I lose my nerve.

"What?" he asks.

I clear my throat. "Jolene Bailey." I say the name quietly. "She just scored the Aces correspondent position for a local news channel in Vegas, and she's going to be at every Aces event this season. And I…" I suck in a breath.

"You're still in love with her?" he correctly guesses.

"Fuck no," I say. I shake my head. "I can't be. Even if I was, it wouldn't matter. For the same reason you can't hang it up yet."

"Dad?"

I nod.

"Fuck," he mutters. "I get it, though. It's a delicate balance. We have such a great family dynamic here. These family gatherings…you can't exactly walk in with a Bailey on your arm to Gram and Gramps's anniversary party. Has anything happened?"

I shake my head, the thought of pinning her up against the wall in that break room fresh in my mind again. Nothing happened…but that doesn't mean I don't want something to happen.

"She has a kid," I say softly.

"And the dad?"

I shrug. "I don't think she's with him."

"Huh," he grunts softly. "What are you going to do?"

"I have no idea," I admit.

"The man with a plan has no idea…" he mutters, and he shakes his head. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"And wouldn't you know it's a woman fucking up the balance."

He laughs. "You know my stance on that."

Yeah, I do. It's the same stance all four of us have. It's why our ages range from twenty-seven to thirty-six and none of us are married. None of us have kids. All of us are committed to football first.

All of us are a little lonely but none of us will admit it.

And I'm starting to wonder what life would be like if I could be a little more like Asher and take the damn risk.