CHAPTER 22 LINCOLN

My alarm wakes me way too early, but I have to take my chance where I have it. It's the life of a football coach, I guess.

I pull on my joggers and a long-sleeve t-shirt and grab my favorite Nikes before I head down to the kitchen, where Asher is already waiting for me. He's chowing on a granola bar, and I find one in the pantry for myself, too. We fill some water bottles and head out the back door.

It's a brisk forty-eight degrees this early in the morning in late March, but it's beautiful. The skies are clear as we head through the fields to the trail through the forest.

"What's new with you?" I ask once we wade through the tall grass and hit the dirt path.

He shrugs. "Nothing much. I've been spending most of my offseason in Nashville."

"Doing what?"

"Hanging with buddies. Going to bars. Listening to live music every night."

"Keeping up with workouts…"

He laughs. "Nah. I'm young enough the off-season pounds still shed pretty easily. I take a month or two to fuck around and then once we're back at mandatory OTAs, I get back on track."

"That's the time to do it." I think about his words. He's dedicated to having fun, but he knows when to get serious. That's the kind of attitude I want on my team. That's the kind of guy I want playing for me.

"How's Vegas?" he asks.

"So far, so good. I haven't been there long, but it already feels like the best organization I've ever worked for."

His brows rise as if he's impressed by that. "Even with new ownership?"

"You know Jack Dalton. He's got everything under control, and the players in that building respect the hell out of him."

"Yeah, you walked into a pretty sweet deal there."

I chuckle. "I wouldn't say I walked into it."

He's quiet a beat. "You ever think we get all this shit so easily because there's four of us playing? With a dad who used to play, an uncle who used to play…"

"It's a legacy, for sure, but I still think we all earned it in our own right. Maybe we were predisposed to some advantages because we grew up around the game. How's Indianapolis treating you?"

"It's good. Fine." He shrugs. "I guess sometimes I feel like my talents are wasted there. Hillman starts more games than I do despite the evidence that I have more talent. And as you know, we need a quarterback."

He's not happy there.

This is my chance.

"You'll get a good pick in the draft," I point out.

"Yeah. But that's the thing. I don't know that I want to play on a team that has a good draft pick every season…you know?"

"Yeah, I know." The good thing about a good draft position is that a team will score a talented player with a lot of potential to build a better team. The bad thing about it is that the team with the worst record in the league gets the first pick. "What would you think about coming to play for a team that has the last pick this season?"

His head whips over in my direction. "In Vegas? With you?"

"In Vegas," I confirm. "With me." I'm not sure that the with me part will sell him as much as the Vegas part. I've always just been his older brother, but I could see the two of us getting closer. What would the dynamic be like, though, for me to be his head coach? What would that look like in the locker room? Would other players be afraid to say certain things to him for fear it'd get back to me?

Somehow I don't think it would matter. Asher is a smart kid and he can handle himself. He'll fit in anywhere he lands, with or without me.

The sound of dirt, rocks, and branches crunching beneath our feet as we walk fills the silence between us for a beat, and the anticipation of his answer is killing me.

"I'm in. Work out a deal with my agent, but I think it would be a great fit."

Heavy relief filters through me. "So do I, man." I clap him on the shoulder as excitement filters through me.

"You think Mom and Dad will move to Vegas?" he asks, wrinkling his nose as he turns toward me.

I laugh. "Mom has always said if she could get two boys in the same city, they'd move there, or at least rent a place for the season. So, yeah, I think they probably would." The thought of my parents in Vegas where the Bailey family has made not just their home but a name for themselves crosses my mind. I picture my father opening up a place across the street from the Gridiron to try to steal Bailey's business.

I shake off the thought. It's silly, and he wouldn't do that. Would he?

By the time we get home from our hike, almost everyone is awake and my dad is flipping pancakes while my mom scrambles eggs. I don't know what she does to the eggs, but they're light and fluffy and full of flavor.

Grayson is still asleep, and Spencer is helping my parents by pouring glasses of orange juice while they work. We sit down to a family meal after Mom heads upstairs to get Grayson, and once again, we throw jabs and laugh as a family.

But still, I feel a strange sense of a divide in here.

Asher doesn't bring up the conversation we had outside.

Grayson doesn't bring up the fact that he's contemplating retirement.

I don't bring up the fact that I crossed paths with Jolene Bailey.

I wonder what secrets Spencer is harboring. I wonder what our parents are keeping from us.

I wonder when I got so cynical.

After breakfast, the four kids clean up the kitchen while the parents sit back and drink coffee, and I can't help but wonder what else there is to this family dynamic. Shouldn't one of us have a wife and some kids by this point?

We get out the soccer ball and run around the backyard for a bit, which ends in a wrestling match between Grayson and I where I come to terms with the fact that I'm not in my teens anymore.

I walk away with a bruised arm and an aching hip that a hot shower doesn't do much to help, and then we're off to the anniversary party.

It's an hour drive back in the direction of the city. My mom and dad take Asher and Grayson in their car, and I volunteer to drive Spencer since he's the one brother I haven't really caught up with yet. He's quiet on the drive, but he's always been on the introspective side.

"How's your off-season treating you?" I ask.

He glances sideways at me then returns his gaze out the window. "If I tell you something, you promise to keep it between us?"

"Of course." I say it like it's not something he even has to ask—because he doesn't. His news isn't mine to share, regardless of what it is.

"I've been seeing someone. I'm thinking about proposing."

So all those thoughts about what it would be like to change the family dynamic by introducing someone else into the framework might actually come to fruition here.

"Congratulations, Spence. Who is it?"

"Her name is Amelia. I met her through some mutual friends at a party." He's being vague, which makes me think there's more to the story than he's letting on. Or maybe it's just Spencer. Sometimes it's hard to tell with him.

"That's great, man. I'm happy for you. Tell me about her."

"She's a fourth-grade teacher just outside Minneapolis. Cousins with a teammate." He shrugs and leaves it at that.

"What makes her the one you want to propose to?"

"I don't know. And that's the reason why I think I should do it."

I laugh. "I guess that's one reason."

"Everything has always made sense to me, you know? I do a little analysis, strategize a little, and boom, problem solved. But there's something about her that tosses everything off balance, and it's what made me fall for her. She's a little quirky. A little wild. Spontaneous. Basically my opposite in every way, and it makes no sense, yet…" He trails off, clearly confused with how to proceed, and I kind of love seeing my brother like this.

"It sounds like love, dude."

"Thanks for listening, man. And for not saying anything yet. I haven't decided where or when or the rest of it."

"You will," I say with confidence. It's Spencer. He'll have it figured out by the time his plane touches back down in Minnesota. "Why didn't you bring her this weekend?"

He shrugs. "None of us ever do. I wasn't ready to—"

"Have the family judging her?" I guess.

He shakes his head. "Expose her to you idiots."

I laugh. He's not wrong.

And I can't help but think maybe he's got the right idea.

We're celebrating Gram and Gramps's sixty-fifth wedding anniversary.

If I got married today—and there's literally nobody in the picture right now I could even offer that to—I'd be a hundred and one the day I celebrated my sixty-fifth wedding anniversary.

I could've been on track for that with the girl I loved when I was eighteen. We could've gotten married young. We could have kids together now, kids that are in their teens who might have interests different from ours.

Instead, we're bitter enemies whose families hate one another and she has a kid with some other man.

I guess that's what was meant to be.

And we just…weren't.