CHAPTER 23 LINCOLN

I'm not looking forward to the working lunch I have today.

I haven't spent much time alone with my offensive coordinator, but I kept him around because something about firing the OC after winning the championship last season felt like it would be a stupid move on my part.

Instead, I think keeping him around might've been the stupid move.

I've been studying his playbook, and it's too conservative. Too predictable. I like his focus on minimizing mistakes, but there's no focus at all on surprising our opponent—something that I've found wins games, too. Instead, the focus is on complex plays that'll only serve to confuse our players, particularly rookies coming in.

I already know we're going to butt heads over this, and my approach is to take chances that will push this team to the limits of what it's capable of where his approach seems to be avoiding mistakes.

Sometimes those mistakes turn out to be the best thing that could happen. Other times they don't pan out. But if we play it safe, we'll never know.

He walks into my office, and Megan brings the food in a minute later. I've been in and out quite a bit, but she's already proven to be a valuable asset to me, so much so that I've already considered confiding in her about the whole Jolene thing.

I feel like Megan is the type of person who not only would understand, but would work to help protect what we have.

I'm not sure why I think that, but some people just give you that gut feeling that they can be trusted, and Megan is one of those people.

Mike Sharp, however, falls somewhere on the other end of the spectrum. I know he and Mitch Thompson were tight, but he doesn't seem like the kind of guy that I am going to be tight with—which is unfortunate given the fact that this new position limits the pool I have for making friends here in town.

But that's been a pain point my entire life.

When I was a kid, I assumed anyone who wanted to spend time with me just wanted to get to my father. When I got a little older, I assumed it was because I was good at football, too. When I played in college and professionally and even when I transitioned to coaching, I assumed they just wanted tickets to a game.

I've let very few people in because I trust basically no one, and I've gotten by just fine up to this point. I think Mike could have become a friend since we're in similar positions and we're going to be forced together a lot over the next year, but rather than being friendly with him, my guard is firmly in place.

"Thanks for meeting with me," I begin as we both dig into the fajita spread.

"Of course," he says, and it's easy to see that his guard is up, too.

"Look, man. We have to trust each other if we're going to work together this season, so let me begin by saying I really respect your playbook and your ideas, but I have a few ideas I want to include in this year's book."

"Such as?" he asks, refusing to meet my eyes as he grabs some sour cream for the top of his fajita.

"Playing it safe isn't really my style, and I think the conservative nature of many of your plays just won't work with my vision."

He glances up to meet my eyes. "What's your vision?"

I shrug. "Winning games. Surprising the opponent. Not complex and confusing plays, but simple things nobody will be expecting."

"But we won the Super Bowl last year, Lincoln. It makes exactly zero sense to change everything."

I figured he'd play that card, but the truth is that it was his first year as OC, and he got lucky that he worked with a team that meshed as well together as last year's Aces did.

"I realize that, but we lost big names along with that win. We're training the next generation, so this is the time to go big if we want to prove we've still got the same culture of winning even though so much of our team turned over." I shove a forkful of chicken and peppers in my mouth, foregoing the tortilla and sour cream in favor of the healthy choices.

"Exactly," he says with a curt nod. "I think it's smarter to play it safe and minimize mistakes as we train this new generation."

"Play it safe?" I repeat. "That's not my style."

"I know, Coach, but hear me out. Playing it safer last season paid off for us, but we could've cleaned up a lot of costly mistakes. If we minimize those, we'll show a more consistent performance this season." He's staying calm and cool, but his words only have the effect of drawing the anger rising in me.

I throw down my fork. "How can you know that when half our team is new players? You think throwing a hundred fifty complex plays at them is the way to do it?"

"No, but I do think maintaining a playbook the majority of our boys already know is the way to do it. A winning playbook, might I add." He gives me a smug look, but I don't necessarily agree with him.

The truth is that I went through his playbook. I compared it to the calls that Mitch made on the field.

Most of the plays Mike brought in with him when he showed up stayed in the playbook. The ones that were used over and over were the ones Mitch had in the previous playbook.

"You can add whatever the fuck you want, but I'm a firm believer we need to take risks if we want to win. And as much as I appreciate your input, I'll remind you that I was hired to make these sorts of decisions. We will continue taking risks, and you will add the plays I've drafted to the playbook. I'll also let you know which plays I want out. Any questions?" My voice is firm, direct, and final.

"Can I finish my lunch? Or are you going to make that decision for me, too?"

"Finish your lunch." My tone is clipped, and I see the resentment in his eyes when his gaze lifts defiantly to mine. Despite the look he gives me, he finishes lunch without another word.

He gets up and walks out, and I don't like leaving things on that sort of note between the two of us.

But I also know he's a professional, and part of his job is to defer to me.

He wanted this position. He didn't get it, and I know he will fight me every step of the way because of that.

But I did get the position. Jack trusts me to do what's best for the team—for my team—and my gut tells me that it isn't using the same plays they used last year. We've got a new quarterback, a new tight end, and a new starting wide receiver. We can't use the same plays we used last year because it's just not the same team.

I push the anger I feel toward Mike to the back of my mind for now. I have a fake girlfriend to go chat with, after all.

And maybe a little rendezvous with my secret girlfriend, too.

Is that what she is?

I try to define it to myself on the way over to the address she texted me.

She's not my girlfriend. Even back when we were actually together, we didn't use those kinds of juvenile labels. We just simply were.

We were friends, and then we were together.

We were in love.

We were a lot of things. We were a step beyond the typical boyfriend and girlfriend relationships our friends had. And I think that's why the end was so hard on both of us. It blindsided both of us, but because I was the one who broke it off, I wasn't allowed a mourning period.

Especially not in front of my father.

And as I pull into the driveway of my destination, I can't help but feel the pulse of excitement that I'm about to see her again.

I pray things end differently this time, but I'm just not sure how they can.