CHAPTER 3 JOLENE

"Jonah-Bear!" my mom says when she opens the door, and I feel the instant guilt that I woke up in Lincoln Nash's arms as I walk into my parents' house. My mom pulls my boy into her arms, and my dad is right behind her with a hug for me.

I wonder if I still smell like his cologne.

My dad gives me a curious glance as he pulls away, and I'm certain he can tell something's up.

That instant guilt turns into a flood.

What Lincoln and I are doing goes against everything we were both brought up separately to believe. If there's one thing our parents would agree on, it's that loyalty to family comes first. And we're both breaking that law right now.

The rest of the morning only proves that to be true.

We sit down to breakfast, and Jonah brings it up. "Guess who was at my house this morning!"

My dad looks at him and grins. "Hm…was it one of those creeper guys from your game?"

"Nope!" Jonah says gleefully.

"Was it Cade?" my mom asks.

"Wrong again!" he says as he takes a bite of bacon.

"Who?" they ask him at the same time, and my chest squeezes as he says the name.

"Coach Nash, the new coach for the Aces!" he cries out. "He is so cool. He watched Minions with me!"

"Nash?" my dad says. "Really?" He turns toward me. "You're letting your kid hang out with Nash?"

I feel…exposed. Seen. Nervous. Is this it?

"He's going out with Cade's mom," Jonah explains.

Phew.

At least I'm not the one who's responsible for relaying that information to my parents.

"With Sam?" my mom says, her eyes turning toward me. "And how do you feel about that?"

I shrug. "We sort of got into an argument about it last night," I admit, though I don't want to be having this conversation in front of my son who basically idolizes the man.

"You and Sam did?" my mom clarifies.

I clear my throat. "Yes. She knows how we feel."

"About what?" Jonah asks.

"About that good for nothing Nash family," my dad mutters. "You know his dad purposely hurt me during practice so badly that I never got to play football again?"

"We don't know that, Dad," I say, immediately jumping to the Nash's defense—which I realize too late is great for my son but horrible for my parents.

My mom gasps at my outburst, and my father turns hard eyes on me. "First he took me out of the game, and then he tried to oust me from my own business." He shakes his head. "And he used his sons against us, too. He tried to get them involved in the fight, and that family fights dirty. I wouldn't put it past that coach to use your friend to try to manipulate you." He's talking to me, and I'm looking at my son, who looks like he just lost a hero.

I'm devastated for him, and I have no idea what to say.

I really didn't think Lincoln would be the focus of our entire breakfast, but clearly I was mistaken. I barely even touch my bacon, my appetite suddenly gone.

I wait until later when we're on our way home to talk to my son about what happened. I can't seem to do it in front of my dad, and I hate that I still feel that pressure after all these years.

But it is, after all, a big reason why Lincoln and I have to be careful.

"Honey, it's okay if you like Mr. Nash."

I glance at him in my rearview mirror. He's looking out the window and he doesn't say anything, and it breaks my heart. After last night…it just feels like the kid has been through enough.

"Grampy just doesn't like his dad."

"But he said the dad got the sons involved—" he starts, but I interrupt.

"And I want you to form your own opinion of him." I say it firmly and clearly even though I obviously haven't allowed myself to take the same advice.

"Then how come you hate him?" he asks.

"I don't hate him," I protest. "I was just raised to stay far away from him, I guess." I don't really know how else to explain it to him—or how to explain why it's okay for him to like him but not me. So instead, I say, "I don't want to do that to you, baby. I don't think it's fair."

"Okay," he mumbles, but I get the feeling he doesn't really buy into what I'm selling him.

Lincoln is gone when we get back home, and I assume he left shortly after we did.

And it's as we finish the Minions movie that I realize I never replied to Rivera's text last night. Instead of giving him the satisfaction, I ignore him.

It feels safer that way.

But that feeling of safety is just an illusion because Monday morning rolls around again, and I make it to the conference room for our meeting first.

Rivera makes it in second.

I don't want to be alone with him, yet here we are.

"You never responded to my text," he says quietly.

"You pinned me up against a wall and very nearly assaulted me," I retort. "I don't feel like I owe you a damn thing."

He presses his lips together and shakes his head a little. "Oh come on, Bailey. Assault? Hardly."

"Says every predator ever."

"Predator?" he repeats. "Now you're just grasping at straws."

"Am I? Or did you cross a line you shouldn't have?"

He doesn't look nervous by my tone even though he should. Instead, he issues more threats. "What are you going to do about it? Because I still have those pictures, and I'm not afraid to use them."

"Go ahead," I say flippantly, calling his bluff.

He looks surprised by my words. "I'll get them to Marcus today, then."

"Okay. Go ahead. And I'll march straight up to HR to let them know how you're stalking me, taking photos of me without my consent, and had me pinned up against a wall while hitting on me at a professional event."

"Your word against mine," he says smugly.

I stare at him pointedly even though just the sight of him is making my skin crawl and my stomach knot up.

The door opens and Sanders walks in with Marcus, effectively ending our conversation as the room fills with the rest of our sports staff.

The meeting gets underway, but I don't miss the dirty looks Rivera continues to shoot in my direction.

God, I hate that fucker. But two can play his little game, and if he's going to continue to threaten to expose the pictures of Lincoln and me, well, I have shit on him, too, including a screenshot of the text he sent me last night.

He's not as smart as he thinks he is, and I'm not about to let him win this little game.

Marcus hands out our assignments, and when the meeting is over, he asks me to stay behind.

Rivera raises his brows as if to say this only confirms that I'm sleeping with Marcus, which…whatever. I can't change his mind about that any more than I can every other person who thinks it regardless of whether it's true. Marcus is married and has four kids. He's a dedicated family man, and he wouldn't stray on his wife, but none of that enters the discussion when we're discussing women in sports reporting.

Once the room clears, Marcus shuts the door and perches on the edge of the table. He folds his hands together in front of him and turns toward me. "Talk to me about that very public fight on Saturday at the team event."

I clear my throat.

Maybe I should just tell him. I really believe he's someone I can trust, and telling him might help me get ahead of any potential issues with Rivera.

And so I make a snap decision, praying it's the right one.

I clear my throat. "Lincoln Nash and I…we have a history."

"A history," he repeats.

I nod. "You know the stuff about our dads, but Lincoln and I…we were best friends, too. We did everything together, and friendship became more along the way. And then he ended things with me right after his father took my father out."

His brows push together. "Definitely related."

"Never confirmed, but more than likely. My family moved. We lost touch, and now he's here in my town again. We fought it as long as we could, but…"

"Oh shit," he mutters, and he closes his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Please don't tell me."

"This stays between us." I'm trying not to beg here.

"Always."

I sigh. "This thing with my friend—it's a ruse to throw the shade off what we're doing."

"Which is?"

"Hiding as we try to figure it out."

"Shit, Jolene," he mutters, and of all the things I was expecting out of him, it wasn't for him to be mad at me. But I also guess that speaks to how well we've been hiding it. For now. "You're putting your career—your family—at risk, and for what?"

"I don't know," I say as I shrug. "But what we have…it's strong, Marcus. It's powerful. It's once in a lifetime."

"Fuckin' better be if you're willing to throw everything on the line."

"I'm not throwing anything on the line," I protest.

"His dad is rumored to have purposely hurt your dad. Why do you think he might've done that?" he asks.

"It's the great mystery of my life. It's so much easier for me to believe he didn't intend to hurt him, that it was purely an accident."

"There was no reason for him to pull that move on your father," he says. "So dig a little deeper, correspondent."

I shake my head. "What good would it do?"

"For one, it would show your true colors. Are you an unbiased sports reporter? Or are you letting your emotions cloud the stories you need to tell this season because you're carrying on with the coach?"

His words rile me right up. I stand and place my palms on the table. "I got this job before we knew he'd be the head coach, and I will continue to report the way I always have on this team."

"And if you run into something that might upset your boyfriend?" he presses, and I know he's only asking so he can get a rise out of me and see me maintain my cool. It's a test.

"If it needs to be made public, I assure you, it will be."

"Right, then. Carry on."

"One more thing," I say.

He raises his brows.

"Rivera got pictures of Lincoln and me."

"Doing what?" he snaps.

"Kissing." I glance down at the table rather than meeting his judgmental eyes.

"Jesus, already?"

"And he's been threatening me with them. Among other things." I feel like a child telling on the schoolyard bully.

"What things?" he asks.

"I plead the fifth. I just wanted you to know photos exist."

"When did he get them?"

"End of March."

"Well over two months ago? And he hasn't used them yet?" he asks.

"I think he gets off on using them to threaten me," I admit. "I don't want him to know you know. Let me handle it."

He nods. "Fine. But I'll keep an eye on him. Just be careful, Jolene. I mean it."

I nod. "I will."

He lets out a heavy sigh before he walks out of the room, and I'm not sure whether it was a smart move or a dumb one to admit what's been going on.

I guess there's no turning back now.