CHAPTER 10 JOLENE

What do you do when you are the news, but the story you're supposed to be covering involves your own father along with the father of the man you're in love with?

Wow. This is messy even for a self-proclaimed hot mess.

I was sitting at the media table during the auction, and I saw as my colleagues literally stopped every single thing they were doing as their ears perked up at the story.

Finally letting me win one after you took everything away from me? Or are you all out of cash?

I was mortified when he said that. Throwing taunts out that way is beyond childish. I know these two hold a grudge against each other, but jeez. Come on. We're at a freaking charity event, and this is not the place for it. When Jack stepped in to quiet them down, I just sank lower into my seat.

My father's name will be all over the press tomorrow.

Lincoln's father's name will be all over the press tomorrow.

My name will be all over. Lincoln's will.

And none of it is for any good reason. None of it is to talk about what was an amazing charity event. Instead, Lincoln and I will be pit against each other, the children of our father's feuds.

I'm so angry with my father that I'm shaking, and it doesn't get any better when I witness their second encounter at the bar.

They can yell and scream and act like children all they want, but when my father turns to Lincoln—the man simply trying to break up this fight—and calls him a lying, manipulative piece of trash…

That's where I draw the fucking line.

Lincoln is a good man. He's not a liar. He's not manipulative. He's certainly not a piece of trash, and hearing those words out of my father's mouth are as much an insult to me as they are to Lincoln.

They hurt me. They cut me. They slice me wide open, and even as I bleed, I know I need to stop him before he says more things he can't take back.

"Dad!" I yell at him as I rush over before he tosses a punch at the coach or his father. "That's quite enough!"

I know cameras are out and poised, catching every single second of this dramatic episode in the making.

But I don't care. I will not stand here and let my father tarnish Lincoln's good name.

"This isn't the place for this madness," I say, and I hear the begging in my own voice. I can see my father vibrating with anger as he looks upon the two Nash men—or three, rather, as Asher saunters up to get in on the fight or at least to have a front row seat.

"She's right," Asher pipes in, and frankly I'm shocked he's stepping in and even more shocked he's agreeing with me. "People are watching. Take it outside or drop it."

"Who the hell are you to tell us to drop it?" my father asks, turning his snarl onto Asher.

"The kid who was only seven when shit went down between you two and doesn't really have a horse in this race." He shrugs nonchalantly.

"I'm with Asher," Jack says, appearing as if out of nowhere. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you both to leave. Separately, of course. If you choose not to, we will have you removed. Mr. Bailey, please go pay for your auction item first. Mr. Nash, thank you for attending tonight." He nods as if that's the final word on the matter, and he heads over toward the bar.

As soon as he's out of earshot, Eddie turns to my father with a scowl. "This is far from over."

"Agreed." My father's eyes flash as they stare off at each other for a beat, and neither one is going to back down first. So I step in.

"Come on, Dad. Let's go pay for your basket so you can go."

Lincoln runs interference with his father, too, escorting him out, and the crowd I hadn't even realized was gathered around us starts to scatter as we turn to leave.

I walk my dad over to the auction table, where my mother is already paying for the basket, and then I walk with them toward the exit.

The Nashes are just getting into a car, and my father completely ignores Lincoln as he passes by us. Our eyes connect for one quick beat, and I know he can see the frantic fear in mine.

It's reflected back at me.

We knew we were taking a risk running around in secret. But tonight's events just took that to a whole new level—a level I don't know how to come back from.

A couple hours later, I'm at home in my pajamas on the couch trying to get lost in some TV show that clearly doesn't understand the assignment of holding my attention. Instead, I'm scrolling my phone.

There must not be much going on in local news because every single local media outlet is focused on what went down tonight.

I'm skimming the third article about it even though I witnessed it in person when the door opens and Sam walks in with a rather dejected looking Lincoln following behind her.

When he glances up and his eyes meet mine, heat prickles behind my eyes.

I figured it would be bad, but the way he's looking at me tells me it's even worse than I expected. I turn off the television and toss the remote beside me, and I stand to face him.

The tension in here is some level beyond thick, and I brace myself for the worst.

I knew it from the start. The end was inevitable.

How can we possibly be together when there's just so much bad blood between our families?

We were cursed, and we both always knew that. Still, thinking about the actual end stabs the kind of knife into my guts that tells me even though I was expecting it, I'm certainly not prepared for it.

"I'm going to bed," Sam announces. "Goodnight." She practically runs out of the room, clearly trying to give us privacy but instead making things even more awkward.

We stand and stare across the small space at each other. A couch stands between us, but it feels like we're separated by oceans.

I don't even know where to begin, so I start with the one thing that hurt me the most to hear. I can't imagine how it felt for him to hear it.

"My father's opinion of you is wrong."

He looks a little caught off guard by my words.

"I can't even repeat the words, Lincoln. It made me sick to my stomach when he said that."

He presses his lips together. "We both know how this works. Those words will be everywhere tomorrow, and people will start looking to create a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"What do we do?" I ask as the tears splash over my lids and onto my cheeks.

He looks torn, like he wants to comfort me but isn't sure whether he should. "I don't know," he finally whispers.

"I won't let them fulfill that, Lincoln. I'll do whatever it takes to show the best sides of you, to prove his words wrong."

"At what expense, though? Your relationship with your father? I can't ask you to do that when you're so close with them. When they're there for your son the way they always are. It's not just you, Jo. There's a kid involved, too, and I can't be the reason you rip your family apart."

I shake my head. "As far as he'll be concerned, it's work. It's my boss telling me what to cover. It's my job to paint you in the best light, and I know sides of you that others haven't seen."

"You can't exactly show those sides." He gives me a pointed glance.

I shake my head. "Not those sides. But what about the side when you were laughing with Jonah right here on this couch?" I nod down to the couch I just stood from.

His brows dip together. "What?"

"You're good with kids, Lincoln. So you do some volunteer work with kids and I cover it. I find a way to capture the things you tend to hide, the sides of you that you don't let others see." I hold up a hand. "The appropriate sides. I show what a loyal person you are by highlighting your relationship with Sam."

"That's more her being loyal than me," he protests.

"We paint the picture we want others to see. We create our own narrative."

"Jesus, you sound like my publicist," he mutters.

"Your publicist?" I echo. We're still separated by the couch, and he still hasn't moved, and I hate the distance spanning between us.

"Ellie Dalton. Luke's wife. She snagged me the second I moved to town, and she always tells me shit about controlling my narrative," he says. He takes a step forward and rests his palms on the back of the couch.

"I've spoken with her. She helped run that camp Austin and Cory did, and I put in a call to her and she got Jonah and Cade in."

"She's incredible. And she's been booking my charity events for me. She's probably a good person to interview about me."

"Have you considered telling her about us?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "I haven't considered telling anybody about us. It's too damn risky."

"Well, my boss knows. Might as well get someone from your team in on the fun, too. Maybe Ellie could even help us."

"How?"

I shrug. "She can help us control the narrative. We can figure out how to spin what happened. She can feed me ideas for what to cover since digging into the personal lives of players and the coaching staff is part of the reason I was hired for this position."

He sighs. "I'll think about it. This is all…a lot. Tonight was a lot. I came over here half expecting you to tell me it was over, that you couldn't do this, and instead we're teaming up with my publicist to find ways to hide what's going on…"

"You thought I was going to tell you it's over?" I repeat.

He shrugs. "I wasn't sure what to expect."

"Neither was I, and to be perfectly honest, I'm still not. This couch is separating us and it feels like I just need you to hug me and make me feel like everything is going to be okay."

He strides around the couch and pulls me into his arms. "I would hold you forever if I thought it would make us feel like everything's going to be okay. But I'm not sure how we'll ever know that…or how we'll ever feel that."

I don't, either, and that's maybe what scares me most.