CHAPTER 8 LINCOLN

The next few days are an absolute whirlwind, and I find myself in the general manager's office at my current position giving him the news before I head to the airport to officially accept my new position.

"We're sad to see you go but excited for the opportunities that await you," Les says, and he shakes my hand. I clear out my desk and say my goodbyes and that's it.

The next segment of this life begins.

It's always hard leaving a position behind. You're leaving friends that have become family, but people come and go all the time. After the number of years I've been in this business, I'm well aware of how this works.

It's quick. There's no time for a goodbye party, so I bid my farewells to whoever's at the practice facility today, of which there are few given that we're in the off-season, and I head home.

I pack the essentials and some clothes, and I take a car to the airport. I've hired a moving company to transport everything in my house plus my car to my new place, and they'll arrive later this evening. I'm taking a car to the Complex first, where I'll turn in my contract, and then I'll head to my new house, where my realtor buddy is meeting me with the title company to close on this bitch today.

I chose a spec home in one of Jack Dalton's developments, and it was move-in ready. With the backyard oasis that's even sweeter than my current setup combined with the view overlooking Las Vegas Boulevard, how could I resist?

It's still too damn big. Five thousand square feet, five bedrooms, six and a half baths, a luxurious backyard with a pool…it's far more than I need, and I don't exactly have plans to fill all the bedrooms with a family. Instead, I'll have space for my players if they need somewhere to go. I'll knock out a wall or two and create a killer home gym. I'll turn this place into the bachelor pad of my dreams.

Someday.

But for now, I need to get to work. The place comes equipped with an office, and Jack's wife does some shit with interior design and they were using this place as a model, so I took it with all the furniture, taking the guesswork out of filling up the place since it already looked good to me.

I still haven't told my dad. I'll do it after I turn in my contract…after it's official.

The receptionist calls up to Jack's office, and Lily buzzes me through. He's waiting for me with a smile on his face.

Jack and I go way back, and we even played against each other in the final season of my career. He's an incredible man—one of the greatest of all time quarterbacks, a shrewd businessman, and now a team owner along with the titles of husband and father. Beyond all that, he's got this quality about him that's so untouchable, so out of this world, yet he's got this charm to make you feel like you belong in the same room as him even though you probably don't.

And yet…here I sit. He's offering something to me.

And we're going to be working together. He'll be my boss since he's at the top of the chain here, but together we're going to accomplish incredible things for this organization.

I hand him the paperwork, and he shakes my hand.

"I'd like to officially welcome you to your new home," he says. "Congratulations."

"Thank you. I won't let you down."

He nods. "I know you won't."

It's a lot of pressure to put on a guy, but I'm up to the task.

"Let me show you to your new office."

I've already toured the facility, but it'll take some time to get to know the maze of hallways that make up this place. He takes me down to the head coach's office, and sitting just outside of it is a woman in her early thirties with blonde hair and blue eyes.

"This is Megan Cramer," Jack says. "She was hired as Mitch's assistant, and she'd happily retain her position here with the Aces if you're so inclined to need someone to answer your phone calls and emails or schedule appointments and travel arrangements."

"Nice to meet you, Megan," I say. "I'm Lincoln Nash."

"Oh, I know who you are," she says, and I can't tell if she's flirting or just being nice. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"And you," I say with a polite nod. "And since you're familiar with the structure here, I'd love to keep you on."

"Thank you, Coach. You won't regret it."

I offer her a tight smile that's all business because even I'm not dumb enough to get caught up with my assistant, and I'm glad to have someone on my side who knows what it's like dealing with someone in this position.

I may need her more than I realize.

Jack and I enter the rather large office that looks empty and ready for me since it was recently evacuated by someone who had been in here a long time. It's been freshly scrubbed and the walls have been painted, and all that remains in here from the previous coach is the furniture. A desk for me to sit at and two chairs pointed at it—presumably for a player and his agent. Behind the desk, rows and rows of empty bookcases ready for me to fill with a credenza in the middle. A round table in the corner with five chairs for larger meetings or working lunches. A whiteboard to draft plays on, and a large television mounted to the wall across from the desk to watch film. A couch for visitors—or for sleeping since I'll probably spend more time here than home during the season.

"We'll get you all set up in the next couple days, Coach," Jack says. "I have a meeting in my office in a few minutes, but you've got my number if you need anything. We'll break the news tomorrow evening, but you can swing by tomorrow morning at nine to meet with human resources, and I'll have your laptop and tablet ready for you then."

"Thanks, Jack," I say.

He leaves me alone to take it all in, and I slide into the executive chair behind my new desk.

It all feels a bit surreal.

I draw in a deep breath, and it's like I'm breathing new air.

I'm the head fucking coach of the Vegas Aces.

I can't believe it.

I take a moment to myself. The news will break tomorrow, which means I should call my family today so they hear it from me and not the media.

To that end, I dial up my father.

"Hello," he answers gruffly.

"Hey Pops. What's going on?"

"You called me," he points out. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing much. Just calling you from my new office." I can't hide the merriment in my tone.

"Your new office?" he repeats.

"The office of the head coach of the Vegas Aces."

"Well I'll be damned. You're serious?" he asks.

"I am." I can't help my grin.

"Congratulations, son. That's incredible news. Missy!" he yells to my mother, and I hear him say, "It's Lincoln and he has something to tell you."

"Linc?" my mom asks, her voice loud and clear on the line.

"Hey, Mom. I just accepted the head coaching position for the Vegas Aces."

"Oh my gosh, that's incredible! I'm so proud of you, honey. Congratulations!"

I'm so proud of you.

It's what I wanted to hear from my dad.

Instead, I got that's incredible news.

My father has never told me he's proud of me no matter how hard I've worked for it. I heard him say it to Spencer when he earned his Master's degree while playing pro football. I heard him say it to Grayson when he was a first-round draft pick chosen a few spots earlier than I was in my own draft. I heard him say it to Asher when he flipped in the air over a defender to score a winning touchdown.

But I've never heard the words directed at me.

And honestly…I don't know if he ever will.