CHAPTER 25 JOLENE

Pictures of the happy couple make their way to the internet quickly. It's an appearance, so anyone who's there is snapping photos and tagging Lincoln on social media. Given my profession, I don't even have to do research to find them.

I study the first one I come across. They're both smiling, but neither smile quite reaches their eyes in a way that tells me they're happy together. Plenty of other people will study these photos, and some will be experts in body language. Frankly, I'm surprised they haven't been called out yet for their interactions with each other given how they look together.

Maybe it's the perfect way to transition to the break-up since they already look like they're sort of uncomfortable together.

But I know people like Rivera are studying their every move, and it's only a matter of time before someone starts up the rumor mill.

Which tells me we need to get a move on with this break-up.

I study the way Sam is leaning a bit away from him. She told me not so long ago that she was exhausted and that faking this has been hard on her. I see it in her face, in her eyes, in her fake smile.

I study Lincoln next. Handsome as always, of course, because it's Lincoln, but not quite as happy as a guy who just got his dream job should be if he's strutting around town with his supposed dream girl on his arm.

Neither one is quite the actor they think they are.

They're only gone a couple hours, and they're both quiet when they walk through the front door. I glance up from the article I'm reviewing. After studying them in detail, I threw myself into work so I wasn't focusing on the fact that it's yet another event I didn't get to attend with Lincoln.

"Anything exciting happen?" I ask.

They're both subdued when Sam says, "We played up the couple in an argument act again at the end."

"We agreed on the way home our end game should be in the next week or so," Lincoln adds. "I don't think this is working for either of us anymore, so we just need to plan how we're going to do it."

"Publicly?" I ask. "Or could you just issue a private statement in the next couple days saying the typical, you know, we've decided to part ways but will remain friends and we'd appreciate privacy during this difficult time thing?"

"Something like that," Sam murmurs. "I want to tell Cade first, of course."

"Of course." I nod. He should hear it from his mom before one of his friends hears it from his parents or social media or whatever.

"You ready?" he asks me.

"Let's go." I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up over my hair. We bid goodbye to Sam and he grabs my duffel bag for me before we head out to his car. Tomorrow is one of the last free Saturdays he'll have until March, so the plan is to spend all day together at his place.

I just hope it's as happy as I want it to be.

Thoughts swirl in my brain the entire ride over as I think about the things we need to discuss this weekend.

By the time we pull into his driveway, I feel a heavy weight settling between us. I'm both dreading and ready for the conversation I know we need to have.

He shuts the garage door before we get out of the car in case any photographers are around, and we sit in the car an extra beat.

"You okay?" he asks. We're both staring out the windshield at the garage wall.

"Yeah."

"Ready to go inside?"

"We probably should."

"What's wrong?" He reaches over and takes my hand in his, and he presses his lips to my knuckles.

I sigh as tears spring to my eyes. "I know there's a heavy conversation we need to have, and I'm scared about what direction it might go in."

"Yeah." I feel his breath against the back of my hand at his murmured word. "But the only way we're ever going to make any of this work is if we're open and honest with each other, right?"

I press my lips together.

"Come on," he says, and he opens his door and grabs my duffel. I follow him inside, where he pours us each a drink—wine for me, whiskey for him, before we settle in together on his couch.

He clinks his glass to mine without a toast, and we each take a sip. I take a few more for liquid courage, and he watches me carefully.

"I hate watching you take my best friend out on dates that I should be going on," I blurt.

Welp, that's one way to just get it all out there.

"For what it's worth, I hate taking her when I wish it was you."

"How do we move past this, Linc?" I whisper.

He shakes his head. "I don't know. Will your dad ever be okay with us together?"

"No. Will yours?"

He blows out a long, heavy breath, and he takes a bolstering sip of whiskey. "No. But I'm not sure I care anymore."

I gasp, shocked he hasn't mentioned this to me yet. "What?"

He shakes his head a little, and he averts his eyes out the window behind me when he talks. "I guess I came to the realization that nothing I do will ever be good enough for him, and I'm barreling toward middle age and I've wasted half my life waiting for him to tell me he's proud of me. I can't do it anymore. I can't live my life like I'm a teenager anymore because I'm not. I'm not sure what hold he has on me, but I'm finally trying to fight my way out of it."

"He's your dad," I say softly. "Of course he has a hold on you. Just like mine has on me. I keep thinking what if we admit the truth to our families? How bad would that really be? But then I think about the dynamic we have, how my parents love Jonah with all their hearts and how much help they give me. I keep thinking maybe we're just dramatizing all this, that it's not that big of a deal, but then I think…well, if Jonah were to eventually start dating Rivera's daughter, I'm not sure I'd be able to get on board with that. I know that's an extreme example, but for as much as I hate it, I also sort of get it. Us being together…it's the ultimate betrayal to our fathers."

His jaw slackens a little at my words, like I knocked the wind out of him and he's not quite sure how to respond to that.

"And I have guilt about that, Lincoln. I do. But it's not stopping me. I can't stop. I can't walk away." I reach over and take his hand in mine. "This is too damn important."

He leans over and brushes his lips across mine. "I feel the same way. I'm not willing to walk away, either. But I also can't keep living like this. We're balancing things on this tight rope and I'm anxious about how it's all going to come crashing down."

"So what do we do?" I ask, my voice nearly desperate.

"I have no idea. The season is about to start, and that'll change the dynamic again. But I want you by my side through all of it." His eyes are conflicted as they meet mine.

"I will be. I have to be because of my job."

He nods. "Which is just another added layer of trouble."

"Maybe I should step back. Give Rivera the correspondent position." The words come out of my mouth venomously, and they even seem to taste bad as I say them, but in some ways, this would be easier. It would take away half our issue, anyway.

"Don't say that," he chides.

I shrug. "Why not? It would be easier on us."

"Because I'm not sneaking around to fuck Rivera when we're at the vineyard in California."

I giggle. "So you'll be sneaking around to find time with me?"

"You bet your ass I will. You'll have your own room, and so will I."

"Do the players?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Two to a room mostly because the place is small and intimate."

"Have you been there?"

He takes a sip of whiskey. "Not yet, but Jack has told me all about it."

"Will Jack make the trip out to California?" He'd be a great subject to interview for the kind of behind-the-scenes content Marcus is looking for.

"He may stop by for a few days, but he's got commitments here. Between Dalton Developments, his family, and now owning the team, he's a busy man."

"His family," I murmur. "I don't know how he does all this with two little kids."

"He's got an incredible wife and a stellar support team," he says dryly, referring a bit to himself, I think.

"He does, but man, those years when they're little are hard. With Jonah, I felt like I was always passing him off for work, but now that he's seven, he's a lot more self-sufficient in some ways and that makes things easier. He has opinions now and can tell me if he doesn't like something. I just feel like moms can't win. If we focus on our careers, we're bad moms for not spending enough time with our kids, but if we stay home, we're bad moms for not having something just for us."

"Such a double standard," he murmurs. "For the record, I don't think you're a bad mom. I think you've found a balance that works for you, and that's something everyone is striving for in life, mom or not."

"I'm a hot mess faking like I have things put together most days," I admit, and he chuckles.

"You are not."

I shrug and offer half a smile as if to say, yep, that pretty much sums me up. "You ever want that for yourself?"

"Being a hot mess that feels like I'm faking that I'm put together?" He shakes his head. "No. That doesn't sound at all like me. Or you."

"I mean kids," I clarify.

"Oh." He shrugs, and he looks uncomfortable for a beat. "I don't know. Do you want more?"

We've asked the question to each other once before, and neither of us had an answer. Still, I think about where I'm at now in life compared to where I was when I had Jonah. He was a happy surprise, but I was sort of just at the start of my career. I was only twenty-six when I got pregnant, and I thought I had my future nailed down with Jeremy.

How wrong I was.

And now I'm in a different sort of boat where I don't have my future nailed down other than in my career, but the thought of having a baby that has Lincoln's eyes and my lips and his leadership skills and my people skills makes me want things with him I probably have no business wanting.

I don't lay all that on him, though. It's a lot.

"I think if I was still twenty-six and in the kind of relationship where we were planning to keep moving forward together, it would be easy to say yes." I say the words carefully. "I love being a mom. It's the hardest, most rewarding, most frustrating, most incredible thing I've ever done."

"None of my brothers have kids," he murmurs. "I think our parents fucked us up more than we ever realized."

"It's not too late." The words are out before I get the chance to stop them.

His eyes meet mine. "Imagine the scandal that would be. New head coach knocks up family enemy team correspondent." He shakes his head a little as an ironic laugh bubbles up from his chest. "What the fuck are we doing, Jo?"

I sigh. "I feel like we keep asking that same question."

"We do, and all I know in terms of an answer is how I feel when I'm with you. My brain tells me to give it up. My brain says we'll never find a way to make this work when there is so goddamn much at stake. But my heart…" He pats his chest. "My heart wants to find a way. And he's winning."

Hot tears spring to my eyes at his words as he basically summarizes everything I feel where he's concerned.

I swipe my cheek, and he leans in and presses a soft kiss there.

"Where do you see yourself in five, ten years down the road?" I ask. I want to ask where he sees us down the road, but I'm too scared about what the answer might be.

He draws in a deep breath. "I don't know. My contract with the Aces is for three years, and if I'm good enough to stay here for those three years, I guess I hope I'll still be around beyond that."

"You guess?" I ask, sort of surprised at the way he worded that. I assumed he wanted to coach until he no longer could.

"I was never allowed to have any interests outside of football. If I did, they weren't nurtured. I didn't have a playroom filled with toys when I was a kid. I had a basket filled with footballs, all different colors and shapes and sizes. And I love the game. I do. It's my passion. But sometimes I wonder what else is out there, what else I might be missing out on. I got out of the game when I could no longer play, but I didn't leave the game. Now it's all game play and strategizing and play calls, and I love what I do. It's just…sometimes I wonder what else there is. Maybe I'd enjoy traveling more if I could, exploring cities that I'm in for more than a few nights because I'm there for a game. But instead of using my offseason for travel, I sink my teeth into work since I have nobody to travel with. Maybe I'd enjoy woodworking or training for marathons or fishing. Maybe I'd play golf with buddies instead of with other coaches or work associates. Maybe I'd nurture friendships and relationships unrelated to the game, and I'd get to keep those friends when I leave for a new city." He shrugs, and for the first time, I hear the loneliness in his voice.

I reach over and grab his hand in mine, and I'm about to say something about how he's not alone when he adds a final thought.

"Even with you, the one person who seems to really get me…I'm not allowed to be with you because of the game. And not just because my father took your father out of the game and your father drained my father of his dreams. But also because I'm the head coach and you're the reporter." He blows out a breath. "But that's life, you know? That's fate at work. I'm finally back with the person I love more than anyone else in the world, and I can't have her."

I set down my wineglass and then I climb on top of him. I wrap my arms around him and straddle him in a full body hug, and he leans over to deposit his whiskey glass on the end table beside us. He wraps his arms around me, too.

"You have me," I say softly into his neck, and he tightens his hold on me. "You have me forever, Lincoln, and if we have to hide forever just to be together, then that's what we do."

He sighs as he tightens his grip around me, and it finally dawns on me that this is it. This is what's going to make us stronger. We will fight through this haze together, and we will find a way out to the other side…together.

Someday we will find a way to be together in public, but the public doesn't matter. What matters is how we feel. What matters is allowing ourselves to explore that and nurture it, and as much as it sucks not to be able to share that with others—like Jonah, for instance—at least we're together.

And that's all that matters.

Or at least I wish it was…so I'll keep telling myself that until I start to believe it.