Page 156 of The Coach


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He also hates what I did to his daughter because of it, and there is no way on God’s green Earth he will ever see it any other way.

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.

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