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CHAPTER 13: LINCOLN
A duty to present the truth.
Fuck.
I will never admit my father was right, but…what if he was?
He warned me. He told me she had the ability to hurt me, to hurt my family, and now she’s trying to tell me I have to report what I know about Asher. He gambled on games. It’s the preseason, which previously might’ve added some layer of protection to him, but not anymore. The league takes gambling incredibly seriously.
Players have been released from their contracts for gambling on games. Others have been suspended an entire year. Still others have missed up to six games because they gambled on another sport.
He’s going to be in a boatload of trouble. He could be facing anything from a fine or suspension to being released from the team or banned from the league for life.
I had it handled. I was going to protect him. I had to.
But she knows, and that changes everything. Because it’s not just Asher now. If the truth comes out, it’s my ass on the line for covering it up, too.
It’s only been a few days since he told me, but it feels like it’s been weeks. So goddamn much has happened that it begs the question as to whether we can really make this work. Again. And if I have to ask this many times, well…maybe I have my answer.
So after I stormed out because I felt threatened by her words, I slipped into the front seat of my car and my tires squealed as I peeled out of the driveway. Fuck the paparazzi. Fuck everyone trying to get some glimpse into my private life. This is my life, not some goddamn story, and that’s exactly what Jolene wants to turn it into, too.
I bang a palm against my steering wheel as I make my way home, and I pull into the garage, cut the engine, and close the garage door before exiting my car. And then I grab my phone to call my brother as I walk into the house and slam the door behind me, locking the deadbolt for good measure.
“Is this my coach or my brother calling?” Asher answers. I hear loud music and clinking glasses in the background, and it’s after ten now and he should be at his fucking house getting sleep ahead of Sunday’s game but he’s out somewhere like the fucking idiot he is.
“Both. One and the same. Jolene knows.”
“She knows…what?”
“What you did.”
He blows out a breath, and the sound is muffled for a moment before the background quiets. “I can’t talk about this here.”
“Where the hell are you?” I ask.
“Out,” he says, and he leaves it at that. “But I’m leaving. I’ll come to your place.”
“Fine. I’m home.”
He shows up fifteen minutes later. “What are we going to do?” he asks after I’ve ushered him in and shut the door behind him.
“She was at my place when you came by. She heard everything and told me she has a duty to report on it since it’s about the team,” I say.
“Fuck!” He runs his hands through his hair and tugs at the ends. “Would she really print it knowing how it could hurt both of us?”
I press my lips together. “It wouldn’t touch me if I told Jack now.”
“And me?”
“Recent examples have varied depending on the offense. Some guys are on indefinite suspension, others are getting a year,” I say as gently as I can.
“A year. A fucking year that I can’t play football. Because of your girlfriend.”
“No, Asher,” I say sharply. “Because you made a bad choice.”
“That nobody ever had to know about!” he protests.
“You shouldn’t have come to me, then.”
