Page 9 of The Coach


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“I’ll call you back,” I say, and I end the call rather abruptly.

I draw in a fortifying breath as I click over to the Vegas call.

“Lincoln Nash,” I answer, my voice calm and confident despite the rising nerves sparking up my spine.

“Good morning Mr. Nash,” a woman’s voice says, and my heart sinks that it’s not Jack Dalton calling me to welcome me to the team. “This is Lily Park calling on behalf of Jack Dalton with the Vegas Aces. Are you available to come back to our offices this evening at five o’clock? Mr. Dalton would like to meet with you in person.”

My chest tightens.

This is it.

You don’t call a guy and tell him to come to your office if you’re not offering him a position.

It’s a quick flight or a slightly longer trip by car from Los Angeles to Vegas, but I will figure out how to get there by five o’clock. “Yes.”

“We’ll see you then, Coach.” The way she calls me coach at the end confirms it, but I force myself not to get my hopes up too high.

Nothing is final. I haven’t signed any paperwork, and I’ve been in this business long enough to know that until the ink is dry, it’s nothing more than lip service.

I don’t call my parents just yet. I don’t call my brothers, either. I don’t tell anybody at the office why I’m leaving early.

I keep it to myself. I keep most things to myself, anyway. That way when inevitable disappointment comes, I’m the only one who has to deal with the fallout.

I learned that one the hard way, too.

Until it’s official, nobody knows I’m going to Vegas.

I pack a bag, grab a quick lunch, and hop on a flight. I’m landing in Vegas by three, and something magical seems to fill my chest at the prospect. I’m here in this city that’s likely to become my new home, and as I watch the hotels of Las Vegas Boulevard rush by as the plane turns toward a gate, I can’t help but think there’s something special about Las Vegas.

Hope rushes through my chest. This is it. The dream. Everything I’ve worked for. It all comes to a head here in the next two hours, and something tells me this position is going to be mine.

I’ll walk out of Jack’s office as the new head coach, or I’ll walk out as the OC at the Rams. Either way, I’m lucky I get to do what I love.

Time seems to slow to a crawl as I make my way to a hotel, where I check in and drop my bag. I take a car toward the Aces offices, and I find a restaurant across the street. It’s as I slide into a chair after ordering a glass of whiskey at the bar that I realize I never called Jess back.

In an effort not to burn bridges, I text her.

Me: Sorry about hanging up earlier. I’ve got some work issues I’m tackling.

She once called me out for using football terminology in my everyday life, so I make sure to do it even more often when I’m texting her.

And then I stare out the window at the building across the street.

It already feels like home.

It’s not. I’ve still been offered nothing, but I’m a mere thirty minutes away from getting the answer I’m searching for.

Time seems to tick backwards as I sit in this barbecue joint. Some movement over by the door catches my eye, and I glance over in that direction.

And wouldn’t you know it?

Long blonde hair swirling around shoulders comes storming in with all the chaos of a thunderstorm.

She marches right up to the bar and orders something. She doesn’t see me sitting in the corner watching her every move, but she does glance around as if she can feel someone’s eyes on her.

Two times I’ve been in this town over the last week. Two times I’ve seen Jolene Bailey.

It’s two times too many.

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