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Lincoln’s shoulders stiffened, and his jaw strained when I glanced up to look at him.
“Your last name is Knight? Who’s your father?” That was all Lincoln asked.
“Keith Knight.” He continued to stare at Lincoln, and you could cut the tension with a knife.
I stepped forward, desperate to lighten things up. “Hi, Romeo. I’m Brinkley Reynolds. How’d you find my house?”
He went on to explain how he’d recently learned that he had a brother. He’d tried messaging a few times on social media. When my article came out, he’d learned that I was writing a story about Lincoln and interviewing him while he trained. So, he’d researched me and found out where I lived. He assumed he’d have better luck finding a reporter than a football star who lived a very private life.
“Her address is not listed on a public site.” Lincoln was really hung up on the fact that Romeo had found my house, and he had yet to acknowledge that this was potentially his brother.
“I stopped at the Cottonwood Café, and the girl behind the counter told me where I could find your house.” He had an edge to him, very similar to the disposition of the man beside me. Between the attitude, the striking looks, and the height, that was as far as the similarities ran. Romeo was tan, with dark eyes and darker hair.
“She just gave you her address? What if you were a trained fucking killer?” Lincoln hissed, and Romeo rolled his eyes.
“I am a boxer, but I’ve yet to kill anyone.”
“How am I supposed to know if you’re really who you say you are?”
“Our father’s birthday is on Christmas. He was born in Clearance, Iowa. He and your mom dated in high school, and she got pregnant after they graduated. The story goes that he ran off shortly after you were born. Your mother didn’t put his name on the birth certificate, and you took her last name.”
“What are you here for, money? Did my father send you?”
“Fuck you. I don’t need your money. I guess you’re as big of an asshole as the media has made you out to be.” He stalked down the walkway.
“Lincoln. This is most likely your brother. He isn’t the one who left you. He just found out about you,” I said as I squeezed his hand.
“Fuck,” he said under his breath. “Romeo. Hold up.”
Romeo turned around, not making any effort to hide his annoyance. “You beckoned, your highness?”
They had a similar dry sense of humor, no doubt about it.
“Why are you coming around now?” Lincoln asked.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced away before looking back in our direction. “I didn’t know about you, dude. At least not beyond being a famous football player. He never told me, but all the skeletons came out of the closet after he passed away a few weeks ago.”
My chest ached at his words because he was hurting as much as Lincoln was. Just for different reasons.
“He’s dead?”
“He is. Had a heart attack ringside at my last fight. He was my coach.” His teeth sank into his bottom lip, and it was impossible to miss the emotions that were clearly still fresh and raw.
“And he sent you a message from the grave?” Lincoln asked, and I glared at him for being so cold about it.
He had his reasons for being angry, but Romeo hadn’t done anything wrong.
“No, dickhead. He’s not sending me messages from the grave. My grandmother told me at his funeral that you were his biggest regret. And then my mom did some digging because apparently, he’d never told her either. She found a box he’d hidden in their closet with a copy of your birth certificate, a lock of your hair, and a few baby photos. He had a ton of newspaper clippings from all your games over the years. We found a letter that he wrote to you in the box, and I guess I thought I should bring it to you.”
Lincoln just stared as if he were processing the information.
“Where do you live? Did you travel far to get here?” Lincoln asked.
“I drove from Magnolia Falls.” He looked toward the street, and I followed his gaze to the old motorcycle a few feet in front of where Lincoln had parked.
“That’s like an eight-hour drive,” I said. “You must be exhausted.”
“I got an early start this morning,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m fine.”
