Page 5 of Blindsided

“No one.”

The matter-of-fact answer had me blinking dumbly at my phone screen. “What?”

“Easton, you’re a fucking brilliant hockey player. I’ve watched you since you were in college. I’ve been watching you longer than you and Brax have known one another. Every single time you’re in front of a camera, the things you say are well worded and thought out. The statements you’ve made to the media have always been with an insight into the game that most coaches seriously lack. Your moves through college and the NHL have been methodical and you’ve worked your way from a fourth line player to the first line. I have always known that you were going to be an amazing coach one day. I just never thought it would be me asking.”

“I-I—Tom, damn.” I swallowed hard, trying to get my thoughts to clear and my mind to settle. “Tom, you’ve made my brain short-circuit and I don’t have a clue what to say. I’m interested. I'm very, very interested.”

Tom chuckled warmly. “Great. Get your ass to Nashville tomorrow and we can meet with the owner and go over details.”

He hung up the phone a few minutes later, and I was left to stare at the wall of my condo in downtown Columbus, wondering how long it would still be my home.

* * *

Not even twenty-four hours later, I was at the Grizzlies arena sitting in an office and waiting for Aston Barrington to walk in and discuss the position with me. When the blood had finally stopped rushing in my ears after my call with Tom the night before, I’d done some research on the owner of the newest AHL team.

It turned out the guy was barely older than me. He was an heir to the Barrington fortune, and from all my research, a spoiled partier with very little responsibility. His exploits reminded me of a high-profile socialite from years earlier before she got her shit together. Except he was in his thirties and still partying with no signs of slowing down.

Oddly, there hadn’t been any news of him anywhere in the last week after he’d wrapped a brand new Ferrari around a tree in Hollywood. His absence from the public eye left me to wonder if he’d made his way to Nashville and his normal group wasn’t willing to travel somewhere without high-profile bars and parties every night. If he hadn’t, who the hell was running the Parliament?

The better question was if I really wanted to be employed by a guy who was drunk off his ass every other night of the week? Maybe it would be better to continue to play, wish Tom luck, and cut my losses before ever hearing the options available to me.

The door opened suddenly and a voice filled the room before I could turn to see the person walking in. “So sorry to keep you waiting. There was a detour and I got lost on my way in. I’m not very familiar with Nashville yet.” The voice sounded vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t place it. Despite not knowing who the person was, my heart had sped up and begun to thump wildly in my chest, making my brain blank on words to tell him his tardiness was fine. Even Tom was running late thanks to a wreck on the highway.

The man crossed into my line of sight, but his back was toward me as he made his way to the desk while he continued to speak. My attention was immediately pulled to the soft black curls on his head and a figure I knew as well as my own.

His suit was custom-tailored and obviously expensive, far from the jeans and T-shirts I had been so accustomed to seeing him in years earlier. But I didn’t have to see his face to know who was speaking.

What I couldn’t figure out was why Lincoln was here in Nashville. The owner of the Parliament was Aston Barrington, the grown child of an old money family. Lincoln Lewis was my college sweetheart, the only man I’d ever loved, and he’d disappeared from my life without an explanation when I’d been called up to the NHL eight years earlier. In the process, he’d left a void in my life I’d yet to fill.

Lincoln’s anxious chatting hadn’t changed after all these years and he continued to ramble as he set a briefcase and laptop down on the desk. “People warned me that Nashville traffic is a nightmare, but I didn’t expect it to be this bad. I can’t apologize enough, and truthfully, I’m just getting my feet under me here. I hadn’t been expecting this. Nice to meet you, I’m Fran”—he turned around, his words cutting off abruptly when his eyes landed on me—“cis,” he said, blinking as though he couldn’t believe what he was saying any more than I could. “You’re not Tom.”

I had intended to tell him that Tom was running late, but my mouth worked without my brain’s input. “And you’re not Aston.” I was looking at a ghost from my past that I hadn’t seen since college.

The travel mug of coffee I hadn’t realized Lincoln had been holding hit the floor at my words, bouncing loudly against the concrete beneath the industrial carpet. It began to spill, but Lincoln was already halfway to the door, muttering about hell, punishment, and being disowned. The door had already closed behind him before my brain kicked into gear.

I jumped from my seat, righted the coffee mug, and hurried toward the door, intent on finding Lincoln. What I found was a closing elevator door and a very confused-looking Tom Cernak. “Lincoln!” I yelled just as the door shut completely.

“Lincoln?” Tom asked, looking between the elevator and me. “Who’s Lincoln?”

CHAPTER 3

LINCOLN

What the ever loving fuck?

Coming face-to-face with Easton Lafferty had never been on the agenda for the day. I swiped my phone unlocked and tapped frantically at the screen until I got to my calendar. A calendar that clearly stated Meeting with Tom Cernak, Head Coach in the eleven-o’clock slot. Tom Cernak, head coach. Easton Lafferty was definitely not Tom Cernak. Not that I knew who Tom Cernak was. For all I knew, Easton and Tom could be one and the same. It wasn’t like I’d ever been truly honest with Easton. For over three years, I’d allowed him to think I was Lincoln Lewis, never telling him who my parents were or the large fortune my family was worth.

I banged my head against the wall of the elevator until the ding sounded, alerting me to my arrival on the ground floor. As quickly as I could, I rushed toward the parking garage doors and my rental car at the far side of the ground level.

Safely hidden by tinted windows, I unlocked my phone with shaking fingers and pulled up my contact list. I poked violently at the contact for the only person I could think to call, not giving a second thought to what time it might be in Australia.

“Lincoln?” A sleep-filled voice sounded in my ear after four rings.

“It’s him!”

Bodhi grunted and I could hear movement, likely bedding as she moved around to sit up. “It’s who?”

“Him! It’s Easton!” I had no idea why I was hissing like the man himself could hear me.

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