Chapter 51
LINCOLN
“Are you sure about this color, Dad?” Cameron asks skeptically, wrinkling his nose as he picks up a paint brush.
I look over my shoulder at Jules who somehow already has a glob of pink paint in her hair. It looks good on her.
I smile to myself. “More than sure, kiddo.”
Jules grins, wagging her own brush at Cameron. “You better watch it, buddy, or your room is next and we’ll go with hot pink,” she jokes.
My son’s eyes pop open. “No, um, that’s okay! No thanks!” he squeaks and I just laugh.
I was serious when I promised my wife I’d give her pink. In fact, I’d suggested painting the outside of the house in the warm, rosy shade of her choice just to make her happy. Cameron had immediately complained about not wanting to live in a dollhouse.
That’s when Jules suggested a compromise. One pink room—the ensuite to our bedroom. It’s a suggestion we can all live with. So now, the three of us are in the small bathroom, painting it Jules’s favorite color.
Cameron’s gaze swings between Jules and me. “But could we maybe paint my room green sometime? Like a T-rex green?”
My wife gasps. “Oh, I like that. What do you say, Daddy?”
I glare at her despite the instant twitch in my pants. “Let’s do it,” I say to Cameron. “Your room is up next.”
The little boy cheers excitedly, globs of paint dripping from his brush as he jumps up and down.
I just shake my head.
I’ve taken a few days off from work stuff—something I haven’t done in ages. But after the drama of this past week, I needed a break to reset and figure out my next move.
Considering all the uncertainty that looms on the horizon, I’ve been surprisingly calm since the business deal fell through.
I’ve always been a man who needs to know what’s ahead, one who needs to know my options.
But Jules’s easy-going, let’s-just-see-what-happens nature is starting to rub off on me. We balance each other out.
Just the other night, she saw me staring at my financial spreadsheets. “Stop staring at your bank account like it personally offended you,” she’d said, coming up to massage my shoulders.
“As a matter of fact, I do feel personally offended,” I’d admitted, blowing out a heavy breath as I’d stared at the low balance in my savings account. “All that hard work and barely anything to show for it.”
She’d scooted into my lap, straddling me and stirring my cock awake.
“You’re Lincoln Raines. You’re brilliant and you’re talented and you can do anything you want.
And besides, I’m sort of rich now,” she’d whispered in my ear.
“You could take time away from work and be a hot house husband until you figure out your next move.”
I’d looked up at her, squeezing her ass. “Ooh! Do I get to join the PTA?”
She’d narrowed those shrewd brown eyes at me. “As long as you tell those perky PTA moms to keep their paws off you.”
With a laugh, I’d promised to do so.
And while I don’t quite know if baking and volunteering is my destiny, it feels good to be able to focus on my family and take it one day at a time.
Right now, I’m distracted from my worries, watching Cameron and Jules having way too much fun painting the bathroom wall. My phone rings. Wiping my hands on an old rag, I fish it out of my pocket. I glance down at the screen, seeing that it’s an unknown number.
“Hey, guys. I need to take this. Let’s not paint the tub pink, okay?” I chuckle, stepping out into the hallway to answer the call. “Hello?”
“Is this Lincoln Raines?” the person on the other end asks.
I frown. “It is. How can I help you?”
“I’m Tommy Joseph. I’m a professional football player and I was hoping you could help me negotiate a contract extension,” he says, sounding doubtful.
I choke, immediately coughing, sputtering, and struggling to breathe.
Tommy Joseph? The Tommy Joseph. No way.
This has to be a prank call. There’s no way the biggest up and coming name in pro football this season is calling me up out of the blue.
“Tommy Joseph…?” I repeat like an idiot, when I can finally inhale oxygen without dying again.
There’s not a day that goes by without this guy’s name being plastered across the sports media. Half the nation worships him. The other half is just pissed he’s not on their team. He’s barely twenty-five, and he’s already a legend.
Landing him as a client would not just save my business, it would catapult me to a whole new level.
My heart is pounding as I fight to maintain my cool.
He continues to speak. “Yeah, man. I got your number from a teammate’s cousin’s uncle, who said you helped him with a hockey contract years ago. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course,” I say, a little too eagerly. “I’ve seen that you’re about to be a free agent this year. So what’s going on with the new contract? What can I help with?” I stand straighter, projecting confidence into my voice.
“Bro, I don't know what’s going on,” Tommy says over the line.
“I thought everything was locked in, but now my current team is acting squirrelly about this contract extension. I cut ties with my agent, because he’s too busy partying it up in Sin Valley.
But I need help. I heard you're tough, and not afraid to go to bat for your clients.”
“You heard right,” I tell him.
I’m already heading into my office to roll up my sleeves and fire up my computer. My phone buzzes with a text from Easton, but I ignore it. My brother can wait. And once he finds out who I'm on the phone with, I know he won’t mind.
My vacation day already long forgotten, I shift into agent mode, laying out a course of action for Tommy’s negotiations. I type out some quick notes, elaborating a specific plan for what I will and won’t say during the discussions.
Tommy and I start on a list of documents that I’ll send over to the team on his behalf, and I strongly recommend that he avoids meeting with their GM until I can join him.
I’m really not sure what his former agent was thinking, but this guy could easily be one of the highest-paid players in the league right now.
And if I have anything to say about it, he will be.
By the time we hang up, I’ve assured Tommy that it will be my personal mission to make sure he’s taken care of.
I lean back in my office chair, in a daze over the unexpected call. It takes a few minutes before I remember the unread text message from Easton.
Easton: Hey bro. One of my teammates has been complaining about his agent. He’s just a rookie, but could have a nice future ahead of him. I know things are a shit show for you right now. Would you be interested in talking to him?
I laugh out loud.
Is the universe serious right now? I fire back a quick text.
Me: Hell yeah. Send your guy my number.
Me: Guess who I just got off the phone with?
His three dots jump around on the screen, but I’m too excited to wait for his answer.
Me: Tommy fucking Joseph
Easton: No fucking way
Me: Yup. I’m about to reach out to the Boomerangs on his behalf right now.
Easton: Nice!! You deserve it, man
Easton: You’re going to give your dear little brother a piece of your commission, right?
Easton: RIGHT?!
Me: Ha. You’re already rich because of me. But help me get this next client, and maybe I’ll buy you dinner.
Easton: Fine. But don’t you dare go cheap on me. Wagyu steak, or no deal.
Me: Such a spoiled brat.
Easton: Love you too, brother.
Still riding on cloud nine, I wander back into the bathroom to find Cameron and Jules. Cameron’s dripping pink paint all over the ceramic tiles, and Jules is sitting on the floor working on the baseboards. I’ve never been so happy to see such a mess.
Dropping to the floor, I scoot up behind Jules, wrapping my arms around her waist. She makes a contented little sound at my touch.
“You’re going to get paint all over your nice shirt,” she warns with a glance over her shoulder.
“This old thing?” I pinch at the fabric draped over my chest.
“Seriously, who wears a button-down on painting day?” She shakes her head.
I laugh. “Only your favorite person.”
She peers up at me and her face goes serious. “Everything okay? You were gone for a while. Cameron finished that whole wall by himself.”
I’d hardly call the wall in question ‘finished’. There are huge streaks of white gaping through the fresh pink paint. But when my son smiles proudly at me from his perch on the step ladder, I give him a thumbs-up.
“Everything’s perfect,” I whisper into Jules’s ear. “I may have just landed two huge contracts. I’m back in business, baby.”
Jules beams at me, turning in my arms and hugging me tight. She’s excited, yes. But she doesn’t seem surprised. “Of course you are. You’re the best at what you do. Congratulations, Husband.”
Her words of support hit deep. I’m not used to having someone who has this blind faith in me like Jules does. It’s invigorating.
“We’re going to be okay,” I add, relief pouring through me. I’m already thinking about all the things I want to buy Cameron and Jules, since we won’t be forced to eat microwavable noodles for the rest of our lives.
She shakes her head. “We were always going to be okay. The universe just needed you to break up with those asshole business dudes in order to get you on the right track.”
I smile, yanking Cameron off the step ladder and the three of us get tangled up into a big group hug.
“Uh, Dad? There’s paint in your hair,” Cameron says, his voice thick with concern. “A lot of it.”
Jules observes me. “Y’know, the button-up vibe looks good on you. But I think the punk rock version of Lincoln Raines has potential. We just need to get you a leather jacket and a good pair of leather boots.”
“And a motorcycle!” Cameron adds, very excited by the possibility.
I toss my head back. And I just laugh.