Page 18 of Golden Rule

“I’d introduce you to everyone individually, but if I know you three, you’ve already memorized every face, name, position, and stat there is to memorize.”

I smile a little when Coach calls us out. He knows us well.

Glancing around the room, some faces stand out more than others—Remi Hayes, left guard; Finn Asher, fullback; Jett Cartwright, wide receiver; Chase Dalton, right guard; Axel Nash, tight end; and then there’s Reed Lawson, former QB 1, currentsubstituteQB now that he’s been replaced. And the subtle scowl on his face says it all.

He hates that I’m here, hates that I took something from him, and he doesn’t intend to make this easy.

Movement off to my right causes tension to spread across my shoulders when a shirtless figure approaches. I’m admittedly curious what the guy’s angle is because his face is hard to read. Not even ahintof an expression behind his dark beard, and his eyes are even less telling. But when he’s a few steps away, he extends his hand toward Sterling, and my guard lowers.

“Chase Dalton,” he says. “Welcome to the team.”

“Thanks,” Sterling says back, then Chase moves on to shake mine and Dane’s hands, too. In my peripheral vision, I spotCoach smiling a little, and I imagine that Chase’s greeting is more along the lines of what he hoped for.

A few others follow Chase’s lead, coming to formally welcome us to the team. However, there’s suddenly a clear line drawn in the sand. There are those who are skeptical but just need to get to know us. Then, there are those who seem to already have their minds made up that we’re outsiders and will alwaysbeoutsiders.

Andthoseare the ones we need to keep an eye on.

The group of resisters start to gravitate toward one another, forming a tight huddle across the room, and their gazes never leave us. They’re definitelytalking shit, but another thing Blue has drilled in my head is that it’s not my responsibility to manage other people’s feelings. If they choose to be closed off and negative, that’s on them, but I won’t get sucked into that shit.

Note to self: Gotta stop listening in on Blue’s audiobooks while we drive. I’m starting to sound like one of those fucking self-help gurus.

I’m not surprised my brothers have spotted the problematic ones, too. If there’s one thing I’ve learned playing on a pro team, it’s that grown-ass men will surprise the hell out of you with their ability to behave exactly like toddlers. And if today is a prelude to what’s to come, I’m predicting these assholes will be acting out in a number of ways.

After a few minutes conversing with the team—the majority of which felt forced and awkward as hell, the rest seeming genuine and natural—Coach checks his watch. I do the same, noting that the countdown to the press conference is getting kind of close.

“Alright, fellas, get back to it,” Coach says, causing the guys to scatter back to their machines as he turns up the volume on the radio again.

We step out of the weight room, listening to Coach’s attempt to pacify us with a few words of reassurance—that the guys will come around, that they’ll warm up to us in no time—but I think we all know it’s a toss-up.

We can’t discuss it now, but I’m willing to bet Dane and Sterling are thinking the same thingI’mthinking. That for the foreseeable future, we’ll need to watch one another’s backs.

Moving forward, our guards will be up, and they’ll stay that way until we know for certain it’s safe to bring them down. Considering our past, a past that’s resulted in some completely valid trust issues, it’ll likely be a long fucking time before that happens. But as we put distance between us and the rest of the team in the weight room, it’s time to put on our game faces.

If Ira’s column is a snapshot of what the media has made of our return to Cypress Pointe, this press conference is about to be a real fucking treat.

Chapter Six

West

“Ilove you. You’ve got this.”

Even if I couldn’t read Blue’s lips from across the room, I’d feel those words from a mile away. She smiles when I place a hand over my heart—the subtle way I say‘I love you’when there’s too much distance between us to use words. Thing is, I mean it as much today as I did the first time I said it.

Hell, that’s a lie.

I mean it more.

I’m between my brothers, seated behind a long table centered directly beneath a row of spotlights. The large NFL logo hung on the wall behind us is surrounded by insignia from the team’s sponsors, and this feels so damn surreal. Not just being home but getting to do what I love with the two guys I trust most in this world.

My best friends.

My brothers.

Dane’s shoulders lift when he takes a deep breath, and I notice he’s doing what I’d done a moment ago. His eyes are locked on his girl because she centers him, even in the middle of all the stress and chaos. My gaze shifts to Sterling next, and he’s stiff as a fucking statue—arms resting on top of the navy-blue tablecloth, but where no one else can see, he’s bouncing his knee to shake off some of the tension.

I slide a look toward Tiffany next, seated beside Blue and Joss. Behind those big-ass sunglasses perched on her nose, her expression is hard to read. Clutching an expensive, designer purse on her lap, she’s the posterchild for ice princesses everywhere. Sterling swears she’s not like that, but I have yet to see proof.

It’s engrained in me to look after my brothers. By default, that means I sometimes overanalyze their decisions, but I’m careful not to overstep. Hell, if he’s happy, who the hell am I to rain on his parade?

---