Page 7 of Golden Rule

From coast-to-coast.

Hold your applause, loyal subjects. There will be plenty of time for that… because I’m just getting started.

Later, peeps

—P

Chapter Three

Blue

This was supposed to be one of those moments. The ones you look back on years later, feeling warmth blossom in your heart all over again. But as West and I approach the brightly lit parking lot of my uncle’s diner, preparing to lay eyes on faces we haven’t seen in far too long, the moment feels tainted.

Like there’s a dark cloud hanging over our heads, waiting for the right moment to unleash a downpour.

Thanks for that, Pandora.

A chill races down my spine at the thought of her. Yes, there were times when she didn’t seem allbad, even times when she helped us, but I don’t know. Something about this just feels…different.

Mostly, because we fully believed we’d silenced her for good.

West has been quiet the entire ride over, hardly saying two words while clutching my hand, watching familiar landmarks whiz past the car windows. I don’t blame him for being upset. The potential for friction with his new team was the highlight ofhissegment from Pandora’s post. So, even if the points she called out weren’tthe thoughts of the other playersbefore, those might be their thoughtsnow.

Allen—our driver until our vehicles arrive from California—pulls the car into a parking space, then shuts off the engine. He steps out beneath the beam of a streetlamp to open West’s door, closing it back once he’s exited. There’s a brief exchange between them, and it concludes with West flashing a polite smile. I can only guess he’s just told Allen the same thing he’s toldanydriver we’ve hired.

That they can relax, and he’ll get my door himself.

It’s a simple gesture, but it’s sweet that he’s been so consistent. Hence the reason I’m actually smiling, despite the shitstorm raging inside my head.

West rounds the hood, and my eyes are glued to him. He opens my door, offers me his hand, then I climb out of the car. A deep breath leaves me as a gentle breeze sweeps through, drawing my gaze upward, to the glowing, neon sign on top of the building that readsDusty’s Diner. The blinds are closed, blocking me from seeing inside, but I’m already imagining our friends and family waiting. I’m also reminded of how this moment wassupposedto feel, before we were all robbed of it.

Pandora, one.

Golden Crew, zero.

Four large bodies flank West and I from either side. The same four who met us the moment our plane landed, then escorted us to our car. Having new security guys will take some getting used to. The crew back in California had been with us from the beginning of West’s career, but we’ll adjust.

“We’ll be right outside if you need anything, Sir,” Milo says. And despite it being nighttime, he adjusts dark sunglasses over his eyes.

“Perfect. Thank you.” West nods once, then Milo and his team—Oliver, Colt, and James—hang back, dutifully scanning the parking lot as we head inside.

The sound of a bell chiming over the door when we walk in is nostalgic, causing my chest to tighten with emotion. Glancing around, I’m actually elated to see that not much has changed around here. And just like back in the day, my uncle has oldies lulling from the speakers.

This place holds so many memories—Scar grumbling from a booth, doing homework while I finished a shift; me and the girls hanging out, eating all the free food we could handle.

West and I sharing our first kiss in the bathroom while a song that will remain in my heart forever thundered above us. I smile at that particular memory, despite the fact that it happened when we were at our worst and constantly at one another’s throats.

When we walked in half a second ago, Dane and Ricky were chatting near the door, but now, their conversation stops cold.

“Shit. Didn’t even realize you guys were already on the ground,” Dane says, pulling West into a bro-hug. Then, he squeezes me around my shoulders, too.

“Got off the plane and came straight here,” West says, and it’s always so strange seeing him beside his brothers—their identical faces and height. The only difference is that the finer details about them have evolved over the years, as they’ve grown fromyoung men into adults. From West growing his hair out to his shoulders and sporting a low-trimmed beard, to Dane keeping his face clean shaven with his haircut tapered short on the sides, but sporting the loose curls all three inherited on top. Sterling’s cut is almost the same, but a shadow of facial hair has matured his look a bit.

At the thought of Sterling, I scan the room, realizing he and Tiffany aren’t here yet. My stomach flutters a little, and I can’t help but wonder if this is because of Pandora’s post.

“Rich Boy,” Ricky rasps, and I focus on him instead of the potential drama.

Smiling, West rolls his eyes. “Don’t fucking start,” he grumbles, still hating the nickname Ricky stuck him with years ago, but it’s become a term of endearment between the two.

---