Golden Rule (Kings of Cypress Pointe Golden Empire #1)

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

West

“ A hundred bucks says this turns into one big clusterfuck,” Dane grumbles. The look on Sterling’s face suggests he was thinking the same thing.

I can’t lie, as the elevator takes us to the sixth floor of our new team facility, Dane’s prediction doesn’t feel too far off. It’s like being in the final moments of the calm before the inevitable storm makes landfall. Doesn’t help that Pandora’s been silent for an entire week. Sure, we’d all love for her to keep her damn mouth shut, but usually when that happens, it’s a sign of bad things to come.

I adjust the knot in my tie, and I’m slightly less on edge having my brothers at either side. They’re nervous as shit, just like I am, but per usual, we’re walking into the fire together.

Tammy Wu, the team’s PR director, reached out a few days ago, instructing us to arrive here at ten a.m. for a preliminary briefing, followed by the introductory press conference. I’ve been dreading that part in particular after Ira Woods’ article, but I’m committed to taking Joss’s advice.

Be in control of the conversation.

The elevator stops, and we’re roughly five minutes early. Sterling steps off first, smoothing a hand down the stubble on his chin. It’s hard to tell whether he’s stressed about the press conference or if it’s personal shit. With everyone so focused on getting settled back in Cypress Pointe, we haven’t talked much. However, I get the sense Sterling’s actually kind of relieved that’s been the case. He’s smart, which means he likely knows Dane and I are just waiting for the right moment to rip him a new asshole for proposing without even shooting us a fucking text. But if I had to guess, Sterling keeping this secret had more to do with Dane and I possibly mentioning something to Blue and Joss. In which case, it would’ve inevitably gotten back to Lexi.

And, shit… if I were him, I probably would’ve gone out of my way to avoid that part, too. Especially if it meant not having to see that look on Lexi’s face at Dusty’s last week. It was hard to tell whether she was more pissed or hurt, and Sterling’s had to live with knowing he was the cause of it all.

The set of double doors straight ahead are wide open, and quiet chatter grows louder as we approach. I imagine a room full of pretentious suits, a mixture of execs and team staff, all awaiting our arrival.

“Let’s get this shit over with,” Dane sighs, and as if he’s up for a fucking Academy Award, he flips the script the second we cross the threshold, flashing that smile his followers still go crazy over.

“Well, if it isn’t my Golden boys.” Coach Wells rises from behind a large desk to shake my hand, then my brothers’.

“In the flesh,” I say back. “Glad to be here.”

I scan the room. It’s startling to see so many eyes on us. I swear he’s invited the entire fucking zip code.

“Damn, in suits, you three almost look civilized,” he teases.

I laugh, because some things never change. He used to say the exact same thing when we played for him at NCU.

“Now you sound like my wife,” I shoot back.

“Speaking of the wives and wives-to-be,” he says, glancing at Sterling and Dane next. “How are your better halves?”

“All good,” Sterling says, but when he smiles, it’s unnatural as fuck, reminding me I need to find out what the hell is going on with him.

“Glad to hear it,” Coach says. “Meg and I will have to have all six of you over for dinner once you’re settled in.” This big-ass grin spreads across his face when he extends the invitation, and I take it as a sign of his excitement.

When we all played for him back in the day, he used to say that once he landed a coaching job in the NFL, his first order of business would be to get the three of us on his team. In his words, he planned to ‘show the entire fucking world how it’s done’ , and as we’re standing here today, it feels sort of surreal. There was a small part of me that considered it was possible when I heard he’d been brought on to coach the Emperors , but it seemed too good to be true.

Guess I was wrong about that.

“Let me introduce you three to some very important folks,” he says while buttoning his suit jacket as he steps around his desk, coming to stand beside my brothers and me. “When you gentlemen signed your contracts, you got to meet our general manager, Jim Michaelson, and the owner of our kickass Emperors, Micky Clark. However, being genuine fans of you boys, they insisted on being here to greet you today.”

“Good seeing you again,” Micky says, reaching to shake my hand while Jim veers toward Sterling. “Something tells me this will be our best season yet.”

No fucking pressure, right?

I manage to hold a smile. “Here’s hoping.”

“You’re too humble,” he says with a laugh. “I think the entire NFL held their breath, watching to see how you’d recover after the shoulder injury, but you healed up and came back with a damn vengeance, proving all the naysayers wrong. Your performance in last season’s championship game was some of the best football I’ve seen in decades. I have no doubt you could’ve taken your team all the way to the Superbowl. Some of those calls your old coach made were criminal in my opinion.”

I nod but keep silent, being careful not to badmouth Coach Howard. Micky isn’t entirely wrong, but losing is a team effort. Just like winning.

He moves on to shake Dane’s hand next, and I’m grateful to have the spotlight shift. “Welcome back to Cypress Pointe.”

Dane nods. “Thank you. We look forward to getting out on the field and helping out the team.”

I glance toward my brother, silently applauding his diplomatic response. It sounds like it’s straight out of Joss’s mouth, but he’s good. No one would ever guess he’s on edge today.

“You’ve already spoken with Tammy Wu, our PR director,” Coach continues, and I turn to shake the hand of the tall, dark-haired woman in a black suit.

“Nice meeting you.”

“Pleasure,” she says with a barely-there smile, and I imagine her stoic expression is likely intentional. Most women I’ve encountered in the world of pro football have their own methods for navigating such a male-dominated industry. So, I get it. Whatever works for her.

Coach moves toward the center of the room to continue his introductions, and I wonder if he knows I’ll forget ninety-five percent of these names before we even leave his office.

“Here, we have our offensive coordinator, Cedric James; our quarterback coach, Ty Reyes; our wide receiver coach, Skip Beyers; and our Offensive lineman coach, Joe Trombley.” He pauses to take a breath, stepping toward another small group standing near the window that overlooks the training field. “Here we have Sahil Patel, the head of the team’s media relations; Emma Pete, our team liaison; Tamika Spencer who was recently brought onboard as team director; our strength and conditioning coach, Cliff Ross; and last but certainly not least, my righthand man, Assistant Head Coach, Lamar Powell.”

Everyone in the group takes the time to greet us individually, each one stating that we can come to them if we ever need anything. It’s a nice touch, making sure we know we’re seen as more than just the numbers on the backs of our jerseys.

“It’s very nice to meet you all, and I think I speak for both my brothers when I say we’re looking forward to working with everyone here in the months and years to come.”

When I finish speaking, I take a page from Dane’s book and force a smile. It hides that I’m stuck on one thought—that between meeting the rest of the team and the press conference, things can still go completely sideways today.

They all speak at once, their voices running together until it forms one sound. I’m only half listening, though, because I’m going over the press conference in my head, trying to prepare for something completely unpredictable. However, within a few minutes, I give up, wishing I could take a shot of something strong from the bar in the corner of Coach’s office, but my vow to Blue means that won’t happen. I promised her I wouldn’t touch anything stronger than a soda now that we’re actively trying to conceive. It was her idea, based on shit she went through with her parents, but I stand behind the decision.

Solidarity and whatnot, right?

One deep breath later, I focus on the words of the strength and conditioning coach. A man whose name I’ve already forgotten. Needless to say, I’m relieved when Coach speaks up again, suggesting that we tour the facility now, since there’s still time to kill before the press conference.

We file out and start with the admin offices, then move on to the film room and conference rooms. We linger a bit on a floor dedicated solely to physical therapy and medical rehabilitation, simply because the equipment the team’s invested in is fucking impressive. After that, it’s on to the locker rooms and the indoor training facility, then we’re finally getting close to the weight room.

First, it’s the loud music and shouting that pours out into the hallway that gives it away. Then, it’s confirmed by the familiar clatter of barbells slamming into the cradles of weight benches, sneakers thudding on treadmill belts. This is the sound of athletes hard at work, training to ensure they explode onto the field at peak fitness, ready to take off a few heads when the season starts.

It's the sound of success.

“I know the plan was to introduce you to the rest of the guys after the press conference,” Coach says, “but now seems like as good a time as any.”

He casts a glance over his shoulder as we trail him down the narrow hallway, then we come to a stop outside the door. He’s got this cautiously hopeful look on his face. I imagine it to be similar to the look of a parent bringing home a new baby, hoping like hell the new addition doesn’t disrupt the existing dynamic. Because whether anyone wants to admit it or not, there’s always the chance that the older siblings could act out in defiance, turning the whole thing into one big shitshow.

Yep, that’s exactly what that look screams, and it isn’t quite the confidence boost I hoped for. Especially now, with the bullshit Pandora mentioned in her first post.

“Shall we?”

Coach doesn’t wait for a response as he pushes the door open, then walks over to turn down the radio blasting in the corner. The room quickly falls completely silent as every single eye in the room focuses in our direction. I let out a breath, remembering the pep talk Blue gave me this morning as we got dressed to come here. She told me not to worry what the guys think of me coming into this, because I’ll get a chance to show them who I am on the field.

It may take time for them to accept us—me, Dane, Sterling—but we’re all a family now, and there’s no getting around it.

Remembering that Blue is waiting in the lobby with Joss and Tiffany relaxes me a bit. Enough to smile and nod at a guy when we lock eyes. He smiles back, but it’s got to be the most intense expression I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and it’s also the first indicator of the climate in the room.

Which, for the record, is incredibly damn cold.

It’s clear there’s been talk, and that talk has led to bitterness and resentment among the team.

Fucking perfect.

I can’t say for certain that Pandora is to blame for this, but she sure as shit added fuel to the fire.

“Look alive, fellas,” Coach calls out, making sure he has everyone’s full attention before continuing. “I’d like for you to meet your new teammates. West Golden—quarterback. Dane Golden—wide receiver. Sterling Golden—offensive lineman. As you can tell by these gentlemen’s expensive suits, bracelets, and watches that cost more than my boat, they’re not quite dressed to train with you today. However, starting next week, that will change. And when it does, I expect you boys to show them the ropes and properly welcome them into the family.”

Crickets.

No one speaks, no one nods to reassure Coach or us that they intend to do any of that shit, and I’m quickly realizing it might just be me and my brothers looking out for each other for a while.

“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, current substitute QB 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 a hint of 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 spot Coach 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 always be outsiders.

And those are 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 definitely talking 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 thing I’m thinking. 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.