Page 53 of Golden Ruin

Sterling looks at him like he’s insane. “You kidding? This is great. It’s the most peace and quiet we’ve had all day.”

Dusty shoots a look toward me, and I nod to confirm. “It’s true.”

That draws a laugh out of him. “Then, I suppose you don’t want to know that a few asshats with cameras are already camped outside.”

Sterling rolls his eyes and pops a fry into his mouth. “Of course, they are.”

Apparently, dodging paparazzi is our new normal. At least until they get bored and move on to invading someone else’s life.

“Well, if you change your mind and want me to put you at a real table, let me know. But I’ll at least grab a couple refills for ya,” Dusty offers.

I smile up at him. “Thank you. For everything.”

He flashes a warm smile and a wink, then leaves Sterling and I on our own again.

I glance around the small space, aimlessly reading the words on the boxes stacked on wire shelves. It’s almost completely quiet in here, except for the faint hum of music seeping in.

Sterling sips some of his drink, and I remember something when I glance up at him.

“Did I hear right? One of the reporters outside the house this morning mentioned something about Nike, didn’t they?”

He nods but doesn’t meet my gaze. “Yeah. It’s kind of a new development.”

He’s surprisingly subdued, considering this is such a big deal.

“Damn, Golden! Congratulations!”

The smile he gives is pretty weak, confirming my suspicion about him being too calm. “Thanks.”

I bite the tip of a French fry, studying him as I speak. “I sense there’s a but.”

That makes him smile a little bigger. “I just… They need me to fly out to L.A. for a bit to shoot the commercial and photoshoot.”

“And?”

He hesitates half a second too long. “And… I’m not sure the timing is right.”

I don’t know what that means at first. It’s the offseason, he’s already moved and settled into his new house, which only leaves one issue.

Me and Jax.

“Sterling.” He lifts his eyes to meet mine. “You can’t not do this. I mean, you practically manifested this shit!”

I get another smirk out of him.

“Don’t you remember? The time capsule?”

“Shit, I forgot all about that damn thing,” he laughs. “What grade was that?”

“Sixth.”

He’s deep in thought now. The assignment was simple. We were told to write a letter to our future selves, congratulating them on how cool their life looked. And as far as his career is concerned, Sterling’s letter is a perfect reflection.

But as I linger in the memory, I notice his expression has turned sullen again. “What is it?”

He’s quiet, and I think he might not answer, but then he surprises me by opening up.

“I don’t feel great about leaving you and Jax. Not while you’re still healing. He’s got school and–”