Page 10 of Dream Chaser (The New York Knights Players Club #4)

Philly

Izzy

W e are less than twenty minutes into the drive when I realize I’ve made a grave tactical error.

Not in the planning—I’m always prepared.

Not in the snacks—I brought a literal tub of peanut butter pretzels and an emergency bag of sour gummies, just to be safe.

Not even in the packing, though the back of the rented Suburban looks like it’s hauling a girl group on tour.

No, my mistake was letting Lexi have control of the radio.

“You touch it, you die,” she says, flipping her perfectly waved hair over her shoulder as she queues up Heart’s “Barracuda.”

London’s in the third row, playing the air drums like she’s on stage. Harper’s next to her, shredding on her imaginary guitar.

“Clearly, you two don’t get out without the littles enough.” I laugh.

“Oh, please.” Harper laughs, still strumming. “Piper and Reed both play guitar, drums, and sing all the damn time.”

“Piper has an old soul rasp I am seriously jealous of.” London flips her imaginary stick in the air and catches it. “My girls play freaking football in the living room. I’ve threatened Logan with no sex for a week if he gives in to them and lets them bring in a real one instead of a Nerf.”

“You better get a stick in their hands,” Ry scolds her.

“Um, what part of the living room did you miss?” London asks.

Now, this entire time, Harper and London have not stopped, as Lexi belts out the first lyric.

Of course, the rest of them join in. Me? I’m focused on the fact that the forecast was bullshit, which, having lived in CNY my entire life, I should have counted on. But honestly, no sweat. I love this shit.

When Lexi reaches for the screen, I block her attempt.

“I wasn’t going to touch it,” she grumbles. “Just wanted to see if we had enough signal to GPS around that accident warning.”

“You got a co-pilot up here already?” Mags laughs.

“Let me vibe in peace.”

“Vibe responsibly,” Lexi mutters as she sits back, bringing her feet to the edge of the leather seat.

The song changes to “Hart of Glass” by Blondie.

“This playlist is?—”

“People act like women didn’t rock,” Lexi cuts me off. “Like we didn’t pioneer entire sounds. You know who gets credit? The sad men. The growly men. The shirtless men.”

“You mean Dad and our brother?” London laughs.

“Just sayin’.” Lexi shrugs.

London cackles. “That’s the problem: women didn’t get shirtless enough.”

“Oh, we could,” Lexi deadpans, “but then it becomes about your body, not your voice. Which is exactly why I went classical. Because I didn’t want anyone saying I only made it because of my last name.”

I nod. It’s a sore spot, even if she jokes. Her dad is a legit rock god. If she’d gone mainstream, the comparisons would’ve been nonstop.

“I didn’t want to be a watered-down version of him,” she says softly.

“So I chose something no one expected. But …” She sighs again, a little more honest this time.

“Voice is still my first love. And now I’m learning how to tell stories with instruments, evoke feeling without lyrics. That’s the goal.”

“You’re gonna wreck the whole world when you figure that out,” London says from the back.

Lexi grins. “I intend to.”

The road ahead is a mess. Snow’s turned to slush, and trucks are carving trenches into the lanes. My jaw is tight, hands at ten and two like I’m guiding a spaceship.

“I’ll drive after the next gas station,” Riley offers.

“No, I got it.”

“She doesn’t trust us,” Lexi stage-whispers back to her. “We’re too reckless.”

“You have three speeding tickets,” London calls her out.

“Two!” Lexi corrects. “One of those was totally situational.”

I force myself not to be the control freak I can be behind the wheel and tell Ry, “First pee break, and it’s yours.”

We rotate drivers at every rest stop, where we also completely ignore the fact we all brought snacks and grab more.

Harper’s a slow and steady driver. London is so alert to everything around her, which you’d think would be a comfort—it’s the opposite.

Terrifying but efficient. Mags drives like she’s in a Fast full-on meals at two.

“Anyone notice there’s been a strange man parked one car behind us for like three consecutive stations?” I ask.

“Probably one of the commandos.” Mags shrugs, unbothered.

“Or one of our dads,” Harper adds.

“Or a fanboy trying to get a glimpse of Lexi’s cheekbone contour,” London teases.

Lexi beams. “Let him look. This is art.”

It’s not until the fourth hour of the drive, somewhere outside Scranton, that we all get weirdly quiet. The conversation turns reflective.

Lo’s staring out the window when Lexi asks, “So, you and Kolby?”

Lo smiles.

London snorts. “I told Harper a hundred times that you’re ‘He’s grumpy and judgy and?—”

“Hot?” Harper offers.

London laughs. “Lo, your excuses were weak as hell.”

“I also said he was insufferable. And also married.” Lo chucks a cheese puff at her head.

“He was separated.” I laugh.

“And you and Hart?” Lexi asks Ry, who gushes about how Hudson took care of her through the worst morning sickness, even when she tried to act like she didn’t need anyone.

“He’s patient,” she says. “And that’s the scariest part. Because I’ve never let myself depend on someone like that before.”

“I used to think I’d always be the one fixing people,” Sydney chimes in. “And then Boone went and got shot saving me, yet was still worried about a few scratches and cuts I had.”

I lean in and rest my head on her shoulder. “I love him for you. Hell, I love him for us. Forever grateful.”

We all go quiet again.

Until Lexi turns her gaze to me. “What about you, Iz?”

“Nope.”

“Come on?—”

“Nope. Not interested. Not in a player, and definitely not in that one.”

Lexi cackles. “You mean Captain Tight Shirt ?”

I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck back there. “Hard pass. I like my brain intact and my dignity fully operational.”

Lo smirks. “You’re blushing.”

“It’s the heater,” I lie. “And I have to pee, so hit the next stop pretty please.”

They all laugh. Crisis averted …

It’s after nine p.m. when we pull into the Philadelphia Plaza Hotel.

A valet opens the hatch, and I whisper profuse apologies for the sheer amount of baggage that comes with the eight of us.

The cart is overfilled, and so are our arms, filled with copious amounts of snacks.

The valet takes the Suburban, and the doors of the lobby open, and heat and the smell of whatever they pump through the HVAC system to make it smell even more like …

I don’t know—something expensive with a hint of cinnamon? —hits us.

Then they all head our way. Who? Our family, of course.

Dad and Mom are waving from the elevator bank. Riley’s fiancé, Hudson, is already grabbing her bags, and I can’t help but laugh when she curls her lip and yanks back her giant bag of dried apricots. And yes, he laughs, too.

Sydney’s catching Lily midair and twirling her around, crooning about how much she loves her pink and gold Knights hoodie. Boone watches them from a foot away, chest puffed out with pride. Harper’s husband, Maddox, looks like the weight of the world has just been lifted off his shoulders.

Kolby is looking at Lo like he wants to eat her, and she’s looking at him like she wants to be eaten.

London’s hubs is giving her a fuck-me look, too. “Turn it off, Links. It’s girls’ night.”

“You won’t last all night, sweetness.” He chuckles and wraps her in an obnoxious hug, swaying her back and forth, making her fuss.

“You’re squishing my Swedish fish,” she says from somewhere in those arms.

“Swedish fish don’t squish.” He chuckles.

Mags, Lexi, and I look at each other, happy for them, of course, but we have shit to do.

“I’ll check us in.”

“Already done,” Dad says from behind me.

I turn, and he hands me a fistful of room keys.

“Download the app for when you lose the card.”

“I will … do that.”

He kisses my head. “Going to dinner with the team. I’m sure you have plans.”

I feel bad about ditching them all the time lately. “Want me to?—”

“No.” He chuckles. “Stick with your plans, kiddo.”

And then I turn and see … Skinner.

Arms crossed. That same unreadable face. He nods at me once, just enough to make my pulse kick.

Nope. Not doing this.

“Let’s go!” Mags yells.

There’s a moment, after the suitcases hit the floor and the door clicks shut, when we all just kind of melt.

We’re sore, we’re stiff, we’re starving, and someone—probably me—smells like sour gummies and road trip funk.

But we’re together, we’re in Philly, and tomorrow, we’ll watch our boys hit the field.

First order of business: room service.

“I want fries,” Harper groans, flopping onto the bed. “The crispy kind, not the shoestring ones. They’re just disappointing.”

“And onion rings,” London adds, already scrolling through the hotel menu like a woman on a mission. “And sliders. And soup. Like real soup. Not hotel sadness soup.”

“We’re in a hotel.” Lexi chuckles. “How about we order all the things. Champagne, fries, maybe like … three different types of Philly steak and cheese subs to sample.”

“You’re my soul mate,” I say, flopping beside Harper.

“I’ll order.” Riley grabs the phone. “Don’t even bother arguing. I’m eating for two.”