Page 13 of Dream Chaser (The New York Knights Players Club #4)

Philly General

Izzy

I don’t cry—ever. But what I just witnessed—what they got away with on that field—was not only horrific, but criminal.

The second the final whistle blew, I could feel it in my chest, like a vice clamping down. We didn’t rush the stands. We didn’t scream at the refs. We didn’t storm the field. We stood frozen. Watching. Processing.

Grimes and Warren were with the team doc. Both of them carted off under a hail of boos and jeers, like they weren’t human. Like they didn’t just get attacked on live television.

Now we’re in the fluorescent hell of the emergency room waiting room, and the white noise hum of machines and beeping monitors feels like it’s vibrating in my molars.

Lexi sits beside me, eyes locked on the swinging double doors. Her leg’s bouncing a mile a minute.

“I’m gonna throw up,” she mutters.

“Me, too,” I say and clear my throat. It’s sore, raw from screaming. “The rest of the girls are heading our way. Dad said they were letting the team shower fast, and then they’re all heading this way.”

She nods, but neither of us moves.

Minutes crawl. Someone sobs softly across the room. A nurse walks past with red-streaked scrubs. I grip my phone like it’s a lifeline.

And then the doors swing open, fast and wide, and the paramedics push through with Grimes on one stretcher, Warren on another behind him. Both alert. Both in visible pain.

“Oh my God,” Lexi breathes, launching to her feet.

I’m already in motion.

Warren gives us a tight nod, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to cuss out the pain.

His wife, Dylan, is with him. Their … other?

Hell, I don’t know what to call him. Their …

Dean is on his phone, cussing up a storm, but almost silently.

Grimes gives us a thumbs-up, and Lo is beside him, face tear-stained, and she’s pissed.

We walk alongside them until they’re wheeled off behind yet another set of doors, this time with nurses barking questions and scanning vitals.

Skinner and Boone arrive next, flanked by Hart and Logan Links. Hart and Skinner look like hell—mud-slicked and hollow-eyed, bruised and grimy.

We wait through the initial evaluation. A doctor comes out and reassures us that nothing is life-threatening. Cuts and abrasions. Concussions. Grimes may need a few stitches under his chin. Warren’s shoulder is dislocated, and his ribs are bruised to hell.

We’re told it’ll be a few hours.

I step out to breathe. Skinner joins me, passing me a bottle of water.

“Thank you,” I murmur and look up at him. “Are you okay?”

He forces out a laugh … or huff … probably both. “I’ve made peace with going to prison ten times, but I have Grand.”

“Grand?”

He lifts his head. “My other.”

I want to ask if she lives around here, but I can’t. Not the time for small talk.

“Was she at the game? Do you want me to check and make sure she’s wherever she needs to be?”

He shakes his head and doesn’t say anything else. Just stands beside me like he might crumble if he doesn’t stand there pretending to hold the wall up.

A news alert pings on my phone. I open it.

brEAKING NEWS:

Violence breaks out across parts of Philadelphia following a controversial playoff game. Riots forming near stadium and civic center. Police deployed.

“Shit,” I whisper.

Skinner glances at the screen. “We gotta get out of the city.”

I nod as I send a text to CJ and Matthew.

Ten minutes later, the hospital makes a formal recommendation for any non-critical visitors to leave due to expected road blockages and protest activity. The rest of the girls are here now, and my parents are ten minutes out.

Boone’s jaw is set so tight I worry it might break, and Hart’s barely holding back his rage when they meet in the waiting area one last time.

“They’re stable,” Boone says quietly. “And there’s extra security on the floor.”

Lexi looks like she might argue, but I catch her arm. “We need to let them do their jobs.”

I get a text as the charter bus pulls up. Dad gets off with Uncle Lucas. As Dad heads our way, Lucas pushes open the doors and walks into the ER like he owns it.

“He’s gonna get arrested, the damn fool,” Aunt Tessa whisper-hisses as she follows him.

“We all need to get on the bus and head to the airport,” Dad informs us all.

“What about the rental?” I ask.

“Matthew has someone returning it to a local branch. It’s all set.”

It feels like retreating. “We’re just going to leave them?”

“Hell no. Tessa’s going to look over their charts and see if it’s safe to get them back home. An hour and thirty minutes, they could be in Cuse and will be better taken care of.”

“They’ve been really good here,” Lexi whispers. “I heard some of the nurses saying they were going to torch their gear.”

“Drop a match on the whole stadium,” Dad mutters. “That bus has almost as many licensed medical staff as this place. Nurses.” He tugs my ponytail. “Our little EMT.”

“I almost forgot you became an EMT before you even graduated high school,” Lexi says as she heads to our pile of coats and bags.

“She still gets hours in volunteering for BV’s ambulance squad and recertifies.”

“When do you have the freaking time?” Lexi asks.

“I do sixteen hours a month when they need me. No big deal.”

We gather coats, bags, and whatever dignity we still have left, and then we head toward the hospital doors and to the bus.

Sitting in the back, I look out the window and see several SUVs, including our rental, surrounding the bus. I gasp when I see the man driving it and elbow Lexi. “Isn’t that the guy who was following us on the way down?”

“Sure is. One of Dad’s goons.” She shakes her head.

“He had us tailed?”

“Of course he did,” she sighs.

A head pops over the seat in front of us. “After all that shit went down, you had someone tailing you and didn’t think to mention it, Iz?”

Skinner say what?

I blink slowly as I look up into scowling moss green eyes. Then I quirk my head to the side. “Dad? Is that you?”

Lexi giggles, but Skinner’s scowl deepens. I wish it made him look less … hot. FYI? It doesn’t.

“Simmer down, tiny tee.” Lexi laughs. “We—all of us—know how to react in a crisis, and protect ourselves.”

He looks out the window, face practically squished against it. “That dude is the size of Bricks and probably armed.”

“Eight of us, one of him, and we’re armed, too.”

His head snaps back to us, eyes on me. “You carry?”

Lexi laughs. “Do you know Jake Ross or hell … any of them? Lo, Riley, Mags, and Iz are better shots than half the boys.”

“You hunt with them?” I swear his voice squeaks.

“Shit, was that a boner killer?” Lexi laughs as she stands. “You two discuss. Mom needs me.”

He doesn’t move; he just stares at me like I’m a freak.

“You, Izzy Ross, hunt with?—”

“Oh my God, Skinner, after tonight’s freaking … apocalyptic playoff game, you’re tripping on girls and guns?”

He moves around the seat and plops his ass next to me. “Do you fish, too?”

“I go fishing with Dad, but he has to take it off the hook.”

“You can’t take a fish off the hook, but you can put a bullet in a deer?”

“I go with the guys, but I don’t shoot anything that’s breathing.”

Mags pops up from behind us. “She’s a pussy.”

I swat at her. “You don’t, either.”

“I would if I were freaking hungry,” she says before plopping back down in her seat.

“I mean, same.” I shrug and look out the window, hoping he goes away.

He doesn’t.

“Do you eat deer meat?”

“Deer meat.” I chuckle silently. “Venison?”

“Raised in a small city, not in a rural area; cut me some slack, Izzy Ross.”

I turn to face him. “If it’s cooked right, it tastes?—”

“Like chicken?” he jokes.

“No, like venison.”

“You get that makes no sense, feel me?”

Feel me …

“Depends on the cut and how it’s prepared. If it tastes gamey, I’m not eating it.”

He looks toward the door, and then at his watch.

“You can go. I’m not keeping you?—”

“No, fuck.” He runs his hand through his seriously amazing waves.

“You’re keeping me from getting off this bus and getting an Uber back to that fucking place.

” He looks out of the corner of his eyes at me.

“Tell me more about Izzy Ross, the gun-yielding huntress that doesn’t shoot deer or take fish of hooks and calms chaos. ”

“You about covered it.” I cross my arms and look back out the window, hoping he finds someone else to bother. And by bother, I mean like hot and bothered.

But then … oh Lord.

He shifts in his seat, one elbow draped across the backrest like he owns the damn world, and that’s when it hits me.

That freshly showered man … stank.

It’s not cologne. It’s clean soap, sharp eucalyptus, cedarwood, and a faint whiff of salt and spice. Like forest, and fight, and something hot from the inside out. It’s criminal, honestly. Like the scent equivalent of strong hands and a dark corner.

It smells like victory and vengeance. Like the back seat of a pickup, or evening rain, or the first bite of something too hot but too good to stop.

Like testosterone, bottled and weaponized.

And yeah, I’m screwed.

He looks at me. Smirks. “Something wrong, Ross?”

Yeah. You. Absolutely you.

His eyes dart between mine, and I know I have to say something that jabs him in the jaw a bit just to shut him up.

“You smell like my first.”

“Fucking a virgin’s never been my thing, but for you?—”

I elbow him in the side.

“Oof.”

“You must wear the same cologne as he did. Is scent of man-whore sold on a secret online store? Or the same soap maybe? Regardless, you smell like?—”

“Don’t say regret, Iz.” His eyes dance in amusement. “’Cause you wouldn’t, not with me anyway . I’d show you a damn good time. Multiple good times.”

“I’m going to give you a bl?—”

“Don’t say blowjob or I’m gonna make a mess of my pants, right here and right now,” he groans. Fucking groans.

“Black eye, you jackass.” I can’t help but laugh. “What is wrong with you?”

Pot, meet kettle , I scold myself.

“Don’t act like you’re not?—”

“Let’s pretend that was rhetorical and let me answer for you, feel me ?”

His nostrils flare as he looks me over.

Okay, so now is not the time to soak in the fact that Skinner just made me feel sexier and more desired than any man ever has.

Focus.

“You’re used to hooking up after a game, and?—”

“Only wins, and not since Vegas, Iz. I?—”

I shake my head. “Not information I need or freaking want. The point? Your closest friends are all coupled up and you have a severe case of FOMO.”

He snorts. “Not even close. I have a very healthy appreciation for my own space, my own bed, and not having to share my leftovers.”

I arch a brow. “So your fridge is your soul mate?”

“Damn straight.” He leans in a little. “But even your favorite leftovers get boring. Sometimes you crave something spicier, unexpected. Someone who tells you that you smell like her ex, and you still need to have her. Make her come.”

My heart slams against my ribs, but I don’t flinch. “You want me like you want your spice of the month girlies?”

He grins. Slow. Dangerous. “I don’t do monthly subscriptions.”

I want to scream, turn it the fuck off, but somehow, we’re having this conversation calmly and quietly enough that no one is hearing us, and I am one hundred percent sure of that because Mags would be rolling if she heard any of this.

So, no screaming.

“I get that the shelves of the proverbial supermarket have been empty since Vegas, and now you’re hungry so that?—”

“Fucking starving, Iz.”

“—can of beets you’ve passed by for months is now looking good,” I manage to continue, “but…”

I stop when the bus doors open and stand with everyone else as Warren and Grimes walk on, followed by Dylan and Dean, Lauren, Aunt Tessa, Uncle Lucas, and Dad.

The bus erupts in applause.

My eyes connect with Dad’s, and he motions for me to come up front.

I grab my things and turn, seeing Skinner sitting there, jaw muscles popping, eyes basically fucking me.

“You wanna move?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I move to step over him, and his big paw wraps around my thigh, sending a jolt of lightning up to my freaking core.

I look down.

“We’re not done with this, Iz.”

“If you don’t wanna lose that hand, I suggest you?—”

“We’ve only touched”—he runs his hand down, still gripping me—“the surface. We’re going to be so fucking hot in bed, Iz.” He lets go. “To be continued.”