Page 19 of Dream Chaser (The New York Knights Players Club #4)

Blue Valley

Izzy

S ore doesn’t even begin to cover how I’m feeling.

I’m walking like I lost a bar fight with a sledgehammer, but I’ve managed to convince everyone that I’m just epically hungover.

At the airport, Lexi was loading my water bottle with hydration packets, London grabbed me greasy hash browns from one of the counter service restaurants at JFK with zero judgment, and Maggie told me to pull up my big girl panties.

Thank God they bought it. Because there is no way I’m explaining that my thighs are pretty much bruised from Skinner’s seriously epic skills in the bedroom.

We landed back in Blue Valley at sunrise because we caught the earliest flight out when Mags caught wind that the entire damn town was planning a surprise welcome home parade for the Knights. We couldn’t miss that. These boys, the team, they deserve a proper homecoming, win or not.

Main Street is already packed with new banners, ones that do everything from calling out the refs to announcing them as the official winners.

Pickups are already parked along both sides of the road.

Families bundled in puffy coats and knit hats have claimed their spots, draping quilts over tailgates, steaming thermoses in hand.

There are lawn chairs and wagons decked out in black and gold streamers, kids holding signs that say things like “ #54 is My Hero ” and “ Still Our Champs .”

The whole place smells like kettle corn and community pride.

I glance over at the girls as we all pull on another layer. Lexi’s got gold glitter under her eyes, and Mags is tying a Knights flag around her neck like a superhero cape.

My phone buzzes with a text from Dad.

Turn on the heat at Blue Valley Pub. People will need a place to warm up.

A second comes in from Mom via Dad’s phone.

And check upstairs. Just trust me. Mom.

My brows lift. “Looks like I’ve been given a mission.”

“You want backup?” London asks.

“I got it. If I’m not back in twenty, assume I’ve been kidnapped by cats and old newspaper ghosts.”

I cut through the alley, my boots crunching with each step as I head toward Blue Valley Publishing.

I reach the back door and punch in the code to unlock it, the one Dad installed when we considered converting the top two floors into short-term rentals but decided against it, since Mom, although saying she was onboard, was clearly forcing herself to be.

I step inside am hit with the familiar scent of paper, ink, and the faint trace of Pine-Sol.

It’s spotless.

The printery room is cleaner than I’ve ever seen it—desks dusted, shelves straightened, even the old linotype machine gleaming like someone took the time to scrub its soul. It’s weirdly quiet, but not in a creepy way. More like … expectant.

I feel a tug in my chest and follow it up the old staircase.

The moment I open the apartment door, I stop cold.

It’s warm.

Like physically warm—the fireplace is going—but also emotionally.

The place glows. The exposed brick walls have been cleaned and sealed, the wooden beams above twinkle with tiny lights.

There’s a thick knit blanket thrown across a wide armchair and a record player humming softly in the corner. And on the wall above the mantle?

A wooden sign in soft gold lettering:

Welcome Home, Iz.

My eyes sting.

The space isn’t just fixed up. It’s transformed. Modern touches blend with the old charm. The same bones, but with a new heartbeat. It feels like someone knew exactly what this place needed to become. Like they knew what I needed.

They did this … for me.

I wrap my arms around myself and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

My first home.

I sink into the big, light brown leather chair near the window—oversized, buttery soft, and warm from the fire—and that’s when it hits me.

Blue Valley Publishing.

The old building I couldn’t figure out what to do with. I know now. I want it to be the Knights merch shop, sure. But more than that, I want it to become something bigger. Something that gives back.

I want to bring back a weekly paper, only good news. The kind you would buy at a newsstand, if there was still such a thing.

But that’s not all.

I picture the middle schoolers, the high school athletes I know. Those who have the talent but lack the means. Those who might not receive scholarships but deserve to play. Club sports, D3 teams—anything to help them stay in school, stay connected to the sport they love, and get their degrees.

I want the shop to fund that. Not just merch sales, but any profit that comes in goes straight into a scholarship fund. Whatever it takes. We’ll sell the gear, sure, but we’ll also build futures.

When I stand and step to the front window, I see them—kids I know, kids I used to coach, or babysit, or bandage knees for. And I know I’m on the right track.

The door bangs open behind me.

Mags and Lexi come in, breathless and covered in snow.

“Holy shit, it’s a freaking Hallmark movie in here,” Mags says.

Lexi’s eyes dart to the fireplace. “And you’ve clearly already moved in.”

I grin. “Guys … I know what I’m doing with BVP.” And then I tell them everything.

I’m not needy. I don’t need people to stroke my ego, or a pat on the back, but Mags is not as enthusiastic as I expected.

Her arms are crossed over her puffy jacket, Knights flag still tied around her neck, but now also wrapped around it like she’d been using it as a scarf, and her smile is there, but there’s something under it.

“Iz, that’s incredible. Really. But … what about the farm plans? I’m leaving after graduation, and I can’t?—”

I exhale and lean against the window frame.

“Oh, you’re going with zero worries, and you’re going to win,” I say.

“Every seed will be in the ground. You know me—I’ll have that schedule dialed in to the hour.

And once we’ve got the Knights merch production happening here in Blue Valley?

I won’t have to spend every damn spare minute in the merch closet, cleaning up everyone else’s screwups. ”

Lexi snorts. “You say that like it wasn’t your favorite rage hobby.”

“It was never a hobby. It was damage control.”

Mags nudges my shoulder, that familiar teasing light back in her eyes. “You better make sure you’re not missing one minute of the show. I will be able to tell. I’ll feel it in my soul.”

“I wouldn’t miss a second,” I assure her.

“And neither will I,” Lexi adds.

I look around. “I just want to do something good with Aunt Isobel’s legacy.”

I glance up as Mom and Dad walk in; Mom misty-eyed, Dad beaming with pride.

“She’d love this, Iz,” Mom says as we walk to each other and hug.

Dad wraps his arms around both of us. “You excited?”

Mags wraps hers around all of us. “We are.”

Then Lexi, she doesn’t join in like Mags. Nope. Our girl Lexi squeezes in the center of our little love huddle.

After laughing, Mags asks, “Question: Uncle Jake and Aunt Sarah?”

“Yes, Maggie, there’s a room for you, too.”

“Hell yes!” she shouts.

“Me?” Lexi asks.

“Your old man gonna let you stay here?” Dad chuckles.

“Uncle Jake,” she sighs out, “I do what I want to do now.”

“You sure about that?” He chuckles.

We check out the third floor, the one that used to be full of old books and newspapers, which are now organized and confined to one of the rooms and the rest up at the house. The floor has three large bedrooms and one massive bathroom.

I think I’m going to love it here.

Dad and I walk through the main floor; he with a tape measure, me making notes in my app, Mags spinning Lexi in an old office chair, and Mom standing in the middle of the space, looking around with a soft smile, as if she’s remembering her youth.

I lean my head on her shoulder. “It has good energy.”

She kisses the side of my head. “It does.”

The sound of sirens in the distance alerts us that the team must be rolling in.

The five of us bundle up and step outside as police cars, followed by firetrucks, turn onto Main Street, and then they kill the sirens, but there is the approaching rumble of diesel followed by the cheers of hometown pride.

The team bus turns onto Main Street, slow and steady, followed by a trail of pickups honking in behind them. The crowd lining the sidewalks erupts in cheers, air horns blaring, cowbells clanking.

And then I see them—my Knights all hanging out the windows like a high school football team that just won state, fists pumping, mouths open in laughter and shouts.

Boone’s holding Lily, who is waving with a smile as big as the winter sun.

Bricks throws mini foam footballs into the crowd, and Hunt has his entire torso halfway out a window, palms raised, pumping up the crowd.

I try … and fail to avoid scanning the windows, not wanting to make last night seem like it was a big deal to me, because, aside from his massive dick, it truly wasn’t. And then I see him.

He’s not hanging out the window. He’s sitting back, hat low, jaw tight. But when he spots me on the sidewalk in front of Blue Valley Pub, he sits up straighter. Our eyes lock. And for a second, the rest of the world fades away.

I don’t smile. I can’t.

His expression isn’t playful.

He looks pissed. Like I am alone in crossing the line. Like he regrets it. Like all the things I knew could happen … did.

And then he’s gone.

“You don’t have to move everything in one day,” Mom says, trying to play it off as humor as she helps me pack up a few boxes to take to the apartment, or as Lexi insists I call it, a flat.

“I know, but I can’t sleep without my good pillow, my backup phone charger, my lavender sleep spray or, apparently, three different oversized hoodies I’ve convinced myself are emotional support garments.”

We move downstairs to the kitchen, and I pillage through the mug cupboard, because yes, we need a whole cupboard for all of my mugs.

“Found it,” I say as I pull out my Blue Valley Saints field hockey mug from senior year when we won state.

Mom shakes her head. “That mug’s chipped.”

“It holds exactly twelve ounces of magic. And the chip gives it character.”

“Don’t you want to go shopping and make it your own?” Dad asks as he walks by, carrying the box of bedding from my room.

“I want to find little pieces that are perfect, but not all in a day, maybe not even a year,” I admit.

“You sure you want to do this tonight? The girls and you made plans for tomorrow,” Mom reminds me.

I shrug and admit, “One night alone to get a feel of the place.”

“I totally get that.”

I look down at my feet where Wile is lying.

I squat down and scratch behind his ears. “I wish you could still do the stairs.”

Dad laughs he comes back into the house. “That place has a dumbwaiter that’s motorized. Big enough to bring up a hundred pounds of books all the way up to the third floor.”

“Jake”—Mom shakes her head and laughs—“leave poor Wiles alone.”

By some miracle—and the promise of jerky—Wile takes to the ramp we use to get him into the Jeep when he has to go to the vet that Dad built and gets into his own personal elevator that Dad assured me worked just fine—he used it to send up tools.

It’s a little steep, and his back legs wobble more than I’d like, but he makes it to the top landing with all the dignity of a dog who once chased down the sled Dad was towing me around on behind his snowmobile to “save me.”

I scratch behind his ears and kiss the top of his graying head. “You did good, old man.”

I give him another treat before shutting the little door, saying a prayer, and pushing the button for the second floor.

I’m halfway to turning toward the stairs when someone knocks.

Three quick, solid thuds.

I frown. Lexi and Mags weren’t supposed to come tonight, but they must have sniffed out my little white lie.

“Shit,” I grumble, wiping my hands on my jeans as I cross to the door. I throw it open mid-sigh, already preparing an apology and acting like I was just too excited to wait.

But it’s not them.

It’s Skinner.

Big, broad, brooding Skinner, dressed in all-black with snow clinging to his boots and intensity simmering behind his eyes.

“We need to talk,” he says, voice low, jaw set.

My brain short-circuits. “What are you even— No. We’re not doing this now.”

He doesn’t move. Just waits.

I huff and spin toward the stairs. “Fine. Whatever. Follow me.”

I don’t look back to see if he’s behind me, but I feel it—the weight of him, the heat of something unfinished pulsing between us as we climb toward a conversation I’m not sure I’m ready for.

Not because I’m scared of him. But because if I don’t get to Wile in the next thirty seconds, he’s going to assume I’ve abandoned him to die inside the damn wall and never trust me again.

I speed up, taking the stairs two at a time.

“I have to—hang on,” I call over my shoulder.

I reach the top and immediately hear it.

A low, pitiful whine. A heavy thud. Another whine.

“Shit,” I mutter, turning the corner, almost tripping over the boxes I lugged up, and run to the little door, which is apparently camouflaged to look like a bookshelf.

Skinner’s voice echoes behind me. “Is there a dog … in the damn wall?”

“Don’t you judge him,” I snap, frustrated that I left the ramp downstairs as I open the door.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Skinner starts laughing—real, chest-shaking, startled laughter.

“Jesus, Izzy,” he says, still chuckling. “I came here to have a conversation and instead I find you rescuing a geriatric mutt from whatever the hell that is.”

I shoot him a glare over my shoulder. “I forgot the ramp and the jerky. Make yourself useful and stand here so this ‘geriatric mutt,’ who happens to be my pup Wile, the best birthday present ever, doesn’t think he can walk out and end up with?—”

“A broken hip?” He laughs harder now.

“Don’t be a dick.” I step back, and he takes my place.

Before I am halfway to the door, I hear, “Tell her you don’t need a damn ramp.”

I turn and see Skinner holding Wile’s eighty-pound self like he’s nothing and setting him on the ground. Then he crouches down and pets him. When Wile licks his face, he chuckles.

Dammit, Wile.

“All right, my boy, let’s show you around.”

“Pretty sure I proved last night I’m no boy, but?—”

“I said my boy.” I point to Wile as he drops his traitorous ass on Griffon’s foot.

“Gonna guess he takes offense to being called a boy, too.” Griffon smirks.

Flustered, I turn as I throw my hands in the air. “As you can see, I’m very busy, and you …” I pause, trying to figure out what to even say. “Don’t you have your meeting and a plane to catch?” I turn on the water and fill Wile’s bowl.

“Meeting’s first thing Monday morning, and I’m not flying out until Tuesday. Which means I got all night to wait for you to stop fucking around and allow yourself to look at me.”

Oh my God.