Page 27 of Dream Chaser (The New York Knights Players Club #4)

Elevated

Griffon

I lean back in the driver’s seat, dick half-mast after that text exchange, phone in one hand, engine off, radio off—just me trying to figure out how to see her before I head south. I need to make her come again before I leave New York.

No shade on girls’ night, but the fact it’s tonight isn’t cool. Well, it wasn’t until I visualized a play.

Me:

Anyone want to grab dinner at Brooks tonight before Oz and I take off?

Hunt:

Leaving on a red eye. Let’s make it happen before nine.

Hart:

They’re closed. End-of-season hours. Thurs – Sun only, remember?

Exactly. I smirk as I toss my phone into the cup holder. Hook baited.

I grab it again when the messages start coming in.

Grimes:

Now I’m craving loaded mac and cheese.

Me:

You live right there. Your girl owns the place. Get you some.

Boone:

And the pretzel bites. Damn.

Me:

We cook instead. Steaks, crab legs. What else am I grabbing?

Another pause, and then a burst of messages.

Boone:

Wait. You’re suggesting we cook?

Me:

I can man a grill and boil water.

Hart:

Bro. But do you know anything about seasoning?

Grimes:

Where are we doing this, and what time? Lo and the girls are heading to Iz’s new pad in the village for a housewarming thing at like seven.

Grinning, I send:

Me:

New place? Why don’t we make them dinner there?

Boone:

Not sure about busting in on their night.

Me:

Yeah, I’m sure they’ll be real pissed if someone, us, feeds them for once.

Hart:

Ry’s on a steak kick. I’ll make a dessert.

Hunt:

Does she even have a grill?

Me:

I’ll grab one as a housewarming gift from all of us.

Grimes:

Perfect. I’ll Venmo you.

Boone:

@Hart, my wife owns a bakery, bring a bag of salt potatoes.

Me:

Lily eat steak and crab or should I get her something else?

Boone:

Little Flower is with Lyndsey for two sleeps.

I fire off a few more texts, toss my phone in the passenger seat, and reach to start the SUV when a knuckle taps on the window and nearly sends me into cardiac arrest.

Jake Ross.

I lower the window as casually as possible.

“You good? Car trouble?”

I shake my head. “All good. Just trying to figure out how to kill time. Flight’s not till five a.m.”

He crosses his arms, squinting at me like he knows exactly what kind of trouble I could get into unsupervised. “Well, if you’re bored, come up to the house. I’ll be in the garage, trying to engineer foldable stairs for my girl’s dog.”

My smile flickers up before I can stop it. “Love to help if I can. What’s the address?”

Walking away, he says, “Just follow me.”

He’s already halfway across the lot, climbing into his truck like it’s just another Monday. And maybe it is for him. But for me…

I sit back in my seat for a beat and exhale slowly. Definitely the first time I’ve been invited to her place—her home turf. And not just hers . Her parents’. Jake Ross. Sarah. The people who raised her.

The drive’s not far. But as soon as I hang the left behind Jake’s truck and the trees open up, I feel it.

The Ross property sits like a living memory tucked into the hills. Not fancy. Not flashy. Warm.

A wraparound porch that practically begs for a glass of lemonade, watching evening sunsets.

The barn, painted deep red, faded in just the right places.

There’s a massive greenhouse, a fire pit, stacked wood, strings of lights zigzagging like they host late-night hangouts on the regular.

It’s all manicured but not manicured, like someone cares deeply but doesn’t obsess.

There’s history here. Sweat equity. Love.

My mom always made the Army quarters feel like something—throw blankets over ugly couches, baked cookies that made you forget the walls were beige as hell—but it was never ours .

Never permanent. Just another box checked, another base.

Another promotion. Another family portrait … until there were no more.

This? This home has roots.

I park next to Jake, kill the engine, and force myself not to just sit here and steal its warmth. I open the door and hop out.

“This way,” Jake says, already heading toward the greenhouse.

My smile flickers up before I can stop it. This is where Iz became … Iz.

The greenhouse door squeaks open, and I follow him in.

The scent hits first—earthy, sweet, alive. Basil, lavender, and damp soil wrap around me. Sarah’s at the far end, her back to us, swaying slightly to Fleetwood Mac as she digs around, hands dirty, hair twisted up in a loose clip.

Jake walks right up behind her, wraps his arms around her waist, and kisses her cheek.

She doesn’t jump or turn; she just leans into him, as if she knew he was coming.

The light is in my eyes when she stands, but she looks exactly like Iz. Not just the hair, but the way she stands, completely relaxed. That part of Iz—the Iz not in work mode—I’m just beginning to see, and it’s beautiful.

“Ran into Griffon down at the stadium. He offered a hand.”

“Offered?” Sarah laughs then whispers something.

Bendling? Is that a type of plant?

Jake chuckles and whispers something like, opportunity and a rose?

She moves toward me. “Nice seeing you off the field, Griffon.”

“You, too, ma’am.” I smile.

She waves a hand. “None of that. Makes me feel old.”

Jake snorts. “You planted three hundred seedlings before noon. You’ve got more energy than half the league.”

“I normally have a helper,” she says, looking over her shoulder. “They grow too fast.”

“Need to clarify that ma’am was just a respect thing. My Grand would have my ass …” I pause and shake my head. “Well, she’d have it once if I didn’t use my manners and another for cursing in front of a woman.”

“Call me Sarah and say ass if you want. We don’t filter here.”

“Noted.”

“You ever built a set of collapsible stairs for a grumpy dog with a god complex?” she asks.

I grin. “Not yet, but I’m game. Sarah, this place is incredible. Feels like spring in here.”

“Feels like hell in the summer.” Jake chuckles.

She elbows him—guessing that’s where Iz picked up that move—and says, “Like you spend more than ten minutes in here during the summer.”

“I spent a hell of a lot more time in here that one summer. The flower stand phase to raise money for …” He pauses like he’s trying to remember.

“Animal rescue.”

“No, it wasn’t that one.”

“Operation Warm Cold.” She smiles.

“Yeah, that was after we went to Africa, the Sahel region.” Jake nods

“And she said these kids walk five miles to school through literal sandstorms, and you’re telling me we can’t ship them snow boots and portable fans?” Sarah smiles.

“Yeah.” Jake chuckles then looks at me. “That girl of ours sets her mind on something, and you can’t change it.”

“Why would you want to?” Sarah asks him. “She lets her heart lead, and it just so happens, it’s always in the right direction. She’s brilliant.”

Jake chuckles. “We stopped at one because we knew we’d made perfection.”

“That’s only half true,” Sarah says, turning and looking back where she had been working then back at me. “You’re an only child, right?”

“That is also only half true.” I chuckle before even thinking. Fuck. They’re looking at me like they expect me to continue. Fucking awkward. “Not so funny story, but I had a sister. She died when she was three.”

“Oh, Griffon, I’m so sorry,” Sarah says.

“Something you never forget, that’s for sure.” I nod. “But as my Grand taught me, I was blessed to know an angel.”

“Yeah, of course.” Sarah smiles sadly.

I shake my head and breathe out. “This conversation never gets less awkward.”

Jake grips my shoulder. “Let’s move on to dog stairs then?”

“You drink coffee?” Sarah asks, wiping her hands on a towel.

“It’s off season, I drink coffee and eat whatever I want until a week before training, and then it’s strictly protein and regret.”

“You two head to the shop, I’ll bring some out.”

The bell over the door jingles like something out of a Hallmark movie, and the warmth that hits me as we step inside is welcome. It’s not unseasonably cold, but the wind is whipping around, furthering the Hallmark vibe.

It smells like wood and sawdust. There’s a huge wood stove heating the place.

The floors are old pine, worn smooth from decades of footsteps, the kind that creak just right under your boots.

The front counter is solid, reclaimed wood with visible tool marks—clearly hand-built, probably by someone in the Ross family. Jake, if I had to guess.

Further back, there’s a big table with mismatched chairs tucked around it, like it’s meant for community events or someone’s spur-of-the-moment brainstorm.

I point to the far left. “Is that a pottery wheel?”

Jake smirks and folds his arms, clearly setting up a story. “You should’ve seen it a few years back—pottery night got hijacked.”

I raise a brow. “Hijacked?”

“Yeah, all the girls and the wives were supposed to come down here and make holiday mugs or something wholesome. Maybe some bowls for popcorn or chip-and-dip situations. That was the plan.”

He points toward the corner where a long shelving unit holds a wild assortment of half-glazed, questionably shaped ceramic pieces. “But the second Ava and London got their hands on the clay, it turned into a full-blown competition.”

“Oh God.”

“Yup. Not just any competition,” he says, clearly enjoying the memory. “A phallic sculpture contest. London blamed Ava. Ava blamed Pinterest. Lauren blamed TikTok. And somehow, by the end of the night, we had seven—no, eight—ceramic dicks lined up like a damn Roman army in the window.”

I laugh loud and sharp, shaking my head.

“My wife, Tessa, Jade, and Phoebe made certificates. Held a whole ceremony right here. ‘Most Realistic,’ ‘Biggest Curve,’ ‘Best Glaze Work.’ Hell, one of ’em even lit up.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. Just another day.”

I look around the place again, seeing where a million memories were made. “Unreal.”

Jake grins. “It’s Blue Valley, son. We take arts and crafts very seriously.”

And now I’m wondering what Iz made that night.

The whole place feels … intentional. Not just functional, but lived-in. Rooted.

“And now we build stairs, hoping it gives old Wile some more time.”

An idea hits, but it takes a minute to figure out how to word it without outing us.

“What are the stairs for? Vehicle, couch, a?—”

“Dumbwaiter,” Jake answers.

“So, it’s about waist high?”

Jake lifts his chin and crosses his arms. I really hate this shit—manipulating—but I’m doing my best not to make it a blatant lie.

I pull out my phone and start tapping in a search. “Any chance to adjust where it stops? Maybe move the door so it opens where he can walk right in and not use stairs?”

“That’s actually a great idea,” Jake says with a nod. “Makes a hell of a lot more sense than building three sets of stairs. Should have thought of that when I rebuilt the box itself.”

We sit at the table, and Jake draws out a plan. When the bells jingle over the door, we both look back. Sarah’s walking in, carrying coffee. Behind her … Iz.

“Hey there, how was your first night at your new place?”

“Uneventful,” she states as Wile trots in, passes her, and … fuck … beelines it to me.

Iz looks pissed, like super pissed.

I squat down and pet Wile. “You must be a Knights fan.”

He licks me.

“Wile, leave the man alone.” Jake chuckles.

“He’s good,” I say, standing up and looking at Iz. “Hey, Iz.”

“Hey.” She narrows her eyes.

“I have your coffee.” Sarah holds up a thermos.

“Cups?” Jake asks.

“Shit,” Sarah whispers.

Unable to stop myself, I point to the shelf. “Cups over there.”

Iz whips her head in that direction and sees the dicks.

Jake roars out a laugh, and then says, “I’ll go grab some.”

“I’ll come with. You always get the wrong ones.”

And just like that, we’re alone.

“You shouldn’t be?—”

“Wasn’t planned,” I cut her off before her pretty little head explodes. “Your dad was in the parking lot at the stadium, tapped on the window, and asked if I was having car trouble.”

“Nice try. Your vehicle is right there.” She points to the door.

“I told him I was good, passing time before my flight leaves. He asked if I was interested in helping him.”

“You should have said no.”

“Iz …” I shake my head. “Why would I do that?”

“If they find out, I will?—”

“Lemme ask you something.”

“No.”

“Jesus, Iz, really?” I sigh.

“Fine, what?” she snaps.

I shake my head when I realize what I was about to say will probably fuck everything I think I am working toward.

“How good would it look to be telling someone who owns part of my ass I don’t have time?”

That hits right, and she rolls her neck. “Fine.”

I smile. “And it was for Wile. We’ve bonded.”

“He’s going to singlehandedly out … whatever this was.”

Is, Iz.

I walk around the table and sit. “Check this out.”

“What?” she asks, sounding … defeated.

“Your dad’s going to pimp out Wile’s ride.”

“Did you tell him you’ve been there?”

I arch a brow. “You really think two dates in and I’d be?—”

“They were not dates; they were hookups.” She throws her hands in the air. “We fucked. Stop trying to make it a thing.”

“You get I leave here tomorrow, and I don’t like seeing you like this, Iz.”

“Well, maybe this is fucking me.”

“I mean, cool?”

“Cool?” she huffs.

“Yeah.” All right, this is fucked up. I run my hand through my hair. “I mean, I can work with whatever version you wanna give me.”

“We. Are. Not. A?—”

“Hey, Iz.” I jam my finger on the table. “This wasn’t planned. This morning, the guys, then the girls, neither was planned. It’s a lot, but I’m not running, you feel me?”

“Pfft, feel me?”

I stand. “Heads-up, tonight, the guys and I are?—”

“It’s not my business what you and the guys are doing,” she hisses.

I bend down and pet Wile. “Take care of Iz, you sexy beast. Hope to.”

I stop yammering when the bells above the door jingle, and Jake and Sarah walk in.

“We’ve got cups.”

She whispers, “Do not just walk out of here so I have to?—”

“Like it or not, Iz,” I cut her off as I stand, “I got your fucking back.” I smile as I turn toward her parents. “Thank you.”