Page 28 of Dream Chaser (The New York Knights Players Club #4)

Cooked

Izzy

T he bell above the door jangles once more as the door swings shut behind him, and the moment it does, silence settles.

Thick.

Heavy.

Uncomfortable.

I don’t look at my parents. I can’t—not yet. I know that if I do, if I meet my mother’s perceptive eyes or catch the crease of concern on my dad’s forehead, the entire dam will crack wide open.

Instead, I busy myself with Wile, scratching behind his ears as I fight the burn creeping up the back of my throat.

“You all right?” Mom’s voice is soft.

“I’m fine,” I lie, of course. “Just tired. It’s been a week.”

Dad clears his throat. “I was talking to Luke before I saw Griffon and asked him to come on over,” he says slowly, like he’s choosing each word with care. “You girls are concerned the shit going on with the team might not be about the game at all.”

“Of course it’s not,” I mutter. “There’s no way the league I grew up watching and loving would allow the game to be played like that.”

“I’d rather it be the lea—” Dad stops before finishing and rubs the back of his neck. “Fuck, I don’t even know.”

“That’s the thing—we don’t know.” I take a sip of coffee then set my mug down, repeating what the girls and I talked about earlier. “Until then, we stay sharp and live. Not like this is our first rodeo.”

“Hopefully, it gets sorted before next season starts,” Dad says.

“I just hope …” I pause. “I don’t even know how to say it, but?—”

Mom reaches over and takes my hand. “That everyone stays safe.”

I nod and squeeze her hand. “Yeah, for sure.”

Mom tilts her head. “If there’s anything else you want to talk about, something you might just want someone to listen?—”

“I’m not hiding anything,” I snap then immediately soften when I see her flinch. “I’m sorry. I promise. I’m just having a moment.”

Dad nods, lips pressed tight, like he knows there’s more I’m not saying but won’t push.

“You are allowed those, Izzy,” Mom says with all the love in the world, and I feel like an asshole.

“I should probably get going. The girls will be there before I know it.” I push back in my seat.

After a hug and, of course, the I love you, I head to the door.

“Come on, Wile,” Dad calls, already walking toward the door behind me.

I open the door to the Jeep and expect Wile to be on my heels, but he’s on the porch.

I don’t know why that makes me tear up, but it does.

Dad walks up, toe to toe with me. “Iz, this is still your home, too.”

“Apparently, Wile?—”

“Habit, Iz.” He pops a kiss to the top of my head and yells back to Mom, “Gonna go measure the doggie elevator.”

“All right. Drive safe.” She opens the door, and Wile gets up and follows her in.

A tear falls, and Dad wipes it away. “He’s not snubbing you; he’s just avoiding whatever chaos you girls are gonna get up to tonight.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll follow you down the hill.”

Half an hour later, Dad’s got sheet rock cut out of the wall on the first floor, and I’m in the parking lot, cutting two-by-fours down to size for the new framing.

He walks out.

“I can bring them in.”

“I know you can,” he says but grabs an armful anyway and heads inside.

I follow him and see he’s already screwed the piece he cut to the old opening. “Found some mud in the storage room. Gonna get that on to set for the night. All the old frame pieces and door will fit perfectly in the new opening.”

“Are you going to have someone come recalibrate the?—”

“Izzy.” He shakes his head. “You have that little faith in me?”

“Please, I have the most faith in you. If you say you can do it, you can and will.”

“That’s right.” He steps back, and I see the crate is flush with the floor. “Done. Now let’s head upstairs.”

“You don’t have to do it all today.”

“Got the time and the materials, and my little helper.” He looks at his watch. “What time will the girls be here?”

“Seven? Eight?”

“It’s one. We’ll get it done and cleaned up in a couple of hours. I’ll come back to do the third floor tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you?—”

“It’s basically moving a door. Not a big deal.” He nods to the stairway. “Let’s go.”

After we take apart the bookshelf, he steps back. “In under twenty minutes.” He holds out his hand, and I give him the tape measure. “So, you good?”

“I know Mom’s worried about me, but I’m not stupid. I?—”

He leans back on his heels and looks up me, all Dad and no bullshit. “You’re not stupid, Iz. You’re my kid. You’re fierce. However, when things become complicated, you either go all-in or all-out. No in-between.”

My jaw clenches.

“You don’t have to tell us everything,” he adds, standing as he taps measurements into his phone. “But if someone’s got your back, like he said up there … maybe don’t shove it away because you’re afraid it won’t stick.”

I blink rapidly. “We’re not a thing.”

He brushes the dust off his hands. “Didn’t say you were. But I saw the way he looked at you. Hell, I saw the way he looked at Wile. Hell, Wile licked his face.”

“He licked his face once,” I grumble.

Dad just laughs. “Yeah, once. You don’t get that kind of love from Wile unless he’s decided you’re worthy.”

I feel my face heating up. “I dated jocks in college?—”

“Griffon is not a college jock; he’s a professional athlete. Different breed.” He points to himself. “Trust me.”

“Ew, no.”

“Smart kid, too. He’s the one who came up with this idea. I was gonna build folding stairs.”

“Dad,” I grumble.

He chuckles as he heads to the stairs. “Conversation done, Iz. Be right back; gonna grab some materials.”

“How much weight can this thing hold?” Mags asks Dad.

He shakes his head. “This thing can hold Wile, not you.”

She points to his toolbox. “Can’t you adjust it?”

“Love you, kid, but no. This is for Wile only.”

“Say Iz grabs groceries, and there was a sale on potatoes, so she bought a fifty-pound bag of them; can she put that bag in with Wile?”

“No.”

She gives him a challenging look.

“Either or,” he states firmly.

“So she gets three fifty-pound bags, and Wile is in the Jeep; can she?—”

Dad pulls her hat down over her eyes.

“Uncle Jake!” Mags laughs.

He picks up his toolbox. “I thought you said seven or eight.”

I grab the bucket of mud and a few tools I cleaned off.

“It’s seven or eight somewhere,” Mags says, picking up the rest of the scraps of wood.

After I finish sweeping up the little bit of a mess left over from the project being finished, I grab the mop and make a few quick passes across the hardwoods. It smells like eucalyptus and peppermint, Mom’s special blend that works miracles on deterring pests from wanting to call your place home.

Mags is halfway down the stairs by the time I wring out the mop and prop it in the bucket to dry next to the door.

“My room is all set up,” she calls, bounding into the living room in thick socks. “Aunt Sarah must have stocked it with enough of my favorite granola trail mix for a year. Either she’s trying to adopt me or thinks I’m a rescue raccoon.”

“Maybe both,” I mutter, but my smile doesn’t quite stick.

The quiet hits me as soon as she flops dramatically onto the couch, arms stretched over the back like she owns the place, and rightfully so.

Soon enough, it will be her space, too. It’s too quiet.

No sound of Wile’s claws on the floor, no tail thudding rhythmically against the floor when I glance his way.

“He’ll be fine,” I tell myself under my breath, too low for her to hear.

I hated leaving him with my parents. But the stairs are steep, and he was so tired, and when Dad said he’d probably like the peace of being home during girls’ night, I didn’t argue. I’m sure he was exhausted. Like me, I’m sure he didn’t get enough sleep last night.

“I cannot wait until school is over,” Mags groans, flopping harder, like she’s trying to make the furniture feel her pain.

“You only have a few more months,” I say, trying to shake the ache and focus on her.

“Easy for you to say, you’re already old and wise.”

I arch a brow. “I’m twenty-one.”

“Exactly.” She grins. “Basically ancient.”

Before I can argue, she sniffs the air.

Not again.

She leans back and blinks slowly, clearly considering something. “Okay, not to be that girl, but … it still smells like boy in here. Not locker room boy. Like hot, freshly showered, expensive-kind of boy.”

I force a laugh. “I’ll have to let Dad know he smells like expensive boy.”

She narrows her eyes. “Did Uncle Jake switch from oak and Old Spice to sin and sex appeal?”

“You are so dramatic,” I say, maybe a little too loud. “Want to help me make a list of things I need to grab from the store?”

She smirks. “Weakest dodge I’ve seen in months.”

I ignore that. “Anyway, you, Maggie Sawyer, leave for Wilderness Warriors the literal day after graduation. What’s the plan? Gonna fight a mountain lion for air time?”

That works like a charm.

Her face lights up. “Don’t even tempt me. I swear, if they put me with someone who thinks an electric toothbrush counts as a survival tool, I’m gonna lose it. I didn’t practice building fires in the rain for nothing.”

“You’re gonna kill it.”

“I hope so. I mean, yeah, it’s a reality show, but it’s also like actual wilderness. And I’ve already scoped out the camera crew on Instagram. I’m not saying I’m doing this for a wilderness-themed love story … but I’m not not saying it either.”

I laugh and open the door to the backyard. “Just promise me you won’t be so emotionally wrecked that we’ll abandon the garden when you get back.”

“Please,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ll have the most Instaygrammable basil plants in Blue Valley.”

“Only if you promise not to name all the plants after members of One Direction again.”

“You know they’re my guilty pleasure, so no promises.” She grins. “Now, about that list. They’re bringing dinner since this is basically a surprise, but we need a shit ton of food for breakfast. And to fill your sad, echo-y cupboards.”

“Surprise?” I ask cautiously.

“So I’m a surprise ruiner.” She leans in, nose-to-nose and whispers, “Don’t tell on me.”