Page 120 of Dream Chaser
Jake’s face shifts—stoic, but not unmoved.
“But Iz?” I shake my head. “She makes me want all of it. Her. The future. The dog elevator. Community. Dirt to dig in. Roots to grow. All the things that used to terrify me.”
They’re still silent. So, of course, I just keep going.
“She mentioned FOMO once. Said I was probably feeling left out, since all the guys are pairing off. And yeah, maybe. But it’s more than that. Iknowwho I want. Since day one. Her sass. Her strength. And damn, those genes”—I motion vaguely between them—“well done.”
That gets a faint smile from Sarah. Jake just nods, letting me go on.
“My parents and I don’t talk. Haven’t really since Angela died. The guilt tore us all up, but instead of healing, they drank and whispered shit when they thought I couldn’t hear. Stuff about how maybe I should’ve done something, maybe I let it happen. Maybe I was born messed up in the head. When I was six or seven, the physical stuff started. Never left bruises. Just shoves, slaps, reminders that nothing I did was ever good enough.”
Sarah presses a hand to her chest.
“When I was twelve, he shoved me hard enough I dislocated my shoulder. I told him if he didn’t leave me alone, I’d tell the ER how it happened. I didn’t even know where I’d go, but I knew I couldn’t stay.”
“Good for you, kid,” Jake says, voice rough.
“Mom had a rare sober moment or just didn’t want to lose her officer’s wife image. She called Grand, said I was good at sports, that maybe I needed Gramps to guide me. She sent me away, and I never went back.”
A tear slides down my cheek before I can stop it.
Sarah crosses the kitchen and pulls me into a hug like a weighted blanket. Like forgiveness in human form.
“You know none of that was your fault.”
I nod. “I do. I’m good. Real good.”
And then I hear it …
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Iz rounds the corner, eyes wide with attitude … until she sees my face. Her expression softens instantly.
“Move,” she says, low and firm.
Sarah steps aside, and Iz wraps her arms around me, tight and fierce, and all her. I bury my face in her hair, letting the weight lift from my chest with one breath.
And what’s the first thing I say to Izzy Ross after nearly two weeks apart?
“I win.”
Chapter 25
Such An Ass
Izzy
Isit unusually close to Dad. Like, suspiciously close. Like I’m trying to physically fuse with the man just so I don’t have to make direct eye contact with the guy across the island who just poured his soul out in the same kitchen where I learned how to make French toast and melted down when I almost failed poetry.
Griffon sits diagonally across from me, infuriatingly relaxed, that little half-smile on his lips like he hasn’t just burned my entire emotional equilibrium to the ground. His bicep flexes as he lifts his glass, and my eyes betray me—watching the way his throat moves when he swallows.
Get it together, Ross.
“So,” Dad says, rocking slightly on his stool, tone light but unmistakably teasing, “I gotta say, those IG stories? Real subtle.”
My stomach flips.
Griffon grins like he’s been waiting for this moment. “You like the basil thirst trap?”
