Page 139 of Dream Chaser
Remington continues, “Any team trips you guys have planned for the off-season, we suggest you avoid. When this blows, because it will, you don’t want your names involved, and we sure as fuck don’t want our family linked to men who fuck around with drugs andyoungwomen.”
“How young?” Boone asks through his teeth.
“Young enough that a good man would question it. We’re not dealing with good men,” Matthew answers.
“We have a, well, an old associate on the inside, working on figuring that out,” Remington tells us.
“Old associate? Meaning he’s worked with you before?” I ask.
“She, and no.” Matthew pushes off the doorjamb.
CJ stands. “Draft’s coming up; trades won’t raise any flags, but you four want to be part of this family, you get a heads-up.”
Matthew calls from the other room, “We gotta roll.”
Remington stands. “Catch you around,wee one.”
I let him have that one.
“Hey,” I call after them, and Remington looks back. “Guessing Philly’s going to win tonight?”
“I wouldn’t bet on it.” He chuckles.
After they leave, we finish the game, none of us really focused. None of this is cool.
“A year ago, I would be livid about what we just learned.”
“Would be?” Hart huffs as he runs a hand through his hair.
I stand up. “If we never ended up at Costello’s hotel, Iz and I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to finally make fucking magic happen. Fuck the ring—I got the girl. We all got the girl.”
“Best season ever,” we all say at the same damn time.
I hit up Grand once on the road from Skaneateles to the brewery.
She answers with, “Tell me you got the girl.”
“I got the girl.”
“He got the girl!” she announces, and I hear all her ladies hoot and holler like they’re watching a game and their favorite team is winning.
“Did you doubt me?” I laugh.
“Never have, never would,” Grand states like it’s fact, and it is, then asks, “Tell me you’ve made plans for a very special Valentine’s Day.”
“About that …”
Chapter 29
The Big Game
Izzy
The place is packed, but everything is set up so that it’s as self-serve as it can get. A collective idea, as all of us want to be free to be with our players while they suffer through watching a game they deserve to be playing, after a kick-ass season.
The place is packed, but it somehow doesn’t feel overwhelming. Just full—of people, noise, heat, and that familiar hum of expectation that always shows up right before kickoff. We’ve got it all set up so the team can just be. No press, no flashbulbs, no obligations. Just food, drinks, and their people.
Our tables are near the back, past the bar crowd and one long table of jersey-clad high schoolers. We claimed it early—Mags’s idea.
