Page 19 of Dream Chaser
The brewery is wall to wall. Kids are bouncing, parents are beaming, and Maggie’s on her fourth tray of soft pretzel skewers.
The players are holding strong. Barely.
Warren is thriving. He started signing foam fingersandforearms somewhere around group four. Our kicker’s taken approximately three thousand selfies, and Skinner?
Skinner’s … fine. Which, for him, is the emotional equivalent of skipping through a field of daisies.
He’s sitting tall, coat long gone, that criminally tight shirt still doing damage. Every time a fan blushes mid-sentence, he pretends not to notice. But I do. I noticeeverything.
I’m mid-resetting the line queue when I hear Lexington ask, “Need some help?”
“You know I don’t, but I will totally play flake just to hang with you! I’ve missed you so much!” I grab her hands and extend my arms to check her out. Lexington Hines is hot as hell. She looks just like her dad and brother, with just a touch of that soft, sweet kind of sexy that Emma and London have. She’s in boots with gold heels, black tights, a layered tulle skirt, and a cropped Knights jacket that is clearly custom.
Lexi is in her freshman year at the Royal Arts University of Music School—aka the fanciest, most selective college for classical musicians in the entire world.
I laugh and hug her tight. She smells like vanilla and musical freaking genius.
“You’re glowing,” I say, pulling back. “What’s it like to be nineteen and intimidating?”
“Taxing,” she replies, flipping her hair. “Now, where do you need me? Because this line looks like it’s about to unionize.”
“God, marry me,” I mutter, handing her the backup clipboard.
“Only if you promise me two things: a movie night and five uninterrupted minutes.” She scans the guys. “Hell, did the moms draft these guys? They’re all hot as hell.”
“Offense or defense?” I laugh.
“You know damn well if I get a hold of them, they better be able to play defense. If I don’t break them, Dad will.” She laughs. “Screw it; doesn’t matter. But who the hell is GQ Joe with the tightest shirt I’ve ever seen on a man in my life?”
Apparently, I pause for too long because she laughs.
“You’ve got dibs.”
“Hell no. I am not going to fall prey to that. We already have three down, and I’m not going to be the next one to go. Have at it.”
“Mmhmm,” she says before kissing my cheek. Then she slides into the crowd like a trained diplomat, organizing the next group of wristbands with precision and complimenting everyone’s outfits on her way. Within thirty seconds, she’s got parents smiling, kids listening, and the line reshuffled so smoothly I could cry.
From the far end of the brewery, Skinner looks up, sees her, then me.
He raises one eyebrow—who’s that?
I nod and give him the,have-at-it lookbefore spinning on my heel and diving back into the crowd.
The last group of the day lines up just outside the rope—Blue Valley’s youth teams, middle schoolers, JV and varsity kids. A few of them bounce on their toes. Others try to play it cool, like they’re not vibrating under the surface.
These are our kids. Our future linemen, wide receivers, and Olympians. And yeah, it’s not the dream IthoughtI was chasing when I was a teenager with turf-burned thighs and calloused hands, racing down the field in college like I had something to prove.
I did. Istilldo.
But women in sports? We get wrecked.
Not just physically. Though, trust me, shattering your shoulder in your sophomore year in a game you don’t even remember finishingwill do a number on your psyche, but systemically, too. The scholarships are fewer. Endorsements are less lucrative. The pro leagues are smaller. The coverage is laughable unless you’re already a headline.
And when that injury hits, followed by a global pandemic that shuts everything down? Yeah, good luck reigniting that fire.
I didn’t lose the dream. It just … changed shape.
Turns out, there’s more than one way to stay in the game. You can still be part of the team. The rhythm. The build. The win. You can coach, manage, run logistics, market, scout, heal, and lead.
