Page 20 of Dream Chaser
Sports isn’t just something you play.It stays in your bones, even when your body says no. It’s a family all fighting for the same … team.
And for women—especially women—we build our own arenas. We lift each other. We scream louder, work smarter, fight harder.
So, yeah, I didn’t end up where I thought I would. But today? Today I am part of bringing an entire damn town together to celebrate athletes who make kids believe they can be anything.
And I’ll take that win. Every time.
I give the nod, and Lexington waves them in with a smile that’s half-stage-manager, half-red-carpet-handler.
They enter in small bursts—families close behind, phones already recording. And the second they hit the meet line? Everything slows down.
The guys, who’ve been all charm, and pace, and PR polish for the last two hours, settle into something different. Softer. More rooted.
Oz Hunt is kneeling on the floor, signing a kid’s jersey and pointing out his own number like he’s passing a torch. One of the linemen is carefully Sharpie-tagging a plastic football while the kid holding it looks like he might combust from pure awe.
Lily is sitting on Boone’s lap and introducing the younger kids to her Knight, telling them he’s the best player in the whole world—yes, those words exactly.
Skinner’s crouched next to a kid in a Knights hoodie that’s at least two seasons old. He says something I can’t hear, but the kid laughs, and Skinner laughs with him—real, loose, none of that restrained, media-day, half-smile he’s usually pulling.
He looks … real.
Worn in from the day, shoulders relaxed, there’s smudged black marker on the edge of his palm and his hair’s been flattened in the back from where a toddler hugged him with full frosting contact about an hour ago.
I can’t stop watching him.
I pretend I’m checking the crowd flow. I pretend I’m checking my notes. But what I’m really doing is watching the way Skinner kneels to meet these kids eye-to-eye, like he remembers exactly what it feels like to want this badly and wonders if anyone else sees it.
Lexington slides up beside me, just loud enough for her whisper to hit at the exact wrong moment. “So, are we admitting you’re in love with him, or am I writing it down for court records?”
I glare. “Don’t you have a plane to catch?”
“Don’t you have feelings to unpack?”
Before I can hit her with something snappy, the last kid steps away from the table, clutching a signed hat like it’s made of diamonds. The parents are wiping their eyes.
Some of the players have started stretching like they’ve just survived combat. And Lo appears with a stack of thank-you cards and a tray of cider shots for the team.
It’s over.
Four hours.
Hundreds of fans.
A hay wagon.
Tears. Glitter. Dozens of Sharpies lost to the void.
And none of it fell apart.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Skinner looks up then and finds me through the slowly dispersing crowd. His eyes hold for a second. Then he gives me the slightest nod.
Not the media one. Not the PR one.
This one’s just for me.
And it says:You did good.
