Page 32 of Dream Chaser
“Hold,” he says, voice sharp, cutting through the buzz.
He’s got his phone to his ear, eyes locked on the scoreboard above us.
The announcer calls us again.
“Now entering the field, the visiting team, the New York Knights!”
Nothing.
And then, loud and painful, a record screech rips through the sound system, silencing the crowd in a flash. But just for a heartbeat.
And then … “Enter Sandman.”
Our song. Our entrance.
Cohen yells, “Let’s ride, Knights!”
The bass drop hits, and the tunnel rattles. We’re roaring louder than the track now, shoulders colliding as we surge forward. Smoke and fire, black and gold flying.
We tear onto the field.
The boos rain down like a storm, but they’re giving me the opposite feeling as they intended. I’m fucking pumped.
I scan the sidelines just in time to see Coach Cohen chest to chest with Philly’s coach, both of them red-faced and gesturing wildly. This wasn’t sanctioned. This wasus.
Bricks jogs up beside me, half-grinning, half-snorting. “This one’s gonna fucking hurt.”
My grin stretches too wide. “Fuck yes, it is. We’re going to war tonight!”
When I turn toward the bench again, I see the first entire section above our bench, the visiting bench. Not green; it’s a sea of black and gold. We always have a lot of our Knights Kingdom at away games, but this is ten times the number.
And right in the center of it—Iz. Surrounding her are Lo, Riley, Sydney, Lily, Lyndsey. Lexi, Harper, London, and Mags. Above them are the BV MILFS—great fucking genes with this crew—and yeah, their men. All of them bundled up in dramatic coats and scarves, faces painted, cheering like hell. But it’s Iz I can’t look away from.
She’s laughing at something Lexi says, head thrown back, cheeks flushed. I stare too long, long enough for her to catch me doing it.
She smirks and then … flips me off?
Lexi and Harper start jawing at her, and she only lifts her chin higher, smug and unbothered.
Yeah, that tracks.
I laugh as I turn to take the field for warmups.
We’re barely done with warmups when word gets back that Philly’s sending out six captains for the coin toss. Six. Like it’s some kind of intimidation tactic.
Typically, Bricks and Warren handle that job. QB and oldest team member, captains.
But when Cohen gets the number, he pulls Boone over, even though Boone’s not cleared to play today. Then Hart, Grimes, and … me.
He meets our eyes, one by one. “I’m making you all captains. You walk out there with your backs straight and let ’em know we don’t rattle. Welead.”
Hart just nods. Boone grins like it’s Christmas morning. Grimes slaps my shoulder. And I … well, I square up and head toward midfield with the rest of them.
Out on the field, the coin goes up. Warren calls heads.
One of the Philly captains, a tight end with a shit-eating grin, leans toward Cody. “Didn’t peg you for a top, man. Thought you were the bottom in that fucked-up relationship of yours.”
Cody doesn’t even blink, but his jaw tightens.
