Page 56 of Dream Chaser
“You want backup?” London asks.
“I got it. If I’m not back in twenty, assume I’ve been kidnapped by cats and old newspaper ghosts.”
I cut through the alley, my boots crunching with each step as I head toward Blue Valley Publishing.
I reach the back door and punch in the code to unlock it, the one Dad installed when we considered converting the top two floors into short-term rentals but decided against it, since Mom, although saying she was onboard, was clearly forcing herself to be.
I step inside am hit with the familiar scent of paper, ink, and the faint trace of Pine-Sol.
It’s spotless.
The printery room is cleaner than I’ve ever seen it—desks dusted, shelves straightened, even the old linotype machine gleaming like someone took the time to scrub its soul. It’s weirdly quiet, but not in a creepy way. More like … expectant.
I feel a tug in my chest and follow it up the old staircase.
The moment I open the apartment door, I stop cold.
It’s warm.
Like physically warm—the fireplace is going—but also emotionally. The place glows. The exposed brick walls have been cleaned and sealed, the wooden beams above twinkle with tiny lights. There’s a thick knit blanket thrown across a wide armchair and a record player humming softly in the corner. And on the wall above the mantle?
A wooden sign in soft gold lettering:
Welcome Home, Iz.
My eyes sting.
The space isn’t just fixed up. It’s transformed. Modern touches blend with the old charm. The same bones, but with a new heartbeat. It feels like someone knew exactly what this place needed to become. Like they knew what I needed.
They did this … for me.
I wrap my arms around myself and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
My first home.
I sink into the big, light brown leather chair near the window—oversized, buttery soft, and warm from the fire—and that’s when it hits me.
Blue Valley Publishing.
The old building I couldn’t figure out what to do with. I know now. I want it to be the Knights merch shop, sure. But more than that, I want it to become something bigger. Something that gives back.
I want to bring back a weekly paper, only good news. The kind you would buy at a newsstand, if there was still such a thing.
But that’s not all.
I picture the middle schoolers, the high school athletes I know. Those who have the talent but lack the means. Those who might not receive scholarships but deserve to play. Club sports, D3 teams—anything to help them stay in school, stay connected to the sport they love, and get their degrees.
I want the shop to fund that. Not just merch sales, but any profit that comes in goes straight into a scholarship fund. Whatever it takes. We’ll sell the gear, sure, but we’ll also build futures.
When I stand and step to the front window, I see them—kids I know, kids I used to coach, or babysit, or bandage knees for. And I know I’m on the right track.
The door bangs open behind me.
Mags and Lexi come in, breathless and covered in snow.
“Holy shit, it’s a freaking Hallmark movie in here,” Mags says.
Lexi’s eyes dart to the fireplace. “And you’ve clearly already moved in.”
