Page 58 of Dream Chaser
And then I see them—my Knights all hanging out the windows like a high school football team that just won state, fists pumping, mouths open in laughter and shouts. Boone’s holding Lily, who is waving with a smile as big as the winter sun. Bricksthrows mini foam footballs into the crowd, and Hunt has his entire torso halfway out a window, palms raised, pumping up the crowd.
I try … and fail to avoid scanning the windows, not wanting to make last night seem like it was a big deal to me, because, aside from his massive dick, it truly wasn’t. And then I see him.
He’s not hanging out the window. He’s sitting back, hat low, jaw tight. But when he spots me on the sidewalk in front of Blue Valley Pub, he sits up straighter. Our eyes lock. And for a second, the rest of the world fades away.
I don’t smile. I can’t.
His expression isn’t playful.
He looks pissed. Like I am alone in crossing the line. Like he regrets it. Like all the things I knew could happen … did.
And then he’s gone.
“You don’t have to move everything in one day,” Mom says, trying to play it off as humor as she helps me pack up a few boxes to take to the apartment, or as Lexi insists I call it, a flat.
“I know, but I can’t sleep without my good pillow, my backup phone charger, my lavender sleep spray or, apparently, three different oversized hoodies I’ve convinced myself are emotional support garments.”
We move downstairs to the kitchen, and I pillage through the mug cupboard, because yes, we need a whole cupboard for all of my mugs.
“Found it,” I say as I pull out my Blue Valley Saints field hockey mug from senior year when we won state.
Mom shakes her head. “That mug’s chipped.”
“It holds exactly twelve ounces of magic. And the chip gives it character.”
“Don’t you want to go shopping and make it your own?” Dad asks as he walks by, carrying the box of bedding from my room.
“I want to find little pieces that are perfect, but not all in a day, maybe not even a year,” I admit.
“You sure you want to do this tonight? The girls and you made plans for tomorrow,” Mom reminds me.
I shrug and admit, “One night alone to get a feel of the place.”
“I totally get that.”
I look down at my feet where Wile is lying.
I squat down and scratch behind his ears. “I wish you could still do the stairs.”
Dad laughs he comes back into the house. “That place has a dumbwaiter that’s motorized. Big enough to bring up a hundred pounds of books all the way up to the third floor.”
“Jake”—Mom shakes her head and laughs—“leave poor Wiles alone.”
By some miracle—and the promise of jerky—Wile takes to the ramp we use to get him into the Jeep when he has to go to the vet that Dad built and gets into his own personal elevator that Dad assured me worked just fine—he used it to send up tools. It’s a little steep, and his back legs wobble more than I’d like, but he makes it to the top landing with all the dignity of a dog who once chased down the sled Dad was towing me around on behind his snowmobile to “save me.”
I scratch behind his ears and kiss the top of his graying head. “You did good, old man.”
I give him another treat before shutting the little door, saying a prayer, and pushing the button for the second floor.
I’m halfway to turning toward the stairs when someone knocks.
Three quick, solid thuds.
I frown. Lexi and Mags weren’t supposed to come tonight, but they must have sniffed out my little white lie.
“Shit,” I grumble, wiping my hands on my jeans as I cross to the door. I throw it open mid-sigh, already preparing an apology and acting like I was just too excited to wait.
But it’s not them.
