Page 90 of Dream Chaser
Cooked
Izzy
The bell above the door jangles once more as the door swings shut behind him, and the moment it does, silence settles.
Thick.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
I don’t look at my parents. I can’t—not yet. I know that if I do, if I meet my mother’s perceptive eyes or catch the crease of concern on my dad’s forehead, the entire dam will crack wide open.
Instead, I busy myself with Wile, scratching behind his ears as I fight the burn creeping up the back of my throat.
“You all right?” Mom’s voice is soft.
“I’m fine,” I lie, of course. “Just tired. It’s been a week.”
Dad clears his throat. “I was talking to Luke before I saw Griffon and asked him to come on over,” he says slowly, like he’schoosing each word with care. “You girls are concerned the shit going on with the team might not be about the game at all.”
“Of course it’s not,” I mutter. “There’s no way the league I grew up watching and loving would allow the game to be played like that.”
“I’d rather it be the lea—” Dad stops before finishing and rubs the back of his neck. “Fuck, I don’t even know.”
“That’s the thing—we don’t know.” I take a sip of coffee then set my mug down, repeating what the girls and I talked about earlier. “Until then, we stay sharp and live. Not like this is our first rodeo.”
“Hopefully, it gets sorted before next season starts,” Dad says.
“I just hope …” I pause. “I don’t even know how to say it, but?—”
Mom reaches over and takes my hand. “That everyone stays safe.”
I nod and squeeze her hand. “Yeah, for sure.”
Mom tilts her head. “If there’s anything else you want to talk about, something you might just want someone to listen?—”
“I’m not hiding anything,” I snap then immediately soften when I see her flinch. “I’m sorry. I promise. I’m just having a moment.”
Dad nods, lips pressed tight, like he knows there’s more I’m not saying but won’t push.
“You are allowed those, Izzy,” Mom says with all the love in the world, and I feel like an asshole.
“I should probably get going. The girls will be there before I know it.” I push back in my seat.
After a hug and, of course, the I love you, I head to the door.
“Come on, Wile,” Dad calls, already walking toward the door behind me.
I open the door to the Jeep and expect Wile to be on my heels, but he’s on the porch.
I don’t know why that makes me tear up, but it does.
Dad walks up, toe to toe with me. “Iz, this is still your home, too.”
“Apparently, Wile?—”
“Habit, Iz.” He pops a kiss to the top of my head and yells back to Mom, “Gonna go measure the doggie elevator.”
