DYLAN:Tasted like a forgotten sock in my gym bag.
JAKE:Rookie mistake.
CHASE:It’s full of goodness.
DYLAN:Yeah, and I’m now full of regret.
Jake and I are still laughing over Dylan’s message as we step out the doors of Stormhawks Park, the state-of-the-art training facility that has everything the team needs to keep us fit and healthy. The place hums with quiet luxury—hydrotherapy pools,cryo chambers, a gym, restaurant, and three full-sized football fields.
There’s no official practice after game day, but the coaches called a few of us in for medical checks, and I never say no to the steam room when it’s not packed shoulder-to-shoulder with my sweaty teammates. My muscles ache from the session with the physical therapist and my skin tingles as we step into the cool fall air.
We only make it three steps before Jake stops. “Uh-oh.”
I follow his eyes and bite back a groan. My truck is surrounded by women. One of them has a tee with my face printed on it and another is holding a sign that reads “Marry me, Chase!” in red rhinestones.
My feet stop, and I mutter an expletive under my breath. I thought the hundreds of DMs blowing up my socials this morning was bad enough, but pushing into my downtime feels a step too far.
Jake claps me on the shoulder. “You wanna grab a smoothie and wait them out?”
The thought is tempting, but I shake my head. “Can’t. I’m meeting Serena at Hank’s. Gonna have to brave it.”
The moment I near my truck, phones whip up, cameras flash, recording lights go on, and a chorus of voices call my name.
“Chase, I can make you lucky in love.”
“Pick me, Chase!”
“I made you cookies—chocolate peanut butter, your favorite!”
“Can you be my date to my cousin’s wedding!”
My chest tightens as I force a friendly smile and ease my way through the group of women. I pose for photos, mutter hello, and gently say no to every offer of a date before finally making it into my truck. My hands are tight on the wheel as I pull out of the lot.
I’m used to being recognized. That’s part of being a pro athlete. I accept that fame comes with people taking photos and asking for autographs. But most of the time, when it’s not game day, the people of Denver know this is my home and give me the space to just live. That’s part of why I love being back here. But I never signed up for being the poster boy to every single woman in Colorado looking for love.
Something has to change. And soon.
Twenty minutes later, I’m striding through the doors of Hank’s. The place is a Denver institution with checkered floors worn smooth by decades of boots and sneakers, red leather booths lining the windows, and a counter with mouth-watering pies under glass domes. The coffee is strong enough to wake the dead, and the burgers are sky high.
The tension in my chest eases the second I spot Serena in our usual booth by the window, head bent over a book. Her hair is tied back from her face and she’s biting on her lower lip the way she used to when we’d study together. Correction, Serena studied. I just waited for her to finish so we could hang out. Then she looks up and smiles, and I’m hit with a thousand memories of our friendship.
Back in third grade, Serena was the first person I ever told about being abandoned by my mom after she left me on her sister’s porch at Oakwood Ranch. And she was the first person I confessed to about how much I missed my adopted dad, Harry. I’d idolized that man, loved him more than anyone else on earth. When he died in a freak horse accident when I was seven, it ripped my heart out. Serena is the only one who knows how hard I struggled to grieve. Sometimes it felt like my grief didn’t count the same way Mama’s, Dylan’s, and Jake’s did. Like I didn’t have the right to grieve as much as they did.
Even now, Serena’s the one I talk to when I think about trying to find my mom, and how much it terrifies me. Serena’sbeen there for all the heavy stuff, yeah, but she’s also been there for everything else. Our annual trips to the Denver Fall Fair the last Friday of October, seeing who can win the biggest stuffed toy and riding the Ferris wheel just before closing time. As kids, our lives revolved around games of truth or dare that ended with us doubled over in laughter. Sleepovers with ghost stories whispered in the dark, that became sneaking out to parties and covering for each other. We’ve weathered dating disasters, breakups, scraped knees, and hangovers. And through it all, Serena’s been the constant.
She closes her book as I slide into the opposite booth. “Did you know mountain lions eat up to thirty pounds of meat in a single meal?”
“Hi to you too,” I chuckle. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you’re still on your ‘facts no one asked for’ kick.”
“Oh, I am. You’d thank me if a mountain lion ever wandered onto the ranch.”
“I’d be too busy running the other way to thank you,” I throw back.
“Coward.”
“Realist,” I counter, grabbing a menu even though I already know what I want. “Same as always? Burgers and fries?”
“Plus, onion rings.”