Page 102 of The Goat in the Bedroom
Artie must have changed outfits five times before we left for her hotel.
“It's your dad,” I pointed out. “He's seen you covered in mud and blood from rugby.”
“That's different. That was rugby Artie. This is please approve of my boyfriend Artie.”
“Is that a different person?”
“Yes. She wears nice sweaters and doesn't swear as much.”
I pulled her in for a hug. “Hey. It's going to be fine. He's going to be so happy to see you.”
“What if he's not? What if he's weird about us? What if…”
Such a worrier. Just like her mom. Not that I'd ever say that to her. “What if he's just happy for us?”
She laid her head on my shoulder. “I know.”
“Just... trust me. It's going to be okay.”
James Fraser was a tall, broad man with Artie's same sharp blue eyes and stubborn jaw and slightly crooked nose. His size and stern look made him naturally intimidating but when he saw his daughter his whole face softened and a warm smile bloomed there.
“There's my girl,” he said, and his voice was rough with emotion.
Artie made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and threw herself into his arms. I stepped back, giving them space, but James looked at me over her head.
“Good to see you again, Gryff,” he said.
“You too, sir.”
“Bridger has kept me informed of all your successes, congrats.”
Artie pulled back, looking between us. “What?”
James smiled, the same crooked smile I'd seen on Artie's face a thousand times. “Did you think I wouldn't keep tabs on you, hen? Bridger Kingman and I have been having monthly calls since I met him at your graduation.”
“You... what?”
“Your mother wouldn't ever tell me anything beyond that you were fine, but Bridger understood what it was like for a father to worry.” He looked at me again. “He said you were the one who made sure she had a family every holiday. Made sure she wasn't alone.”
“Dad...” Artie's voice was small.
“I know I haven't been the father you deserved,” James continued. “But I've never stopped worrying about you. And knowing you had the Kingmans, had Gryff...” He extended his hand to me. “Thank you for taking care of my daughter.”
I shook his hand, my throat tight. “She takes care of herself, sir. I just... make sure she doesn't have to do it alone.”
“Aye, that's what Bridger said you'd say.”
“I can't believe... all this time...” Artie looked between us, then at her dad. “Why didn't you tell me?”
“Would you have let them help if you knew I'd asked?”
She was quiet for a moment. “Maybe. It's not like they gave me much of a chance. They kind of make everyone feel like family.”
Over dinner, the awkwardness faded. James told stories about Artie as a kid that had her covering her face in embarrassment. He asked about my family, about football, about our life in LA. And when Artie excused herself to the bathroom, he leaned forward.
“She deserves someone who sees her for exactly who she is. Not too much, not too strong, not too anything. Just... Artemis.”
“That's all I've ever seen.”
