Page 136 of The Goat in the Bedroom
“Guess we're staying a while then,” I laughed.
“Guess we are.”
And honestly? Surrounded by this beautiful chaos, there was nowhere else I'd rather be.
Even if Vincent Van Goat was currently throwing up car keys on the lawn.
BOWLS AND BARBEQUE AND BABIES. OH MY
GRYFF
New Year's Day in Pasadena, and it looked like the entire DSU student body and thirty years of alumni had showed up for the Flower Bowl. Purple and gold bedazzled everything, turning our side of the stadium into something straight out of our old stomping grounds. The mountains in the distance were snow-capped despite the California sun, and the whole scene felt like some kind of fever dream where Colorado and California had merged into one perfect football moment.
“Is this what tailgating is?” I asked Artie, watching Dad set up a full grill operation in the parking lot. “Because this seems excessive.”
She laughed, handing me a beer at nine in the morning like that was totally normal. “Welcome to the other side of game day, Gryff. The side where you get to actually enjoy the pregame instead of sitting in meetings watching film.”
“I watched film before games by choice,” I protested.
“Of course you did.” She was wearing one of my old Dragons hoodies, and seeing her in my college colors still did things to my chest I couldn't quite name. “But now you get to experiencethe fine art of grilling breakfast burritos off the back of a pickup truck while discussing why Bay State doesn't stand a chance.”
“Bay State has Fox Daws,” Flynn said, appearing with Tempest. “That guy's an actual movie star who happens to play football. We met him at the combine doing some research for a movie.”
“He was cool,” I admitted, remembering the ridiculously photogenic tight end who'd somehow balanced Hollywood and college ball. “Weird that Tyson took you to see his movie that one time.”
Artie's face did something complicated at the mention of Tyson. “That was a lifetime ago.”
“Good lifetime or bad lifetime?” Tempest asked, stealing bacon from the grill.
“The kind of lifetime that led to this one,” Artie said, grabbing my hand. “So ultimately good, even if the journey was circuitous.”
“Circuitous,” Flynn repeated. “Someone's been reading Tempest's romance novels.”
“Someone's about to get tackled into that cooler,” Tempest threatened.
“Think Isak will get any playing time?” Flynn asked, tossing the football to Declan.
“Doubt it,” Declan said, catching it easily. “Seth Glass has been solid all season.”
“Yeah, but he's been dealing with bruised ribs since the conference championship,” Chris added, jumping into the impromptu game. “Saw him getting extra treatment all week in the sports blogs.”
“Isak's ready if he gets the chance,” I said, catching Flynn's pass. “Kid's been preparing for this his whole life.”
“Being ready in the backyard with us and being ready for the Flower Bowl are different things,” Hayes pointed out.
“No, they're not.” I threw a perfect spiral to Chris. “Football is football. The field's the same size, the ball weighs the same.”
Dad's phone rang, and he stepped away from the grill to answer. “Everett? Why aren't you—Slow down, son.”
We all stopped throwing to listen.
“Braxton-Hicks,” Dad said calmly into the phone. “It's practice contractions. Penelope's fine... Yes, I'm sure... No, you don't need to go to the hospital... Everett, breathe.”
“Is Pen okay?” Chris called out.
Dad held up a finger, still talking. “Son, I've been through this eight times. She's thirty-two weeks, some Braxton-Hicks is normal... Have her drink water and lie on her left side... Yes, that's why you're hosting a watch party instead of flying here.”
He paused, listening, then chuckled. “Everett, when it's real labor, you'll know. Trust me... Now go take care of your wife and stop panicking. We'll FaceTime you when Isak gets in the game... IF he gets in the game... Love you too.”
