Page 19 of The Goat in the Bedroom
“And sometimes I get weird about having to do everything myself, even when I don't have to.”
“Artie,” he said gently, “You're not talking me out of this by telling me how weird you are. I already know. I want you therebecause you'll make it feel like home. Even when you try to sneak home a baby goat. It wouldn't be you if you didn't.”
He did already know me well enough to predict my future questionable decisions. He was the only one who did.
“Okay,” I said, and felt everything settle in my chest that had been restless for as long as I could remember. “Let's do this.”
We sat there for a moment, grinning at each other like we'd just solved some major life puzzle. Which, I supposed, maybe we had.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For saying yes.”
“Thank you for asking,” I replied. “For wanting me there.”
I felt lighter than I had in months.
“There they are,” Jules called out when she spotted us. She, Bridger, Flynn, and Tempest were the last ones left. “We were about to send a rescue mission.”
“Just getting some air,” Gryff said easily, but I caught Flynn looking between us with a speculative expression.
“Everything okay?” Flynn asked.
“Everything's good,” Gryff replied, and the contentment in his voice made me smile.
We gathered our things and prepared to leave Cool Beans, and I took one last look around the space where I'd witnessed something more beautiful than I'd ever known family could be like. They'd given me a glimpse of what it meant to belong somewhere, to be chosen and valued and included without having to earn it.
And now I was choosing to build something with Gryff, choosing to trust that some people did stick around, that some relationships were worth the risk of putting down roots.
Somewhere that, just maybe, I could grow too.
I wonder if that big back yard had room for two… or three… or twenty-three baby goats.
ROOKIES RISING
GRYFF
Iwoke up to silence.
Not the comfortable quiet of sleeping in after a game day, but the kind of absolute silence that made me question whether I'd gone deaf overnight. No Everett practicing guitar at six a.m., no Flynn arguing with someone on the phone about protein powder, no Jules singing off-key in the shower. Just... nothing.
Okay, maybe not nothing. The house Chris had bought me was fan-fucking-tastic and in a great location with a big backyard just like at home. But the birds here chirped an unfamiliar song, the sound of the cars outside wasn't the same, and even the ocean breeze sounded different than the mountain winds.
I had floor-to-ceiling windows, but without the mountains to the west, I had no idea which way I was facing anyway.
The smell of coffee drifted up from downstairs, and the tightness in my chest loosened. Artie was up.
I found her in the kitchen wearing one of my old Denver State shirts, which had me pausing in the doorway a minute and staring. She was reading something on her tablet while a piece of toast hung half out of her mouth. Her hair was pulled back in amessy bun, and she had that focused look she got when she was deep in thought about something.
“Your coffee's ready,” she said without looking up. “Made extra strong because you're about to get your ass handed to you by actual League players today.”
“You know it.” I poured myself a mug and settled into the chair across from her. “I'm counting on it. Nothing says welcome to the pros like getting pancaked by a three-hundred-pound defensive tackle.”
“Pictures or it didn't happen.”
“I'm sure there will be plenty of highlight reels of rookies getting squashed into the grass on all the sports channels later.” I'm sure Isak would find every single clip of me and Flynn making fools out of ourselves today and put out a viral highlights reel. That's what he was good at. “What are you studying? It better not have anything to do with accounting. We graduated, remember?”
She finally looked up and grinned. “I may have impulse-bought a dozen throw pillows online because this place is too fancy and needs more personality, and I warned you that I was going to.”
The kitchen already looked more lived-in than it had yesterday. Artie's reusable water bottles lined up by the sink with mine, her vitamins scattered across the counter, a stack of books on the island. Little signs that someone actually lived here.
