Page 23 of The Goat in the Bedroom
All limbs accounted for. Plus some awesome new bruises to show off.
Can't wait to see the damage. BBQ for dinner?
Perfect. I'm starving.
The drive home through LA traffic should have been annoying, but I was still riding the high from practice. Everything was falling into place. The training, the team dynamics, the possibility of making the Olympic roster. For the first time since graduation, I felt like I knew exactly where I was heading.
Gryff's truck was already in the driveway when I pulled up, which meant he'd beaten me home from his own training. The house looked different than it had this morning. There were boxes stacked by the front door and the sound of music drifting from inside.
I found him in the living room, surrounded by packing materials and what appeared to be half the contents of a store.
“Please tell me you didn't buy more furniture,” I said, dropping my gear bag by the door.
“I didn't buy more furniture.” He held up his hands innocently. “I bought decorative accessories.”
“Gryff.”
“And maybe one chair. But look at this stuff, it's all from that list you made.”
He was right. Scattered across the coffee table were the throw pillows I'd ordered, a set of ceramic bowls in colors that actually matched, and several picture frames that didn't look like they'd come from a hotel liquidation sale.
“You went shopping,” I said, impressed despite myself. “Voluntary shopping. For home decor.”
“I may have gotten excited. I wanted our place to feel like home.”
Our place. The casual way he said it made something warm settle in my chest. I'd never had an “our place” before, never had someone who wanted to make a space feel like home with me.
“Well, let's see what we're working with.”
For the next hour, we unpacked and arranged, arguing good-naturedly about pillow placement and whether the ceramic bowls belonged in the kitchen or on the dining room table as a centerpiece.
“These are perfect,” Gryff said, holding up a throw pillow shaped like a sleeping sloth wearing a tiny knitted hat. “Completely ridiculous but perfect.”
“I told you they were aggressively cute.”
“Where did you even find this stuff?”
“The internet is a magical place full of adorable animal-themed home goods.” I was arranging the picture frames on the mantel, trying to figure out the best configuration. “Speaking of animals...”
“Oh no.”
“Look at this backyard,” I continued, gesturing toward the sliding glass doors. “It's huge. It's practically begging for a dog. Or two dogs. Or maybe a llama?”
“We are not getting a llama.”
“But look how much space we have. And the neighbors can't even see into the backyard because of that fence. It's like the previous owners designed it specifically for pet ownership. And don’t you think Burrito Petito needs a friend?”
Gryff sank onto the couch and buried his face in his hands. “Artie, we just moved in. We're both starting new careers. The last thing we need is to add pet ownership to the chaos.”
“Or,” I countered, settling beside him with my laptop, “the first thing we need is something to make this feel like home. Something that depends on us and gives us a reason to come back here every day.”
“We already have reasons to come back here. Like food and sleep and not being homeless.”
I opened my laptop and navigated to the website I'd been browsing during lunch breaks. “But look at these faces.”
The screen filled with photos of dogs and cats available for adoption from local rescues. I'd been doing research, and LA had an amazing network of animal rescue organizations.
“Artie, that's not fair. You can't just show me pictures of sad animals.”
