Chapter 7
RAINBOWS AND UNICORNS
GRYFF
Great Fucking Britain.
Ugh. I didn't think anything was great about it at all.
Two days after her conversation with her dad and I was still processing the gut-punch realization that she might move to another continent. Not might... could. Would, if she decided her father and Team GB were more important than everything she'd built here.
Including me.
Training camp had officially started, which meant longer days, more intense practices, and the kind of physical exhaustion that should have wiped out any capacity for overthinking personal problems. Instead, I spent way too much time replaying her words during every drill break, every water timeout, every moment when my mind wasn't completely occupied with not getting pancaked by three-hundred-pound defensive tackles.
Three years. The clock was ticking like a damn time bomb.
She could stop playing for Team USA right now, move back to Scotland or England or wherever her dad was coaching the men's team so they could spend time getting to know each other again, as adults.
She'd get to see her father regularly, be part of his rugby world again, rebuild the relationship that distance had complicated.
And in three years she'd be eligible to represent Great Britain in the Olympics. It made perfect sense. It was probably what she should do.
And the thought of it made me want to throw up.
“Kingman,” Coach's voice cut through my spiral. “You planning to join us, or are you just here for the scenery?”
I snapped back to attention, realizing I'd been standing in the wrong formation while the rest of the offensive line had moved to the next drill. DeMarcus Clay was looking at me with the kind of patient amusement reserved for rookies who were clearly having personal crises on company time.
“Sorry, Coach,” I called back, jogging to my position.
“Get your head in the game, rook,” DeMarcus said quietly as I took my stance across from him. “Whatever's eating you, deal with it after practice.”
He was right. I was being unprofessional and unfocused, exactly the kind of rookie mistake that got you benched or cut. But knowing that didn't make it easier to stop thinking about Artie packing up her life and moving six thousand miles away.
The rest of practice was a disaster. I missed assignments, jumped offsides twice, and generally played like someone who'd never seen a football before. By the time Coach blew the final whistle, I was covered in grass stains and humiliation.
I wasn't going to be a starter with this kind of performance. Shit.
Flynn appeared at my elbow as we trudged toward the locker room. “You want to tell me what the hell that was about?”
“Bad day.” Which of course was all caught on camera. Harry was a nice guy, but I wanted to dropkick his camera today.
“That wasn't a bad day. That was you being somewhere else entirely.” He grabbed my arm, stopping me before we reached the locker room, before we had to face cameras again. “Seriously, what's going on?”
I stared at my twin brother, identical in almost every way except for his ability to stay focused when his personal life was imploding.
Flynn had fallen hard for Tempest earlier this year, and being in love had only made his game stronger.
Then again, Flynn had never had to worry about his girlfriend moving to another continent.
I glanced around quickly to make sure Harry and his camera, or worse, Sloane and her questions, weren't going to overhear this conversation. Then I turned off my mic and nodded to Flynn to do the same. He pointed to the little power box and showed that he already had.
“Artie might transfer to Team GB,” I said finally.
Flynn's eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“Her dad wants her to play for Great Britain instead of the US. I think his way of trying to connect to her now that she's not under her mom's thumb. She'd have to stop playing for Team USA now and wait three years, but it's possible.”
“And this affects you how?”
The question was simple, but the answer was complicated in ways I wasn't ready to examine too closely. And Flynn fucking knew it.
“She's my best friend. If she moves back to Scotland or England or wherever, I'll barely see her.”
“Right,” Flynn said slowly. “Your best friend.”
There was something in his tone that made me look at him more carefully. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“You've been weird about Artie since graduation. Even more so since we moved here.”
“I haven't been weird, you're weird.”
“You have. You get this look on your face whenever she talks like she's made of rainbows and unicorn farts, and you practically vibrate with anxiety whenever she's not around.”
What the hell did he know anyway. Maybe Artie was made of rainbows and unicorns. “I'm just adjusting to the roommate thing. Jules is the only girl I've ever lived with before.”
“Right. And it has nothing to do with the fact that you're clearly crazy about her.”
Flynn studied my face with the kind of twin intuition that made it impossible to lie to him. “Gryff. Do you have feelings for her?”
“She's my best friend.”
“That's not what I asked.”
I opened my mouth to deny it, to give him the same explanation I'd been giving everyone for years about how Artie and I were just friends, how we'd never crossed that line, how our friendship was too important to complicate with romance.
Instead, what came out was, “I think I'm falling in love with her.”
Flynn's expression shifted from suspicious to concerned. “How long?”
“I don't know. Maybe always? But definitely since we moved in together.” I scrubbed my hands over my face. “And now she might move to another country, and I realized that the thought of losing her makes me want to set the entirety of the United Kingdom on fire.”
But not the Commonwealth. Canadians were too nice, except when it came to hockey.
“Have you told her?”
The center of my chest went hollow from the inside out. “Are you insane? No, I haven't told her.”
“Why not?”
Because I can't risk destroying the most important relationship in my life with my need to hold her, and pet her, and call her my squishy little strawberry.
Which is not what came out of my mouth. “Because she's dealing with huge career decisions and family pressure, and the last thing she needs is her longtime friend and roommate complicating everything by declaring his undying love.”
Flynn rolled his eyes and looked like he wanted to smack me upside the head. “Is this what I was like before I let Tempest into my heart? Good god. Or maybe the last thing Artie needs is to make a life-changing decision without knowing how you feel about her.”
Before I could respond to that terrifying suggestion, my phone buzzed with a text.
SEAN
Hope you guys are settling in well. Ren and I are planning a proper LA night out this weekend. You in?
Saved by the perfect distraction bell. I stared at the message, remembering what Liam and George had told us about their cruise besties Sean and Ren who'd help us navigate LA's queer scene.
Definitely. Mind if we invite a couple friends? Parker and Freddie are new to LA too.
The more the merrier. Saturday night, Abbey Cat in West Hollywood. 9 p.m.
Flynn read the messages over my shoulder. “Good. You need to get out and explore the city. Make some friends. Kiss your roommate. See where it goes.”
I wasn't really paying attention to him. I was thinking about how excited Artie would be that we'd go out like she'd been telling me we needed to do. “Liam and George mentioned Sean... wait, what? Fuck you. Good try.”
And now I was thinking about kissing Artie. Fuck me.
We both turned our mics back on and headed into the locker room. Sloane was right there, staring at us like she'd heard everything. Or was mad that she hadn't. Crap.
I was probably supposed to invite the camera crew to the night out. Next time. I'd invite them to the next thing.
When I got home that evening, I found Artie in the kitchen making what appeared to be enough stir-fry to feed a small army. She looked up when I walked in, and the smile she gave me made my very core go tight and warm.
“Rough practice?” she asked, taking in my grass-stained appearance.
“You could say that.”
“Well, I made comfort food. And I may have gotten slightly carried away with the portion sizes.”
“This is definitely why I asked you to move in with me,” I said, accepting the plate she handed me. “Your ability to anticipate my emotional needs through food.”
“That and my sparkling personality.”
“Sparkling like a rainbow unicorn fart.”
We settled at the kitchen island, and I watched her talk about her day, practice highlights, team dynamics, a funny story about one of her teammates trying to teach the others how to balance a rugby ball on their noses. She was animated and happy, completely settled into her LA life.
Which made the thought of her leaving even worse. This ability she had to uproot her whole life and then fit in anywhere so easily was astonishing and I hated myself for wishing it wasn't so.
Maybe if I showed her how great life here could be, she wouldn't leave me.
“Remember when Liam and George said they had friends out here to show us around?”
She shoved a giant bite of veggies and noodles into her mouth and nodded.
“Sean texted me today about going out Saturday night. You in, right?”
“Absolutely.” She gave a little double handed raise the roof dance move. “I could use a night that doesn't involve protein shakes and ice baths.”
“We could invite Parker and Freddie too. You know, bring the whole Colorado rainbow mafia with us.”
“Perfect. I haven't seen Parker since graduation, and Freddie texted me yesterday about wanting to explore the queer scene here.”
The casual way she said it, like this was just friends hanging out, like there wasn't any undercurrent of anything more complicated, reminded me that whatever I was feeling, she was completely oblivious to it. And that she didn't have the same feelings even a little bit.