Chapter 21 White Heather for Luck
WHITE HEATHER FOR LUCK
GRYFF
Igrinned, settling deeper into my seat on the plane waiting to take off for Edinburgh.
Three weeks since that night in my room when she'd finally said she loved me, and I still couldn't quite believe it was real.
That Artemis Fraser was mine. That I could call her babe and she'd call me an idiot but in that fond way that meant she loved me.
Artie and Tempest were at the airport in New York getting ready to board their connecting flight. It was going to be a long overnight without her in my arms.
“I gotta go,” she said. “Tempest is gesturing wildly about something involving the duty-free shop.”
“She's going to buy something ridiculous, isn't she?”
“There's apparently a stuffed Loch Ness monster that she claims Flynn needs.”
“He does need that.”
“You're both ridiculous.”
“You love ridiculous.”
“I love you,” she said softly, and my chest went tight the way it did every time.
“I love you too. Text me when you land?”
“Obviously. Try not to let Flynn get you both in trouble on the plane.”
In a few hours, I'd be in Scotland. Meeting James Fraser not as Artie's roommate or friend, but as her boyfriend. The man she loved.
No pressure or anything.
When we landed, the girls were actually waiting at the hotel for us, having spent the morning having something called cream tea, which looked like little biscuits with blobs of sticky cream and strawberry jelly on them with fancy, fragile-looking teacups.
We had a whole day in Edinburgh to help us adjust to the time change, and Artie had a whole itinerary planned for us. It was going to be a blast. Aside from Sloane and her camera crew follow along with us everywhere.
We did our best to ignore them from the castle, a huge hill called Arthur's Seat, and another castle called Holyrood Palace. The only time I let them get close was at the palace's abbey ruins. We did need to give them something.
“Did you guys see that?” I pointed to the entrance to the ruins. “I swear I just saw a unicorn.”
The girls giggled and Flynn joined in. “Wait. Didn't you see the dragon following it in? That unicorn better watch out.”
Sloane and Harry were loving every minute of this. Which hopefully meant she wouldn't be pissed when we ditched her later for dinner. “No way. The unicorn will poke it in the ass with its magical horn.”
“Dragons breathe fire, dude. The unicorn is the one that's toast. Literally.”
“But what if they were in love and that's why the dragon is following the unicorn around like a sweet golden retriever of a monster?” Tempest asked, ever the romance novelist.
“Now that would be a romance I'd read,” Artie said. “The unicorn is Scotland's national animal.”
“Oh, I have one. It's called Defy Me and I've read it at least a dozen times. I brought it to read on the plane, but you can borrow it for the flight home.”
“Ooh,” I stuck my face between them. “Is it dirty, spicy, smutty?”
Flynn flicked his eyebrows up and grinned. “It is. Trust me. I have benefited greatly from Tempest's romance market research.”
Sloane looked horrified and the four of us practically fell down laughing.
That evening we were headed to a pub for dinner, and I was nervous.
Not about weird things like haggis and warm beer.
We were meeting up with Artie's dad. I had met him briefly when we came to Colorado for Artie’s high school graduation but there is difference meeting your friend’s dad and meeting your girlfriend’s father who happened to be a sports legend on his own turf. That was a whole different level.
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.”
He nodded, satisfied. “Then you'll do.”
The next night I was pacing the room Flynn and I had been assigned at the team hotel.
“This is a terrible plan,” Flynn muttered as we waited for the signal from Tyson. We were fully dressed in joggers and hoodies like we were about to rob a bank instead of sneak our girlfriends into our room.
“It was literally your idea,” I reminded him.
“Past Flynn was an idiot. Present Flynn recognizes that Coach will actually murder us if we get caught. Not to mention penalties from the League.”
“We're not going to get caught.” I checked my phone. Artie had texted that she and Tempest were in the lobby, waiting for our go. “Tyson's got this.”
Right on cue, we heard Tyson's voice in the hallway. “Oh shit, Coach, I think I did something to my hamstring at practice.”
“What? When?” That was Coach, immediately concerned.
“I don't know, man, but it's seizing up. You better grab that security guard and help me to the elevator.”
Flynn and I pressed our ears to the door, listening as Tyson led Coach away from our room and the stairwell, his fake injury getting more dramatic by the second.
“Now,” I whispered to my phone.
Two minutes later, there was the softest knock on our door. I yanked it open to find Artie and Tempest in all black like cat burglars, complete with black beanies.
“Are you wearing tactical gear?” Flynn asked.
“It's called commitment to the bit,” Tempest said, pushing past him. “Also, your hotel has terrible security. We just walked right in.”
But I wasn't listening because Artie was in my arms, and she smelled like strawberries and home.
“Hi,” she whispered against my chest.
“Hi.” I pulled back to look at her. Three hours apart shouldn't have felt like three years, but it had. “Missed you.”
“Missed you too.”
“You guys are gross,” Tempest announced, already sprawled on Flynn's bed. “But also, Tyson deserves an Oscar. We could hear him from the elevator talking about muscle spasms and his grandmother's arthritis.”
“He's really going for it,” Flynn agreed, sitting next to Tempest. “Think he'll actually get checked by medical?”
“Nah, he'll miraculously recover right before—“
A knock on the door made us all freeze.
“Room check,” Coach's voice called out.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I hissed. “Into Tyson's room, go.” Hopefully Ty's roommate was fully dressed.
Thank god we'd gotten the adjoining and made a plan B especially for a situation like this. Which was, of course, all Tempest's idea. She was the brains of this operation. The rest of us were the muscle.
Artie and Tempest dove for the door while Flynn and I tried to look casual, which was impossible because we were both fully dressed, instead of in bed asleep like we were supposed to be.
I opened the door, trying to look sleepy. “Hey, Coach, didn't you already check our room?”
He looked at us suspiciously. “Yes. I did. And now I'm doing it again.” He walked right in and even looked in the bathroom and under the beds.
Coach stared at us for a long moment and walked toward the adjoining room door. We were so busted. Then DeMarcus Clay appeared behind him.
“Coach, Tyson's asking for ice. Kid's really worked up about his hamstring.”
Coach sighed. “Fine. You two better be asleep in ten minutes. Big game tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” we said in unison.
The door closed, and we waited a full thirty seconds before the door between rooms creaked open.
“Is it safe?” Artie whispered.