Chapter 23
I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE
GRYFF
Coming home from Edinburgh felt like returning to a different universe. One where Vincent and Holly had apparently staged a coup in our absence.
“Oh my god,” Artie said, standing in the doorway of our house.
The living room looked like a goat tornado had hit it.
Couch cushions were on the floor, one of them thoroughly chewed.
Several plants had been knocked over, dirt everywhere.
A roll of toilet paper had been dragged from the bathroom and shredded across the entire space.
And in the middle of it all, Vincent and Holly sat on our coffee table like tiny dictators surveying their kingdom.
“Vincent Van Goat,” I said sternly. “Holly Goatlightly. What did you do?”
Vincent turned his head away from me with such deliberate disdain that Artie burst out laughing.
“They're giving us the cold shoulder,” she said. “We abandoned them for Scotland and this is our punishment.”
Sean appeared from the kitchen, looking frazzled. “They were angels until about an hour ago. I swear. Then it's like they sensed you were coming home and decided to express their feelings through destruction.”
“Where's Ren?” I asked.
“Hiding in your bedroom. Holly ate his shoelaces while they were still on his feet and he needed a timeout.” Sean looked at the destruction. “I was going to clean up, but then I thought you should see what your children are capable of.”
Holly bleated at him reproachfully.
“Don't you sass me, young lady,” Sean told her. “I know you're the one who figured out how to open the bathroom door.”
Vincent hopped off the coffee table and walked over to Artie, butting his head against her leg in what looked like forgiveness. But when I reached down to pet him, he dodged my hand and trotted away.
“Seriously?” I asked him. “You're mad at me?”
He bleated once and went to hide behind Artie's legs.
“I think someone's jealous that you were gone,” Artie said, scooping Vincent up. He immediately snuggled into her arms, shooting me what I swear was a triumphant look.
“Traitor,” I muttered.
Holly, not to be outdone, launched herself at my shins, demanding attention. I picked her up and she immediately started chewing on my shirt collar.
“We missed you too,” I told her.
“So,” Sean said, grinning, “how was Scotland? Did anything interesting happen?”
Artie and I exchanged a look. Everything had happened. We'd defended ourselves against Sloane's bigotry, Artie had chosen us over Team GB, we'd made love for the first time in a way that actually meant everything.
“It was good,” I said.
“Good?” Sean's eyebrows shot up. “You two are practically glowing and you're going with good?”
“Really good,” Artie amended.
“Oh my god, you totally banged,” Sean exclaimed.
“Sean,” Ren called from the bedroom. “Leave them alone.”
“I'm not leaving them alone. Look at them. They're all post-coital and glowy.”
“We're not glowy,” I protested.
“You're extremely glowy,” Sean insisted. “It's disgusting. I love it.”
After Sean and Ren left, with many promises to goat-sit again despite the destruction, we spent the rest of the day cleaning and trying to win back our goats' affection. By evening, they'd mostly forgiven us, though Vincent still insisted on sitting between us on the couch like a furry chaperone.
Monday meant back to reality. Practice was brutal—Coach was preparing us for the Sharks game on Sunday, and the rivalry meant everything had to be perfect. The Sharks were having a good season and beating them would secure our playoff spot.
“Kingman,” DeMarcus called out during a water break. “Your head in the game?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You keep looking at the sidelines. Documentary girl isn't even here today.”
He was right. Sloane and her crew were notably absent, which should have been a relief but somehow felt more ominous.
“Just focused,” I said.
DeMarcus studied me. “Everything good? You seem tense.”
“Everything's fine.”
“Uh-huh.” He didn't look convinced. “Just remember, rook, we take care of our own here. Whatever's going on, you don't have to handle it alone.”
Before I could respond, Coach was calling us back to drills.
That evening, Artie came home from practice looking troubled. She dropped her gear bag by the door and went straight for the couch, where Holly immediately claimed her lap.
“What's wrong?” I asked, sitting beside her.
“Coach Maher wanted to talk to me privately after practice.”
My stomach dropped down to the floor and rolled around. “About Team GB?”
“No. About the documentary.” She scratched Holly's ears absently. “Someone from Sloane's team contacted USA Rugby. They were 'fact-checking' stories about my history.”
“What?”
“They framed it as background research, but the questions were invasive.” Her voice was tight with anger. “They wanted to know if I'd ever dated women on the team, if my bisexuality affected team dynamics.”
“That's—“
“Not journalism. I know. Coach Maher shut them down, but she's worried. She said they seemed more interested in gossip than sports.” Artie looked at me. “She asked if I was safe.”
“Safe?”
“That's what worried me. The way she said it, like she was concerned about more than just invasive questions.” Artie shifted to face me fully. “She also said two other players on the team were contacted. Similar questions about their personal lives.”
“Sloane's building something,” I said.
“Yeah, but what? And why?”
We didn't have to wait long to find out.
Sunday's game was intense from the start. The Sharks came out aggressive, and Xander was playing like a man possessed, but not in a good way. He was off, making mistakes I'd never seen him make, getting called for penalties that were high school rookie errors.
During a timeout, I caught him looking up at the stadium boxes where the VIPs and press sat. His face was tight with something that looked like fear.
“Rosemount looks like shit,” Flynn said beside me.
“Yeah.”
“You think he's injured?”
“Maybe,” I lied. But I knew that look. It was the same one he'd had in the library when he'd ended things. The look of someone backed into a corner.
We won, barely. 20-17, with a field goal in the last two minutes. The celebration felt hollow, though. Xander had disappeared before the final whistle, not even staying for the post-game handshakes.
“That was weird, right?” Tyson asked in the locker room. “Rosemount just bouncing like that?”
“Very weird,” I agreed.
That night, Artie and I were on the couch watching film from her rugby match when someone knocked on our door. Not rang the doorbell, knocked, quiet and urgent.
Vincent and Holly immediately went into guard-goat mode, which involved a lot of bleating and very little actual guarding.
I opened the door to find Xander standing there, and for a second, I thought I was seeing things. His eyes were red-rimmed, his usually perfect hair was a mess, and his hands were shaking.
“Xan? What—“
“Can I come in? Please?”
“Yeah, of course.” I stepped aside, and he practically fell through the doorway.
Artie stood up from the couch, taking in his appearance. “I'll make tea,” she said simply, heading to the kitchen.
Xander laughed, but it came out cracked. “Tea. Very British of you.”
“Technically Scottish,” Artie called back. “But sit down before you fall down.”
He collapsed onto our couch, and Holly immediately tried to eat his shoelaces, which at least made him smile weakly.
“Xander, what's going on?” I asked, sitting across from him.
He was quiet for so long I thought he might not answer. “She has video. The kind that’s going to ruin my life.”
“Who has… wait, Sloane?”
He nodded, his jaw clenched.
Artie returned with three mugs of tea, setting them down carefully. “What does she want?”
“She wants me to come out. On the show. She wants to make it this big dramatic reveal about the closeted football player finding his truth.” He laughed bitterly. “She said either I give her the story or she makes me the story.”
“That's blackmail,” Artie said flatly.
“She calls it 'authentic storytelling.'” Xander's hands were shaking as he picked up his mug. “She has stuff on other people too. Not just me. The other rookies on the show, the linebacker at Seattle. The center on the Beagles.”
“All queer players?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“Yeah. She's specifically targeting us. She said...” He paused, took a shaky breath. “She said America loves a coming out story. That we're being selfish by hiding who we are. That we owe it to young queer athletes to be visible.”
“That's not her call to make,” Artie said fiercely.
“I know. But she has the footage. And if it gets out...” Xander looked at me. “She’s got something on all of us and… well, fuck, I owe you, Gryff. I’m sure she’s got something on you too.”
The weight of that settled over us. I was already out and open about it. But those questions she’d been asking about Artie and me being straight now had my blood building up a slow, hot simmer.
What Sloane was doing in the name of good television was a violation of the worst kind. I hated that athletes thought they had to hide themselves, but nobody had the right to make anyone come out before they were ready.
“When?” I asked.
“She wants an answer by Friday. Either I agree to her terms, or she leaks everything.”
“We're not letting that happen,” Artie said.
Xander looked at her with something like hope. “We?”
“You're family,” she said simply. “And nobody threatens our family.”
God she was hot when she got all protective.
When Xander walked in here looking like a lost puppy, I thought I was going to have to protect him, try to save him, like I always did with everyone in my life. But Artie had been the one who stood so fiercely by my side, and I didn’t have to do anything by myself anymore.