Chapter 26
HOLLY JOLLY KINGMANS
ARTEMIS
“Fraser! Get your ass over here.” Coach Maher's voice carried across the pitch.
I jogged over, still breathing hard from our final practice before Christmas break. My teammates were already gathering, and I could see Gryff and Flynn setting up something behind Coach.
“What's going on?”
“What's going on,” Coach said, grinning, “is that someone forgot to mention they were ready to make a certain announcement this week.”
Gryff and Flynn pulled out a massive banner that read “TEAM USA BOUND” with my number and a truly terrible photo of me from my first practice where I'd face-planted in the mud.
“Oh my god, you guys.”
“Our girl's going to the Olympics,” Adrianna, our fly-half, shouted, and suddenly I was at the bottom of a pile of celebrating teammates.
“Can't... breathe...” I gasped, but I was laughing.
When they finally let me up, Coach handed me an unoffcial-official Team USA Rugby jersey with my name on it. “Came by special delivery this morning. I wanted to make sure you had it for Christmas.”
I held it up, and my throat got tight. Fraser. Number 15. Team USA.
Of course nothing would be official until a few months before the actual Olympics. But I was committed to Team USA and would do everything I could do to support the team win or lose.
We took about a million and two pics and I posted a slideshow of the announcement to my shiny new InstaSnap.
Parker had made me do it, and for the most part posted content for me.
If she wasn't such an IT genius, she'd be a great branding and marketing guru.
I was already at a couple thousand followers and it grew every day.
She said I was bound for sponsorships and a Sportsy award.
Just a few moments later, my phone buzzed with a call from my dad. I'd meant to call him before making the decision public, but team excitement and the twins shenanigans got the better of me.
“Hi, Dad.”
“So. Team USA.” His voice was carefully neutral with that Scottish rumble.
“Team USA,” I confirmed.
There was a long pause. “Your mother said this would happen. Said you were too American now.”
“Dad—“
“I'm proud of you, Artemis.” His voice cracked slightly. “Disappointed, aye, but proud. You've chosen your own path. That takes courage.”
“I'll still see you at international matches,” I offered. “When we destroy Scotland.”
He barked out a laugh. “Cheeky girl. We'll see about that.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, hen. Give my best to that boy of yours. He's good for you.”
He was good for me and good to me. He was so much more than I ever thought I'd find in life.
A few hours later, I was standing in our driveway watching the chaos of preparing to road trip home with a whole menagerie unfold.
“Vincent, No,” Gryff lunged for his goat, who had somehow already escaped the trailer and was making a beeline for Mrs. Bender's prized succulents.
“I told you we should have sedated them,” Flynn said, holding Burrito Petito's lead rope while the donkey tried to eat his shirt.
“You can't sedate animals for a road trip,” Tempest said, easily loading her suitcase around Burrito's protests. “That's not how sedation works.”
“How does a donkey have this many opinions?” Flynn asked as Burrito tried to eat his hair.
Holly Goatlightly chose that moment to jump out of the trailer and join Vincent in the succulent massacre.
“Get the goats,” Jules shouted, running after Holly while filming everything on her phone. “This is definitely going on the family chat.”
“Our neighbors are watching,” I told Gryff as he carried Vincent back to the trailer.
“Our neighbors have been watching since the day we brought these demons home,” he corrected. “Mrs. Bender has the succulent specialist at the nursery on speed dial now. With my credit card on file.”
Sure enough, Mrs. Bender was on her porch, phone in hand. She waved at me. “Tell your family I say Merry Christmas. And thanks for the new Christmas cactus you just bought me.”
It took forty-five minutes to get everyone loaded. The fancy livestock trailer we'd rented was basically the Ritz Carlton of animal transport. Three hundred and sixty degrees of padded walls, climate control, even a camera system so we could monitor them from the car.
It was basically Battlestar Goatlactica with all its high-tech futuristic farm animal monitoring systems, Captain Adonka at the helm of course.
“Road trip,” Jules called out, claiming the whole middle row of the SUV. “Dibs on DJ duty.”
“Absolutely not,” Flynn said immediately. “Driver picks the music, little sisters shut their pieholes.”
“My taste is eclectic.”
“Your taste is chaotic.”
Three hours into the drive, we stopped at a massive truck stop near Barstow to water the animals and grab food. I was walking Holly on her lead, trying to convince her that the garbage can was not food, when I heard squealing.
“Oooh, look, aaaahhh.”
I turned to see three women, probably in their thirties, rushing toward us.
Gryff immediately stepped forward, straightening up with his classic celebrity smile. Flynn did the same, ready for fan interaction.
The women ran right past them.
“You're Miranda Milan,” one of them shrieked, grabbing Tempest's hands. “I've read every single one of your books. 'Much Ado About Pucks' changed my life. Being able to see myself represented in a book was amazing. Is it true FlixNChill is adapting the whole series?”
“And holy shit,” another one said, turning to me. “You're Artemis Fraser. We just saw your Team USA announcement. That photo in the jersey was everywhere.”
Parker really was a genius.
Gryff's mouth fell open. Flynn looked like someone had just told him Santa wasn't real.
“We're obsessed with your Shakespeare sports retellings,” the first woman gushed to Tempest. “The way you made Taming of the Shrew into a hockey romance? Chef's kiss.”
“And we follow women's rugby religiously,” another explained, turning to me. “My daughter plays at university level. She's obsessed with you.”
“Can we get a photo?” the British one asked, then looked at me with mock severity. “Even though you betrayed the Commonwealth for the Yanks.”
“The Yanks have better weather,” I said, and she laughed.
“Fair point. California's corrupted you then.”
We took about fifteen photos while Gryff and Flynn stood to the side, holding the animals like very confused farmhands.
“Are these your... boyfriends?” one woman asked, barely glancing at the twins.
“That one's mine,” Tempest said, pointing at Flynn, who perked up.
“Oh, like in 'Twelfth Night Lights,” the woman squealed. “The twin football players. Did you base those characters on them?”
“Maybe a little,” Tempest admitted, and Flynn preened until she added, “Though I made them more interesting in the book.”
“I'm actually—“ Flynn started.
“Could you take a photo of us?” the woman asked, handing him her phone.
Jules was absolutely dying of laughter in the background, recording everything.
“This is definitely going in the family chat,” she wheezed. “Flynn getting treated like a photography assistant is my new favorite Christmas gift.”
After the women left, gushing about how they'd be watching both of us in our upcoming seasons, Flynn stood there looking bewildered.
“Did we just... not get recognized?”
“You got recognized,” I said sweetly. “As the guy holding the donkey.”
“I'm a professional football player.”
“And I'm sure that's very nice for you,” Tempest patted his cheek. “Now help me get Burrito back in the trailer.”
The rest of the drive was mostly Jules playing increasingly chaotic music while coordinating puppy logistics via text. Apparently, the puppy, a tiny version of the dog we'd all grown up with, was currently with the neighbors and would be snuck over after Bridger went to bed.
“Isak has detailed instructions on the super-secret sneaky plan to get the puppy into the garage including a temporary soundproof doghouse made out of egg cartons,” Jules reported. “There are drawings and everything.”
“Of course there is,” Gryff laughed. “Kid's nothing if not thorough.”
We pulled up to the Kingman house just as the sun was setting. The whole place was lit up like a Christmas wonderland, lights on every surface, an inflatable Santa that was definitely new, and what looked like a reindeer made entirely of old practice equipment with a flat-football for a head.
“Did Everett make that?” I asked.
“Every year someone adds a new addition,” Gryff confirmed. “Last year it was the Christmas lobster.”
“The what?”
But before he could explain, the front door burst open and the entire Kingman family poured out.
“My babies,” Nana called out, already in full grandmother mode.
“About time.” Chris shouted. “We've been tracking your location for the last hour.”
Penelope waddled out behind Everett, looking massively pregnant and radiant. “If this baby comes early because of excitement, I'm billing all of you for the ambulance.”
“You look like you swallowed a basketball,” Jules told her.
“Two basketballs,” Penelope corrected. “Baby Boy is enormous. Gets it from your brother.”
Everett grinned like the snake that caught the canary.
The next few minutes were chaos filled with hugs, luggage, and then the animal reveal.
“You brought a whole farm,” Bridger said, staring at the trailer.
“It's just two goats and a donkey,” I said.
“That's a farm, sweetheart.”
Vincent immediately escaped again and made friends with the hockey stick reindeer.
Holly tried to eat the inflatable Santa.
Burrito Petito went straight through the back gate and to the row of herbs like they were snacks planted especially for him.
To be fair, Bridger had built a paddock in the backyard when Flynn was trying to win Tempest's heart.
“First Christmas in fifteen years without a game,” Dad announced once we were all inside. “I don't know what to do with myself.”
“We could watch football,” Isak suggested.
“Absolutely not,” came the unanimous response.