long way down.

Jen visibly sags in relief when Grayson is immediately supportive. They don’t know what they expected, maybe some anger that they kept it from him or that they just can’t seem to make up their mind. Now that some of that fear is gone, they can’t help but picture themself back on the court with him, living in the same building again, and while he shouldn’t be their deciding factor, it definitely helps sway them. “Thanks,” They murmur and give his hand a squeeze before hesitantly looking to the twins for their reaction, a little startled when they see nearly identical grins looking back at them. Jen usually lets themself get roped into to the whole “practically triplets” thing until moments like this that remind them they weren’t actual born with Jackson and Jane. 

“That’s great!” They say in unison, only reinforcing the twin thing. “You were always so good, it seemed like a waste to give up,” Jane explains with a shrug. “I mean, we get why you did it. You had to find something outside of dad, but I think we’re just glad you found out you still just genuinely like Exy. It’ll be fun to play against you again.” Jackson nods eagerly, offering a simple, “Hell yeah,” in response.

Jen’s chest fills with warmth and they can’t stop the dimply grin from forming. They’re so lucky to have this–a brother, sister, and boyfriend to have their back even when they’re all over the place. “Ya’ll are amazing,” They say shakily, feeling overwhelmed, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” It’s meant for all of them, but they turn their attention to Grayson, because they really should’ve said something after he opened up about the podcast. Relationships are a two-way street. “I’ve been in denial, I guess. I made such a big deal about leaving, that I felt so dumb for wanting to go back, but I miss y’all. I miss playing,” They admit.

“You’d be willing to do extra practice?” Jen asks him in surprise. If that isn’t love, Jen doesn’t know what is. “That’d be great.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Grayson says, his best attempt at reassuring. “Sounds like it’s been a weird decision to make.” And anyway, Grayson can hardly judge anyone for putting off hard conversations, least of all Jen—how many times has Grayson’s willful avoidance of a topic come between the two of them? 

Selfishly, it’ll be nice to have them back on the team if this go this route. They’ll be able to spend a hell of a lot more time together, considering how much time Grayson has to dedicate to practice with the Foxes. They’ll be in the Tower together again, so Grayson won’t have to worry about showing up late for practice if he oversleeps in Jen’s room. Maybe they can even share a dorm, if Jen wants to take that step too. Does it still count as asking someone to move in with you if there’s at least one other person in the dorm too?

Jen’s a better player than he’s ever been anyway and Grayson’s sure that’s still true despite their year off with the Vixens. That doesn’t mean they have to keep the racquet in their hand, of course, but he can see why their siblings are so excited at the prospect of Jen stepping out on that court again. 

The only shame is that Jen’s missing the Championships—but hell, maybe lightening strikes three times. Even thinking it seems like asking for too much, for them to qualify three times in a row, but Claudia certainly seems determined enough to drag them through this all over again. Grayson’s not even surprised to realize that he’s excited by the idea these days. 

He still isn’t the most dedicated player, probably won’t ever be, but he likes Exy far more than he used to. That counts for something, doesn’t it, no matter how long it took him to find this semi-solid footing? “I’m willing to do extra practice for you and you alone,” Grayson teases. “Just don’t tell Grant. I don’t want him getting any ideas about me. I like keeping that bar low with that guy.”

Jen gives Grayson a small smile and squeezes his hand back, grateful that he’s trying to get off the subject of their dad. He loves his brother and sister, and they’re so lucky to have them even when Jacob tries to forbid them from seeing Jen, but there’s still moments like these that make them…uncomfortable. Jen talks it through with Betsy sometimes and tries so hard not be resentful over the fact that the twins still live with him. They’re not always successful. The same thing happened with Grayson when they got so frustrated over his loyalty towards his father, and they’re not even directly involved in that situation. 

“That’s a good idea,” Jane jumps in eagerly. “We did that with our cheer team a few months ago, and it was amazing. You should’ve seen Jackson try to do the splits,” She laughs.

“I was nearly there!” He protests, causing Jen to laugh with them before falling silent in thought. There’s no reason why they should hide their doubts from Grayson and their siblings other than embarrassment, but maybe they can talk them through it. Plus, they feel guilty, considering Grayson had the courage to tell them about the podcast, while they’re the bad grades and thoughts of switching from him. 

“Yeah, the few times I practiced for fun, I still had the hang of it,” They admit sheepishly before dropping their slice on the plate. “Uhm–actually, I’ve thought about maybe going back,” Jen winces when they finally hear it aloud. “I know that probably sounds ridiculous, I know it does, but…I miss it. And I guess I didn’t really think about what I’d lose by switching, like my scholarship and the lighter class load. Turns out I’m not so good at school,” Jen finishes with a weak laugh, averting their gaze to their hands. 

They’ve talked about Exy before, but this is still new—Grayson’s never heard Jen seriously mention wanting to go back. They met as teammates, started their friendship when they shared the court, but Jen’s seemed so much more settled in their skin this year. Happier. He’d assumed that was related to their decision to join the Vixens.

Of course, if they choose to pick up a racquet again, Grayson would support them completely. For a while, he’d wondered if maybe their choice was the best one overall; if Grayson should leave Exy behind too, while he was at it. But he doesn’t feel that  way now. Exy has always seemed like something he shouldn’t want, shouldn’t let himself enjoy too much, especially when he was in the habit of saving every ugly feeling until he could take it out on an opponent. He’s rebuilding himself on the court though, changing the way he plays, and it is helping. Hell, maybe all that time on the bench helped too—gave him a break, so he could appreciate what it was like to actually play. Maybe that’s the case for Jen too, in a much bigger way.

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous,” Grayson reassures them. He doesn’t look over at their siblings yet, but he’s sure Jane and Jackson agree. “And if you do decide you want to be a Fox again, I’m sure Wymack would write out another contract immediately,” he says. Their comment about school doesn’t go unnoticed either, yet another thing they haven’t spoken about. Another thing Grayson hasn’t noticed.

God, is he that bad at this boyfriend thing? He knows the podcast has taken up most of his thoughts lately—and, after his conversation with Jen in Vegas, the anxieties and uncertainties about his own history, his own memories. It’s exhausting, even when they aren’t actively talking about it, and clearly that’s made him self-centered on top of it all. It’s not something he wants to bring up now, in front of their family who he’s only just won over, but Grayson privately resolves to do better. “You and I can always start practicing together regularly. You’d kick my ass into gear and you can see if you still enjoy playing when you have to do it all the time.”

It’s easy to think of Grayson just as his teammate, his smoking buddy, Jen’s boyfriend. It’s not that he forgets about Grayson’s mom, it’s just that he tries not to think about it. He doesn’t like to think about things that are unpleasant, or uncomfortable. And he doesn’t like to think about death. 

They’ve both been shaped by it. Leo was young, too, when he saw it. In this very house, peeking from the second floor landing downstairs, seeing the blood splattered on the wall, pooling on the floorboards, his father holding the gun. Unlike Grayson, it wasn’t Leo’s fault. Unlike Grayson, no one knows about it. This house might have felt like the whole world, but it wasn’t. The only people who knew were Leo and his father, whichever of his father’s more unsavory friends he’d called to help him with the cleanup, to help him cover his tracks.

He wonders what Grayson would say if he told him. That sounds screwed up, maybe. But it’s not like Leo’s going to. 

Sometimes, he wonders if he’ll ever say it out loud. It feels impossible now, it feels impossible here, in this house where it happened, where his father is seeped into every inch. It’s not like they ever talked about it. It hung, silent, between them. Leo’s father knew what he did; Leo’s father knew that he saw. It changed his father; it changed everything. 

Confiding in Grayson, Grayson acknowledging it, even in a small way, had felt good. A small burden lifted off of his shoulders. But that was a small secret, and it was hardly a secret at all, when his high school parties were the stuff of legend, his own imitation of all of those other ones he’d seen. Anything more would be a bridge too far, would be too much. He can’t let his father go enough for it to not feel like a betrayal: his biggest secret, the one he built their lives around keeping.

“That sounds screwed up, too,” he says back, stealing Grayson’s words with a slight grin, though there isn’t much humor in it. “So maybe it’s not that different, if home kinda sucks either way.”

It’s only fair that Leo turns Grayson’s own stupid comment back on him. Grayson’s laugh is dry and pointless rather than genuinely amused, but he doesn’t know any other reaction. Leo’s right, after all. “Great, glad our hometowns have some common ground after all. Must be why we get along so well.”  

He’s never made a secret of his past, but he has clung to descriptions of Dubois that aren’t entirely honest—focused on the ranch and some false version of his dad that he wishes he had.  Defended his hometown and ignored most of the actual people in it. In some ways, it still feels wrong to call it anything else. To call it screwed up, fucked up. 

It’s not like Dubois made him a Fox though. Grayson did that to himself, years before he ever signed Wymack’s contract. It’s the echoes of that gunshot that made him only fit for this team. It’s his mother’s death and the way Grayson’s never learned to let it go. He’s never allowed himself to.

But there’s another version of Grayson too, one he’s only recently let himself to dream of becoming. One where he isn’t so afraid or angry, where he plays Exy because he likes the sport rather than because it’s an excuse for violence. Clearly, that version of Grayson can accept that Dubois was bad for him as a child. That Dubois might still be bad for him, that Jen isn’t the only reason Grayson chose to come back here over winter vacation. 

“Maybe we should go somewhere else over the summer then,” he says, thinking of the way Leo’s handed invites to Vegas out to both him and Jen like it was meaningless. At the time, he’d assumed that meant Leo’s home was a good memory. An easy one, if nothing else. Now, he thinks he’s read that completely wrong. “You, me, and Jen. You got anywhere you’ve always wanted to visit?”

Jen pauses as they reach for a slice, biting back the urge to blurt out that they might be on the court too. They still haven’t even officially made that decision, just considered it. They definitely haven’t told anyone they were thinking about returning to the Foxes. Still, it’s like they already made up their mind before fully realizing it. Jen should’ve told Grayson about everything, but they got distracted over the news of the podcast, and they don’t want to give him more reasons to worry. They take a bite as an excuse not to respond, nodding along to agree with Grayson.

Jackson visibly lifts in his seat, brimming with pride from Grayson’s praise. Their dad was always extra hard on Jackson as the striker of the their mini team. Exy didn’t come as easily to him as it did to Jen, and he’d still be practicing in the yard hours after their dad ended their practice for the night, trying to be good enough for him. Now, he cherishes the validation wherever he can get it. Meanwhile, Jane is the perfectionist of the three. She tries hard, but Exy isn’t her everything, even if she lets their dad believe that. Last Jen heard, she still plans to try and play professionally after she graduates, but she’s also enjoys her major and has a backup plan if no one takes her.

“Thanks. And the Foxes have been amazing this year,” She smiles, a little more genuinely this time, though still sad. “Y’all are always fun to play against. I missed you though,” Jane pats their head in a very big sister way. “Playing against you was weird, but kind of fun. You ever miss it?” She asks casually, though they can tell she’s really interested. She’s been trying to pry more information out of Jen over the phone, but they always find a way to change the subject.

Jen chews their pizza slower, using good manners as an excuse to give nothing more than a non-committal hum and shrug in response. Jackson waves Grayson off as he grabs his own slice, “Don’t worry about it, dude. Our dad gives us an allowance,” He explains before remembering his audience and freezing. “I mean…well, you know.” 

“It’s fine,” Jen answers after swallowing roughly, the pizza less appealing than it was a minute ago. “It’s kind of a secret “screw you” move, right? He bought me dinner.” 

Grayson hardly knows how to talk about family with Jen on a good day, and that’s so much worse when it’s Jen and their siblings in the room. Jen, who doesn’t have a home in Georgia anymore, and their siblings, who still do despite the cost. In some ways, he understands their decisions. Sometimes loyalty to your family isn’t a choice—it’s a requirement. 

But Grayson’s the only child of a man who’s never hurt him the way Jen’s dad did. He won’t pretend his family ties are simple anymore, especially not with this podcast and his own slowly creeping fears about it, but he can’t compare it to Jen’s family either. For Jane and Jackson it’s different. For Jen it’s different. And after what happened with Jen, why does Jacob deserve any kind of kindness at all?

Grayson still takes a slice of the pizza, but he can’t help wishing they’d brought their own food instead now. He understands things are complicated for the Brookharts, but as an outsider to the family, as someone who’s loyal to Jen and Jen alone, Grayson’s feelings on Jacob Brookhart aren’t complicated at all. He follows Jen’s lead as best he can though, pretends to be casual about it for the time being. He does take their free hand in his, squeezing Jen’s hand under the table in his best attempt at silent comfort under the circumstances.

There’s a lull in the conversation and Grayson picks at the pizza for a moment, uncomfortable. “Uh, Jen you were telling me you missed playing the other day, weren’t you?” he says, because it’s not his place to cuss out Jacob right now—as much as he wants to. Exy is a much safer topic. “Maybe we should get Grant and Vivian to do a powderpuff thing. Switch places for a day. I bet you’d still kick ass out there. Like riding a bike, right?”

Emmett glares at Grayson’s hand like it’s a physical affront to his person for a long, long, moment. He doesn’t like Grayson. He never really has. And he’s so drunk right now that his anger is pretty much the only thing he feels when he looks at him. It’snot a good night to be Emmett. Hasn’t been since that damn buzzer sounded and the Foxes fucking lost. He growls and grabs Grayson’s hand. Perhaps a little harder than necessary, but he doesn’t care. He pulls himself up and releases Grayson’s hand almost immediately. The last thing he wants to be doing  is holding Grayson’s hand. Hell, he feels more sober than before. He hates that. He doesn’t look at Grayson when he finally talks.

“I don’t want to be sober.” He stares up at the sky, watching the stars swim just a little bit.  “I want to be drunk. I spent good money to get here. Let’s not ruin that, yeah?” He nods vigorously. “Yeah.” He pauses again, contemplating nothing and everything. The buzz is fleeting now, harder to hold on to than it had been a few moments before. He misses it already. Hates that it’s happening with Grayson of all people.

Emmett huffs as he turns around finally, crossing his arms over his chest trying to warm them up a little. “What are you even doing out here? I didn’t know you gave enough of a shit about me to stop.” He shakes his head.

"What crawled up your ass and died?” Grayson says. Normally Emmett is annoying on a good day, but apparently he’s even worse when he’s drunk. Until tonight, Grayson would’ve said that his tolerance for the other man was higher than it used to be though. He’s trying hard not to pick fights these days anyway and it’s working. Emmett threatens to ruin that streak. 

Grayson clenches and unclenches his jaw, reminds himself that there isn’t any point in all his painstaking attempts to relearn Exy as someone new, someone better, if he unloads everything onto Emmett now instead. And anyway, something is obviously off with Emmett tonight—and as much as Emmett’s right and Grayson doesn't like him, doesn’t waste time worrying about him, he’s not going to make this situation worse for either of them. “Man, and I’m being nice to you for once. Team bonding or whatever.” 

Maybe Emmett doesn’t want a cigarette but Grayson does after this interaction. That’s why he’s out this late anyway, and Grayson pointedly pulls out his pack and waves it in Emmett’s direction to answer his question. “Just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean I won’t stop and make sure you’re not fuckin’ dead on the lawn or something,” he says, more defensively than intended. “So, what. You planning on sleeping out here?”

“Well they should care. Which I know is asking a lot, but — ” He puffs his cheeks, because it’s an old argument he’s had before; it’s dressed differently, and held with someone new, but it follows the same beats. And at the end of the day, there’s nothing he can do to stop it. All he can do it just —- output something better, and hope that people are drawn to his actions than the snarky idiocy of a gossip site.

Sighing, he leans back against his chair, drawing a leg up to wrap his arms around his knee. “Agreed, they could be nastier. Still sucks that’s the positive to take away from it.” Licking his lips, he added, “You know what though, they can sit in their corner and be creepy all they want. At least you all are out there playing well and tacking on more wins. That’s way more than they could ever do behind a computer screen.” 

“You tell them,” Grayson says, half sarcastic. He doesn’t expect the people behind Foxwatch give much of a shit if Noah thinks they should be better. They aren’t better, they’ve proved that time and time again. He feels bad about that a moment later though, and Grayson clears his throat, wonders if he should opt for something more genuine. 

Because in the end, there’s nothing wrong with Noah’s stance—Grayson sure as hell doesn’t expect a lot out of people, but if Noah does then that’s probably a good thing. It lines up better with the Fox mantra anyway, the flashy orange and the overt emphasis on hope and second chances. It used to be obnoxious, until Grayson decided he wanted one of those himself. “Nah, you’re right though,” he says, after a beat. “We’re getting the wins, you guys are putting on the show every single game. Foxwatch is boring in comparison and I’m sure they know that. Just...deep, deep down.”

She doesn’t think she’s ever been anywhere like where Grayson’s describing. While she’d been to the rodeo in Houston, that was as close as she’d come. None of her family vacations were riding horses or playing cowboys, and she doesn’t really feel like she’s missing out. No matter how much she likes the safe, quiet feeling of home, she’s still a city girl at heart: she likes people, she likes opulence. She doesn’t like dirt, empty space, boredom—all the things that she imagines Grayson grew up with.

“You must be losing your shit,” she says, with an amused smile. “Do you like it? Or are you wishing you were back home with your horses?” 

Before everything, Raleigh had been a cheerleader. He childhood had been dance classes, gymnastics, her parents clapping in the audience for all of her recitals—her father had been busy, but he’d made the time for the important things, for her, until suddenly she wasn’t important at all, and he and her mother were gone. On the day that her parents left her, she’d been at cheer practice, and she’d sat out on the curb for hours after waiting for them to show, not knowing that they wouldn’t. That she’d never see them again. 

She loves cheerleading. She stopped, after her parents left. She was too angry to be sweet, to wave her pom-poms and smile. But she’d picked it up again with the Everharts, and it had felt like reclaiming a part of herself: she could be a cheerleader again, and she could be someone’s perfect daughter again. 

But she’s cheered for enough teams to know that most athletes are all the same, whether they’re football players or Foxes. They think the world revolves around their stupid sport, including their cheerleaders. Like they’re window dressing at best, or little more than groupies at worst. And Raleigh loved football, and she likes Exy more than she ever expected or wanted to, but she loves cheering more. 

“You should tell them that,” she says with a laugh. “And you should let me watch you do it. Especially if it’s Grant.” 

“Little bit of both, I guess,” Grayson admits, with a noncommittal shrug. He does still miss home, despite it all, just as he enjoys visiting these new places too. Los Angeles, Las Vegas—corners of the world he wouldn’t have set foot in if it weren’t for the Foxes, if he’s honest. Without this team, he doubts he would have left Dubois. He certainly wouldn’t have come this far or seen this much.

There’s another version of Grayson who said no to Wymack all those years ago. Hell, he almost did anyway. Wymack’s grand pitch had boiled down to I was here for someone else, but you seem like an even bigger cry for help, and Grayson distinctly remembers the underlying message—that Wymack could just as easily take that other backliner instead, that Grayson would have to willingly choose this and choose now before Wymack changed his mind. Grayson had been half convinced he should say hell no on that basis alone, especially when his dad seemed upset by the idea.

But seemed was the key word, because even then, Grayson hadn’t known how to read him. Even then, his dad had left the decision into Grayson’s lap, left him rudderless and unsure what his dad actually wanted from him—and Grayson’s always been afraid that the answer is nothing anyway. Maybe his dad was secretly thrilled at the idea of space, of a five year break from raising the person who’d killed his wife. 

So Grayson signed and promised to come back home as soon as he’d graduated. He’d chosen agricultural sciences for his major like an apology, like that made it worth it so long as he learned something useful for his dad in the meantime. Grayson knows that if his dad had said no back then though, if he’d truly put his foot down, Grayson would’ve listened. He doesn’t think that’s still true. 

He snorts when Raleigh brings up Grant now, their ever-stoic, ever obsessive captain. There’s obviously no lost love there and that’s hardly surprising. Grant is...Grant. Grayson doesn’t have a problem with him, not truly, but he’s almost positive that doesn’t go both ways. Grayson sat out for far too many games last semester. “Yeah, I can try,” he tells Raleigh. “I’m sure he’s inside somewhere if you want to track him down.”

As embarrassing as it is, it’s little moments like these that remind Jen that no matter what happens, they still have their brother and sister. Even if they’re sometimes disappointed that their siblings chose to stay with their dad after Jen was kicked out, they still have a family that has their back–to give the “talk” to their boyfriend, even if it’s unnecessary. 

Jen ducks their head, letting their curls fall in their face, so Grayson doesn’t catch the grateful smile that reaches their lips. They don’t want him to think they’re enjoying the awkward moment, even if they are a little. They don’t know how they expected Grayson to respond to Jackson’s pseudo-tough guy act, but it wasn’t for him to willingly go along with it and take it seriously. They’ll never have a meet the parents moment, and they’re surprisingly okay with that. This is close enough. 

Jackson’s stern face melts away with a big grin as he sets the popcorn on the edge of the bed before getting up to and reaching out to shake Grayson’s hand. “Yeah, dude. That’s all I needed to hear,” He says as he ruffles Jen’s hair, prompting them to bat his hand away. “Well, you stayed firm for a good two seconds there,” Jen laughs just as Jane comes in with in with the pizza, unable to hide the disappointed frown on her face like Jackson managed to. 

“What’d I miss?” She asks when she sees them all standing in the middle of the room. 

“Jackson was just trying to scare Grayson out of hurting me,” Jen snorts before giving Grayson apologetic smile.

“Ignore him,” Jane sighs before holding up the pizza. “Are you hungry? I know it was a long drive. Sorry you came all this way to watch the Ravens win.” 

The awkward conversation is worth it when both Jackson and Jen smile. Grayson can’t hide his relief at Jackson’s response either, and some of the tension in Grayson’s shoulders loosens as Jackson shakes his hand. Even better, it seems good enough for Jane too when she returns and catches the tail end of the conversation. 

Grayson returns Jen’s smile, hopefully reassuring them that he isn’t upset by this turn of events. Far from it. Grayson’s disappointed for the twins and their loss tonight like the rest of the room, but underneath it all, he can’t pretend he isn’t still selfishly thrilled at the idea that they approve of—or at least tolerate—his relationship with Jen. 

Besides: from their brief interactions and Jen’s numerous stories, he likes the twins. He wants them to like him too, as unpracticed as he is in the art of winning people over. Maybe he’s too used to being the cautionary tale, but even this simple approval leaves a warm glow in his chest.

But that isn’t the mood for tonight, not with Jane and Jackson’s sad expressions, so he doesn’t lean into it. “Sorry the Ravens won,” Grayson says to Jane, as they all move towards the small table in her dorm. It would’ve been nice to see the Terrapins victorious, even if it meant the Foxes had to play them again this year. “You two were good out there though,” he says. “Which is really what we came all this way to see. I’m scoping out the competition. Next time our teams play each other, I’m gonna be out on that court,” he jokes, before sitting down. “How much do I owe you for the pizza?”

He leans against the railing, takes the pack from Grayson. Here, smoking feels less like breaking a promise to himself. He’d spent enough days and nights in just this spot, alone and looking out over the city with a cigarette, wondering what happened next—not even thinking that it would be Exy, would be the Foxes. 

He snorts, and it comes out in a puff of smoke. “My dad owned nightclubs,” he says, though that doesn’t quite feel big enough. His dad owned nightclubs, and he rubbed shoulders with celebrities and with mobsters. His dad owned nightclubs, but the parties came back here, too, lines of cocaine snorted off of the tables that Leo ate breakfast on. He couldn’t be kept separate from it. Especially not when he wanted to be a part of it so desperately: he wanted his father’s attention, and the only way to get that seemed to be to enter his father’s world, to grow up too fast. “Nothing about my childhood was kid-friendly.”

Everything his father had is his, now. Or, at least, it was. With the help of lawyers and accountants, he’s sold so much of it off. He didn’t want his father’s empire, when he knew that his father never thought he was worthy of it. He didn’t want his father’s empire, when it might come with his father’s enemies, too. There are still some places with the Duarte name on the deed, but they’re investments, little more. He doesn’t have much to do with them. When he’s at Palmetto, he can pretend that he’s just another college student. Maybe, when he graduates, he can take a more active role—but that doesn’t feel like something he wants to do, just one of the only options he can think of, because Exy doesn’t seem like one. 

“My dad had parties here all the time,” he explains. “Like—strippers, every drug you could name, the works. And, like, I was probably supposed to stay in my room, but if I didn’t, everyone was too fucked up to care.” He doesn’t know why he’s talking. He knows it makes him look pathetic: like everything he is now is nothing more than what he was back then, what he’s always been—just a little boy playing dress-up in his father’s clothes, his father’s life. But it all looks so fucking different to him now, and maybe he wants someone else to see it. He hadn’t thought he was young then, because he didn’t want to be, but he was. And if he bragged about it to all the kids at school he wanted to impress, they didn’t think it was fucked up, because it wasn’t like they knew any better, either, because they were as young and as in denial about it and as stupid as he was. 

He lets out a breath that sounds a little bit like a laugh but doesn’t feel like one, lifts the cigarette to his mouth. Feels a little bad, like he cornered Grayson and started unloading all of this bullshit he didn’t ask for onto him, just because he was unlucky enough to wander into his father’s room, unlucky enough for Leo to like him enough to do it. “It was good practice, or whatever,” he says, and makes an effort—(though it feels like a losing one)—at what he’s so good at: deflecting. “Pretty different from Wyoming, I’m guessing. They ever hear of child labor laws there? Or were you just working the fields morning and night?” 

Las Vegas has its reputation, but so does Leo—he’s the life of the party, ever sociable and charming in ways Grayson can’t be. It isn’t surprising to hear he was raised into that. It is surprising that Leo shares more though: something more honest than Grayson expected. Leo doesn’t simply say nightclubs, he says strippers and drugs. It leaves Grayson free to read between the lines, to assume that everyone being too fucked up to care about Leo meant Leo’s dad didn’t either.

He doesn’t want that to strike a cord. Because Leo’s right; their childhoods were vastly different. For one, Leo’s dad is dead. Grayson’s is alive and well. And far from the description of Leo’s father, Grayson’s dad is quiet. He’s distant. He’s left Grayson wondering where they stand, whether he’s forgiven or forgotten, if either of those is possible. Grayson’s never left his room to find himself lost in glitter and chaos, but he has walked out to his dad quietly drunk, his house silent, his dad refusing to look him in the eye. By now, Grayson has an entire secret life in Palmetto, complete with a partner—and his dad’s never even asked. 

They’ve always done that with one another though. Don’t ask; don’t tell. It didn’t matter how many questions Grayson had before. It does now. 

“Honestly? That sounds screwed up,” Grayson says, useless and blunt, even when Leo tries to laugh it off. Grayson’s been the keeper of Leo’s secret nicotine habit for a while now, but this is different. It’s Leo’s past, and Grayson knows just how fragile that can feel. God knows he’s picked enough fights over his own. It must be worse for Leo, when he’s speaking of someone who’s only a memory now.

Still, Grayson can’t bring himself to agree when Leo calls it good practice. Maybe Grayson’s too sensitive tonight to talk about childhoods. He goes straight into bitter. 

Grayson blows out a mouthful of smoke, shrugs when Leo throws the gauntlet back to him. “Come on, it’s not like I grew up in the 1800s. I helped out on the weekends. Breaks. Whatever.” He could leave it there, but Grayson’s entire personal history is public record anyway. He’s given press duties about it. He doesn’t need to pretend it’s a secret now. “But yeah, it was different. Mostly people cared too much about what I did,” he says. “There’s not a lot of gossip in Dubois, but they had me,” he says, and for once he isn’t sure who the sharp note in his tone is intended for—himself or Dubois or First Degree. Maybe all of the above. “Then again, not a lot of seven-year-olds get charged with murder,” he quips, even though the police called it an unfortunate tragedy, an accident, anything but murder. “So maybe I can’t blame them for being interested.”

Location: Jane Brookhart’s Dorm Date: March 22 Time: Post-Game (closed for @graysonsharpe​) Jane’s side of the room reminds Jen of her room from home, although smaller. She still has the same lilac comforter and accent pillows on her bed, and the same framed photographs. She’s collected some new things since leaving Georgia obviously, but it’s weirdly familiar for being in a dorm in Nashville. As Jane and Jackson work on grabbing snacks from the ensuite kitchen, Jen takes the time to look at the pictures of Jane and her new friends tacked onto the wall. 

They don’t recognize any of them and the realization is shocking enough to make them feel a little dizzy. They used to be so intertwined in each other’s lives that Jen pretty much knew the names of all Jane and Jackson’s friends, their birthdays, their parents names, etc. Jane and Jackson are still like that, while Jen is off in South Carolina, living a completely separate life from them. Tearing their gaze from the walls, they move to stand by Grayson’s side and give his hand a squeeze. “Thanks for coming with me. Sorry, it’s not going to much of a celebration tonight,” They sigh.

It’s not like Jen’s surprised, though they won’t tell the twins that, defeating the Ravens is a rare opportunity, one that the Foxes or Terrapins almost never get themselves. Still, they hoped the Terrapins might get lucky this time. Jane and Jackson are obviously crushed, but they’re still trying to stay cheerful for Jen and Grayson. Hopefully they don’t get the routine “I’m disappointed in you” phone call from their dad. 

Jackson comes back in the room with a bowl of popcorn and grin that looks obviously strained and sad. “Jane’s just heating up a frozen pizza,” He explains before plopping down on the edge of his twin’s bed and grabbing a handful of popcorn. 

“But while she’s gone, I need to have a talk with you, Grayson,” Jackson begins and puts on a stern face that makes Jen roll their eyes. “Last time I saw you my little sibling was crying at the banquet, and while I’m real glad that’s all fixed now, I thought I should let you know that if you ever hurt them again, I’ll kill you,” Jackson threatens lowly, but Jen knows him enough to see how forced it all is. They’re pretty sure their brother has never punched someone in his life, unless it was on the court.

“No, he won’t,” Jen tells Grayson with a breathy, nervous laugh. “He likes to pretend like he’s all tough when we all know you’re really a big softy,” Jen turns to Jackson with a pointed look.

“Uh,” Grayson says, eloquently. Jackson’s speech is only fair, protective big brother act or not. Of course Grayson still remembers the banquet—hell, he remembers both of them, both equally disastrous. Grayson’s fault, both times. He also isn’t sure he fully believes Jackson’s a big softie right now, although he’s certainly less aggressive than Grayson used to be on the court. Grayson was on the bench when they played the Terrapins, and thankfully so, but he’s seen their performance from afar. Grayson doesn’t think Jen’s siblings would’ve been any more charitable towards him if he and Jackson had ever collided on the court. 

It’s nerve wracking to be here, even if he doesn’t for a moment regret coming. Grayson wants to make a good impression this time, to make up for the countless terrible ones he’s made so far. 

And family’s a complicated enough topic between Grayson and Jen already. It was the crux of so many fights in the beginning. Even after their conversation in Vegas, he wonders if Jen still feels like they’re dancing on ice when they talk about his dad. 

“No, that’s fair,” he says, even as Jen tries to smooth things over. “He’s gotta do the talk. Family, right?” Grayson jokes, as if he knows. As if anyone in his family has ever taken this kind of interest in looking out for him. He doesn’t know how the conversation would go, if he told his dad about Jen, but it certainly wouldn’t be like this. 

It’s nice to see though, even if Jackson’s cliche threats are directed at Grayson. Even after everything, Jen’s got their siblings. Maybe their father never protected them, but Jackson will.  

So. Grayson can level with him. He can understand wanting to make everything right for Jen. “It’s not gonna happen again,” Grayson promises. “Trust me, I know I was an idiot.” Of course, he has no idea what’s in their future, especially with Grayson’s own father still waiting in the wings—but Grayson won’t be the person he was at the banquet. He’s not going to walk away from Jen like that again, not when they still want him around. “Are we...good now though?” Grayson asks Jackson, carefully. 

“Ah, nah, nothing like that. Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble for gambling and whatnot. But I’m curious of your opinion.”  

And Grayson freely gives it. Noah leans back against the chair then, hand on chin as he ponders what Grayson shares. “It could be either. It’s like — there’s just no identifying information, right? Not that it’s hard to hide that stuff from online eyes anyways.”

He thinks that someone must know. Perhaps heading up the students that worked in the IT department would be a good idea. He doesn’t know them, but maybe they’d be willing to divulge information anyways. 

Eyes narrowing, he mutters, “The bastards if it is one of them. Honestly, it’s just how low can you go when ‘spilling the tea’ just hurts someone, you know?”

Grayson snorts. “I don’t think anyone on Foxwatch is worried about our hurt feelings.” Noah seems genuinely concerned though, and the way he says how low can you go makes Grayson think Noah actually expects better of Foxwatch. Maybe this is new to him. 

It’s not as though Grayson had experience in college gossip rags before Palmetto—but he thinks he knows something about the people who’d be behind something like Foxwatch. Dubois prepared him well enough for that. 

As much as he hates Foxwatch—and he does, in a way that’s completely mixed up with the way he hates the gossips of his hometown too—he’d still rather someone spread stories about him and Jen rather than stories about his past. “People get bored. It’s a small town. Shitty thing is, with a team like the Foxes, I bet they could be a hell of a lot nastier.”

“Hard to imagine anyone really living here, isn’t it?” She says with a slight smile, looking at Grayson sidelong. It’s hard to imagine them agreeing about much, it’s hard to imagine that they have much in common at all—especially when Raleigh would likely say the same about whatever tiny town Grayson grew up in, if she ever saw it. 

But while maybe Raleigh should be wild cheerleader, and she has been, there’s a quiet corner of her soul that likes the stability she’s found with the Everharts. Who thinks of home as sitting curled up in the window seat in her bedroom with a mug of tea at her elbow and Missy at her feet, two people who love her just a word away. All those angry, bare-knuckled years, that was what she had been missing. A place where she was safe, and loved, and she could be taken care of. Where she didn’t have to be brutal, or angry, where she didn’t have to fight.

She has that now, and she’ll do anything to hold onto it. So many months removed from the fight that got her kicked of her old squad, that brought her the closest to those dark days that she thought were gone than she’d ever been, she feels foolish for letting that one wound to her pride get to her so badly, to put everything she’d built at risk. Not at Palmetto, but with the Everharts, who still don’t know about it, who believe the lies that Raleigh tells them.

But that’s her problem, isn’t it? Nothing seems small to her. There was no such thing as a small insult, a small wound. She still has to fight back against every one. For so long, the Foxes just felt like one big wound, her role on the Vixens a reminder of all her mistakes, everything she thought she’d been able to escape. If she doesn’t feel that way now, it has more to do with the Foxes winning than any real change of heart. 

But it’s nicer, to not be so bitter. She just doesn’t know if it can last.

“Watching our halftime shows?” She says, though she’s sure that Grayson hadn’t been watching the Vixens as much as he’d been watching one particular Vixen. Still, she grins, and her edge to it is teasing, for once, instead of mocking. “That’s sweet. I didn’t know anyone on your team took their head out of their Exy-obsessed ass long enough to realize that anything actually happened during halftime.” 

Raleigh’s from a city too, but Grayson would easily believe that Vegas is unique, even amongst cities, and her comment convinces him of that. “Now imagine you grew up somewhere less than 1,000 people, and look out at that skyline,” Grayson says. “Maybe 2,000 on a good day. In the summers we get all those tourists,” he adds, because it’s only fair to his hometown. Of course, even there, Dubois could never hope to match Las Vegas. Their tourists are spread out anyway—they want hike, fish, go on tours and horseback rides. Hell, sometimes they even want to work, and his dad will bring one on as a temporary, usually useless, ranch hand. 

Grayson’s never been able to wrap his head around it. He loves that town because it’s his home. Sure, he’d love the mountain ranges and the animals either way, the breathtaking views of Wyoming, but he can’t say he’d feel the same about Dubois itself if he were a stranger. Those people pay money to live out some hollow version of Grayson’s life though. They write poems and paint the mountains. They pretend they’re Butch Cassidy. When they leave, they never understand the restlessness and dust and stagnation of Dubois.

"Shocking, I know,” Grayson deadpans. He can’t stop the small smile that accompanies it. They both know why he makes it a point to watch the halftime shows, but Raleigh’s charitable enough not to call him on it. Her comment is a fair one either way—the Foxes are insular at best, consumed with themselves and Exy at worst. Grayson isn’t immune to the Championships fervor this time, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be one of those Foxes who loves this sport with all they have. He used to be jealous of that passion. He used to worry he’d never care about anything that much. 

These days, Grayson’s fairly certain caring too little has never been his problem. He cared enough about Dubois and his family to let it consume everything—on so many levels, he still does. He’s only expanded his life; he hasn’t fully given up anything yet. Even here, in Vegas, at a party, he’s acutely aware of the podcast downloaded on his phone and his dad, blissfully unaware somewhere miles and miles away. “The rest of the team is missing out though. Their loss, right?”

It’s not like Leo to hide from his own party, to choose quiet companionship like Grayson’s over being the center of the action. But there’s something overwhelming about tonight, something that begs for a quiet moment and a cigarette to help him process it all. 

Tonight feels like a triumph. The Foxes won the death match, but Leo won something else. Something about being in his hometown, in his father’s house, with the Foxes, the team he couldn’t bring himself to reach out to while his father was still alive, even when he’d ached to. So much of his life, he’d pretended to be on top. A golden prince on a golden pedestal. But it was all fake. His triumphs—his real triumphs—always felt few and far between, and they always feel like the crack him open, right down the middle. They beg him to hide, to feel his joy in private the way he tries to hide his failures, his anger, his weaknesses. 

His bedroom is place that he’s hidden many times before, somewhere that always felt half-sanctuary but also half-prison—because it was somewhere in this house he felt safe, but it was also the only place he felt safe. It isn’t his father’s bedroom, but it’s also somewhere he wouldn’t want someone just stumbling into. And he doesn’t bother flicking on the lights as he leads Grayson through it to the balcony. With the curtains open, there’s enough light filtering in from outside, anyway. The view of the city below that he knows by heart.

“I mean, you’re alright, I guess,” he says, with a twitch of a grin as he holds the balcony door open. He’s not one for flattery that isn’t aimed at some purpose, and he figures Grayson can read between the lines: if Leo’s choosing his company over the party inside, then that should speak enough to their—friendship, or whatever the hell it is, even if it just started with cigarettes. 

“It’s definitely a two-man job,” he says, not sure if he’s serious or not, never certain how far his newfound freedom extends. “So you’d have to help me out. You haven’t been throwing punches, but how do you feel about property damage?”

“Property damage is different,” Grayson says, as he pulls the pack of cigarettes out from his jacket pocket. “It’s your statue anyway. Does it count if you’re breaking your own shit?” He takes a cigarette for himself, lights it with practiced ease, and offers both the pack and the lighter to Leo next. That, too, is a practiced motion. 

The setting is new though. This is hardly the roof of Fox tower. Leo’s balcony gives him yet another impressive view of the city, sparkling with all the glitz and glam he’ll forever associate with Vegas now, and Grayson won’t pretend he isn’t impressed. It’s a strange kind of bedazzled though, because he can’t decide if he actually likes it or if it just overwhelms him. 

They’ve come here as celebrities, as champions, but Grayson can’t imagine most of the people down there care about the Foxes, whether they win or lose. Las Vegas has it’s own concerns. In some ways, that must be a relief, especially when compared to the suffocating smallness of Dubois. At the same time though, Vegas has a reputation. Underneath the sparkle, it’s supposed to be sand and greed, hedonism and loss. 

“So you grew up here,” he says, carefully. Grayson nods out towards the city sprawled below them, rather than to the house behind them. Being a Fox means most of them don’t ask about their lives before Palmetto, but he’s not going to ask Leo about that closed bedroom or his father’s death. He’s curious about the city itself. 

Or, if he is curious about Leo himself too, Grayson at least knows it’s better to ask in a roundabout way. Leo is one of Jen’s closest friends though. By now, Grayson considers Leo one of his friends too. They’re here together, after all, when Leo should be out dazzling his guests, the centerpiece of his own party while Grayson still sticks to the edges. If that friendship is based around sharing cigarettes and talking shit, Grayson’s perfectly fine with that—but he’s also losing his grip on what it means to keep all his relationships as superficial as he once wanted. “What was that like? The Strip doesn’t exactly seem kid-friendly.”

“I get it,” Jen reassures him softly, reaching over to give his hand a squeeze, “Telling me would’ve made it real. You’re telling me now, right?” Now that he is though, Jen doesn’t know what to say, and they hate it. They wish they could reassure him somehow, but Jen knows the podcast isn’t going to just drop the series, especially if their audience is interested. And they’re not sure which will be worse for Grayson, if they find nothing and the blame stays with him or if they do and it switches to his dad. 

Of course, Grayson took Sasha’s advice to mean that he should try and prove them wrong, but they have feeling that wasn’t her intention. If Jen’s suspicions are true then he’s not going to find anything to ease his dad’s guilt. They’ve been trying so hard not to tell Grayson how they feel about the situation out of fear that it’d be too much for him to hear right now, but it looks like it’s going to be forced on him pretty soon. The least Jen can do is to help him get there on his own terms. 

“Probably better that he doesn’t,” Jen says quietly, brows furrowed in thought. They’re not sure what Grayson Sr. would do if he found out, but they can’t imagine it’d be good. They fall silent when Grayson asks for their advice, know this is one of those times where they need to think before they speak. Jen knows what they would do, but they aren’t Grayson, and they need to handle this at his pace. 

“I think Sasha has a point. I mean, she has experience with this. There’s no harm in doing your own research, right?” They advise carefully before taking a deep breath, preparing themself for the next part. “And maybe…Maybe, it’s time for you consider that this might not be your fault. Maybe, there is something more to it. I can help you play detective,” Jen offers with a weak smile, attempting to lighten the moon a little.

Jen’s hand in his is a comforting presence, and Grayson doesn’t let go, even as the topic grows heavier, more uncertain. This is uncharted territory for the two of them, and Grayson’s well aware of it—he’s the one who’s avoided serious conversations about his dad from the beginning. The one who left the banquet when Jen said he didn’t owe his dad his time, who’d shut down Jen’s last attempts to shift the blame by insisting no, it has to be my fault. That’s still his first thought, even now, even after Christmas. The blame has to belong to Grayson; anything else is unthinkable. Anything else means he loses his dad for good. 

But Jen’s not the only one saying it. There’s this podcast. Once upon a time, the town itself, until Grayson painted a big enough target on his own back. Maybe even Sasha, now that he replays her words. She’d never said prove them wrong, only that he should look for his own evidence. 

He could dismiss all of them, even Jen. Maybe especially Jen, whose opinion means more to Grayson than anyone else’s. He wants to. He wants to double down on what he’d said only moments ago. Repeat as loudly as possible they’re wrong; I know what happened. 

The words don’t come as easily as they did before. Maybe it’s too late for that. Maybe it’s been too late, since Christmas, and he’s only avoided it by throwing himself into this relationship with Jen. Grayson once thought he took the responsibility on his own: that this was his choice to scapegoat himself this way. That it would be selfish to do anything else. Now, he’s got the memory of his latest trip home fresh in his mind, the way his father redirected the blame and the journalist towards Grayson with one breath and said he wouldn’t talk about it to protect Grayson with another. Even when Grayson was the one asking—begging—for some answers.

That was the closest he’s ever come to playing detective, as Jen puts it. The first time he’s dared to question his dad on anything in years, and even then, it was only why did you let me do this alone? His dad couldn’t even answer that.

Grayson brings his legs up, rests his chin on his knee. “I don’t know what to do if it isn’t my fault,” he admits, and his voice sounds small, even to himself. Once, this would be the part where he’d get angry. The part where he’d leave, rather than face this.

If they search for answers, they’ll likely find what Grayson’s always known—that he’s the  one who pulled the trigger, the way he sees it in his all too sharp and clear memories. But if they don’t? If First Degree is right, and there’s something more to the story? When he speaks up again, it’s after a long silence. “Okay. Let’s be detectives.” 

She’s heard the murmurings around campus about the podcast. But when it comes to anything that slights her teammates, she doesn’t care to pay further attention; if it’s about herself, sure, she’s curious enough to stomach unjustified critiques on her personality. But everything else is noise that she can dismiss for her homework.

Now, on the field, the clips of phrases that she managed to catch in those moments flood back, scrambled and barely making sense. And she knows this is only the case because Grayson is the one who replied. He’s trying to reassure for her sake, and she knows enough through her own struggles that he’s trying for his own too. 

The past cannot change; she understands this lesson. But it always, always hurts.

“I don’t know yet. About going pro,” she admits. She’s said it aloud before; it’s a regular question that follows each of them. But she still can’t decide what she wants for herself. Without thinking of Evie, without thinking of anything from before Palmetto. What she wants for her future, when she had stopped dreaming of having one for so long, is difficult to decide.  

“But I do know that I’d rather they keep their eyes on the fifth years and not me. As selfish as that is.”

Grayson snorts. “You’re fine. Carter and Neel are probably frothing at the mouths for some extra camera time before the draft.” Grayson’s sure their captain would be too, if only Grant could play right now. Grayson’s more like Alis though. He’d rather get through this unnoticed.

In Dubois, Grayson is already notorious. But its different—the townsfolk gossip, they spread stories about his guilt through the town by word of mouth alone. But they don’t bring cameras. They don’t corner him and demand answers. It’s a different kind of entitlement, to be certain, but it means Grayson wasn’t ready for all this. 

Even four years in, being a Fox comes with unpleasant truths he couldn’t predict. The renewed interest in his team, all due to the Championships. The renewed interest in Grayson himself, all because he was impulsive, determined to martyr himself right in front of the press. 

“If you do go pro though, you’d better get used to this now,” he adds, risking a quick nod at the cameras. They’re still trained on the team’s practice, thank God, and not the stragglers on the bench. “This is the press when a team they don’t even like does well at the Class I level.” He can only assume it gets worse the further you go—another reason he’s always thought this Fox contract would be the last dying gasp of his career on the court. 

Location: Palmetto Campus Date: March 8 Time: 2:39 a.m. (OPEN)

Emmett’s first stop once he’s free of the court is a local dive bar he found years ago. It’s not a Fox hang out and that’s exactly what he’s going for. It’s hard to be positive in the light of this loss. Hard to pretend like it doesn’t feel like a big blow. The Foxes were on a roll and losing tonight feels like it’s over. He knows it isn’t. Knows that they’re still ahead on points, but knowing that doesn’t soften the sting of the loss any. He’s two sheets to the wind before long. Blissfully numb to the sting of the loss. Blissfully numb to pretty much everything at this point. He’s not sure why he chooses to leave when he does. The bar patrons have been perfectly friendly, some even buying him pity drinks. But when the itch to go home had settled in his bones he’d simply followed it.

He doesn’t go to the tower though, that’s too stuffy, too….end of the night. He’s more content to wander the dark campus. Going everywhere and anywhere that strikes his fancy. He ends up somewhere near the tower anyways, flopping out on a familiar patch of grass. It’s cold, sure, but not cold enough to make Emmett change his mind about laying out under the stars. He could go for another drink he thinks as he pulls his hands behind his head, cushioning it against the spiky grass.

He’s half way to dozing off when he hears the footsteps. It takes more effort than he’d like to admit to roll over and open his eyes, flashing whoever it was a toothy grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “What you doing out here so late? I kind of thought I had campus all to myself tonight.”

“What are you doing sleeping on a field?” Grayson counters.  He crouches down beside Emmett, catches the strong scent of liquor on the other man’s breath. “Nevermind,” Grayson  says, making a face. “You reek. That answers my question.” 

Normally, Grayson likes to be asleep by now. He can’t read his watch in the dark, but he knows it’s long past two am. It’s not that unfamiliar a feeling. He used to be so restless—used to wander his family’s land for hours and hours long after dark, walking back and forth across the silent acres to see the stars and avoid the even more oppressive silence of his house. He sleeps more soundly these days, but apparently tonight is the exception. 

When it was obvious he wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon, Grayson slipped out, sneaking past Jen and out onto campus for a smoke. Finding a wasted Emmett is clearly the universe’s way of saying Grayson should’ve stayed in. 

Grayson stands though, offers Emmett a hand up. He doesn’t like Emmett, but they’re still teammates—and it doesn’t exactly look as though Emmett’s handling tonight’s loss well. “This is a one time offer,” Grayson says, because Emmett’s drunk and alone and laying on the ground outside. The whole situation seems pathetic, despite Emmett’s characteristic too broad smile.  “But do you need a cigarette? Some shitty coffee from the common room to sober up?” 

         Henry smiles before taking a sip of his own coffee—the bitter liquid making him feel steadied and focused. He thinks back to his hometown and all his Exy friends. A bunch of farmers, some going off to college, some not even bothering. But it’s different, he supposes when it comes to an animal farm. “Depends on the animal, but I think they’re cool. Not a fan of many reptiles though. Soil science sounds… complicated. Interesting, but tedious.” He isn’t much into anything scientific. Those were his worst classes growing up, even in elementary school. In fact, he really only excelled in a class if it had a large book that went along with it.

         Though he was not the one to admit that his major was anything other than boring. Especially when they had to read tons of books that he didn’t think were particularly relevant to today’s society, even if they were classics. He hates the books that resonate with the bigoted, small minded people that live in his hometown and it isn’t as if he can ask some of his professors not to add those to their lists because it isn’t his place; he’s not a professor and there’s a reason some books are on lists. Still he hates it. Henry does love his major in some ways because there aren’t many majors for people like him, who feel more at home reading a book than they do in a laboratory. He wants to be a writer, as stupid as it sounds.

         He knows his dad wants him to have a career in politics because his own career had failed. It’s not Henry. That was always Holland’s thing. She had the ability to go in front of a crowd and charm them, make them want to know her. Henry always felt colder when talking to people—hiding the parts of himself that he didn’t want anyone else to know. Neither of them was suited for a career in politics. Holland was far too honest, and Henry had a bleeding heart. He probably could fake it, if he wanted, but he didn’t. He wants a career where he can pour his heart out on a piece of paper and seem vulnerable. So it’s funny that he’s still so distant when it comes to his own problems and talking to his teammates. It’s different on a piece of paper though.

         Being away from home always puts him in a brighter mood. He’s shed the unhappy self he is at home within the first week of being back from break. There doesn’t seem to be a change in his demeanor now since they’ve been back for months—and it’s not time to start thinking of excuses to go home for spring break. He’s never once stayed in Palmetto for spring break, he doubts this will be the year he starts. He’s always been to proud to tell his dad he’s won. “I’ve always got an essay, no different than any other week. Cons of being an English major. I mean I’m excited for a week off from playing, only because this semester sucks. I can’t entirely say sitting and watching Exy will be that much fun though, but that’s not really the point is it? We’re supposed to be watching the other teams, right? Strategies and all that for our next game. What about you? Looking forward to it?”

“A week off from playing? Did Grant somehow lose his mind, cancel practice, and forget to tell the rest of us?” Grayson says, dryly. “You wish.” He knows Henry means a week off from the games themselves, but even Grayson can’t shed the Championships fervor so easily these days. It somehow makes the practices feel important too. Intense. It isn’t just their Captain’s frantic energy in practices either, because Grayson’s fairly certain Grant’s been that way all year. But even still, the Championships hadn’t felt real last semester—not for Grayson, at least, not from the bench. 

It’s different this time around. 

And maybe it’s more than just his play time, or the conspicuous lack of red cards since Christmas. Grayson’s spent nearly four years on the periphery of the team—sure, he’d share a cigarette with Leo or chat with Arlo in the greenhouse, but those were connections he could’ve walked away from at the end of next year without much regret. 

Grayson’s always liked the Foxes, if only because misery loves company. He remembers wondering his freshmen year what skeletons were in everyone else’s closet, what they’d done that allowed them to play alongside him without batting an eye. It was vastly different than his high school team, who’d held his past up against him as ammo every chance they could. They’d tried so hard to run him off the team; in contrast, Wymack signed Grayson up for five years on their first meeting and seemed nothing but smug about it. 

But liking the Foxes has never been the same as truly considering himself one of them. Palmetto, and everything he did here, was a lengthy vacation at best. He’s chosen Jen now though, admitted that this place and the people here mean more to him than planned. In the face of that, it only seems natural that he’d let himself care about everything else in Palmetto too. The team. His teammates. His life has already gone so far off the rails this year, so far off from Dubois. The fact that he gives a shit about the Championships is hardly the biggest surprise. 

He raises his eyebrows when Henry asks him if he’s looking forward to the viewing party next. “Nope, not at all. That’s why I said it ‘should be fun’,” Grayson replies, making no effort to hide the sarcasm. “There’s gonna be free food and we can watch someone else get their asses kicked this time. What’s not to love?”