Chapter Text
“And of course,” said Nathan Cartagan, reporter for the Columbia Times, part time contributor for ExySPN, “I'd like to ask your team a couple of questions as well.”
Every hair on Allison's arms went up at his tone. She had enough experience with the press to sense when someone was trying to get a particularly juicy scoop. Renee placed a calming hand on her knee as she sat up straight, pulling her legs from across Renee’s lap. Allison tracked the reporter’s beady eyes as he smiled, coffee stained teeth predatory, and looked from her to Seth’s framed jersey on the wall behind her and then across the room to where Andrew, Neil and Kevin were sandwiched on the sofa.
“That’s gonna be a ‘No’ from me, dawg.” Matt said.
Allison glanced across the room to him and caught his eyes; he nodded, a simple uptick of his chin, and smiled. It didn’t even pretend to reach his eyes. It was unsettling to see such a thing on his usually friendly face, to see his normally open posture so rigid. His arm came down around Dan, and she leaned into him, twin sentinels on the loveseat.
“Yeah, no.” Allison seconded. Dan nodded in agreement and Aaron pointedly pulled out his phone, removing himself from the conversation.
“I can’t imagine what else you could need after talking with me, the Dean and Dan.” Wymack frowned.
“It won’t take long at all, just a few questions.” Cartagan smiled. Allison was distinctly reminded of a rat.
“About what?” Nicky asked, uncharacteristically hostile from his perch on the arm of the couch. One of his long legs was supporting his weight as he lounged along the back of the couch, one arm stretched protectively along its back behind Kevin and Neil.
“Oh,” Cartagan said, all but cooing, “Just a few lingering questions on last year’s excitement.”
Neil sank back into the cushions, stiffening even as he began to bounce his legs. Andrew leaned forward at the same time as Neil leaned back, elbows braced on his knees. His expression didn’t change, but every inch of his tiny body screamed danger, especially as he ran his fingers, feather light, down the length of his fox print embroidered armbands. Allison couldn’t believe that Cartagan couldn’t see it.
“PSU has already given statements.” Kevin said diplomatically, slipping into his TV persona with an easy smile and an anxious hand through his hair.
“Yes they have, but those sanitized statements don't tell the real story, do they? People want to know about the reality of the situation, about what you all managed to overcome.” Cartagan said.
“Why don't we step into my office,” Wymack stepped backwards and braced his office door open with his arm. It gave Allison's side of the room a clear view of the jagged, sunken scars gouged in his forearm, battle scars from saving the Monster from a beer bottle to the face a few months ago. “The rest of you, same game plan. Kevin, you know where the DVDs are.”
Wymack didn't slam doors, but it was clear he wanted to as he and the reporter stepped inside. Kevin dutifully popped the Riptide's latest game into the DVD player, but he muted the volume, as interested as they all were in the rising voices coming from under the gap of the office door.
The reporter was wisely keeping his voice down, but Wymack's booming replies tore through the door as if he'd never closed it.
“-journalistic integrity? Journalistic integrity! You will- Absolutely not, have you lost your fucking mind? No- No, do I look like I- Do I look- Those kids will- and I will fucking let them- Go to the Dean! You'll go to the Dean? And tell him what? No! No, tell me! That you want to re-traumatize my fucking kids?” Allison had never heard him sound so angry. From the sound of his voice and the tangible threat in it, she bet that she’d never seen him that angry either.
Andrew relaxed back into the couch, one hand slipping to Neil's knee to still its erratic jumping.
“-I insist! No, we'll go right now. No, no, now.”
Wymack's door handle jiggled and Kevin dove to turn the volume up on the game, as if Wymack wouldn't know they'd been eavesdropping from the shit eating grin on their faces.
Cartagan stormed out of the office, red-faced and sweating, and neatly avoided the teams obvious staring as he all but ran out the door. Behind them, rage seeping out of his pores despite the deadpan look on his face, Wymack softly closed his office door, locked it and stalked after him.
“Dad’s scary when he's mad,” Nicky chuckled, finally relaxing. There were various murmurs of agreement, until Wymack popped back into the room with a half-hearted snarl, “I heard that! Watch the fucking game!”
“Yes, Dad! Coach! Yes, Coach!!” Nicky shouted.
“For fuck’s sake.” Wymack sighed and closed the door softly behind him.
“We're only watching this game because that's his son.”
“-shitty team-”
“-Daddy's boy-”
Aaron shifted beside him, restless and visibly annoyed as he sent scathing glares to the underclassmen huddled in the opposite corner of the locker room. They were gathered to study the Sentinel’s latest game in response to the previous week's loss. The Sentinel’s defense was impeccable; which was clearly what Wymack had hoped they would pick up on by studying the play-by-plays, but the underclassmen were less interested with the strategy than they were the players.
Kevin was a striker for the Sentinels, part of the first draft picks, and he worked seamlessly with his defensive line to keep the ball moving up the court. Therefore, in addition to his reputation, he was understandably highlighted. The underclassmen, whose names Aaron hadn’t bothered to learn and Andrew didn’t deign to mention, had begun bitching the second time Kevin was featured.
Dealing with disrespect from the underclassmen was technically Neil's job, but Neil was at his biannual mandatory session with Bee. With Neil away and Wymack in his office, they were clearly feeling bold. Andrew normally would have let them talk as much shit as they wanted, letting them build their fragile coats of caustic armor with the knowledge that it'd be destroyed at their next practice, but they were talking shit about Coach. Of all fucking people.
He tilted his head towards Aaron who turned as soon as he moved, locking eyes with his twin in a decreasingly rare display of nonverbal communication. Together, they turned twin golden glares on the small grouping of underclassmen and leaned forward to rest their elbows on their knees.
“Shut the fuck up.” Aaron snarled.
The group stilled and Lauren, their sophomore second string defensive dealer, sneered. She sat up a straighter and glanced at her friends before responding, “We’re only watching this game because Day’s in it.”
“And only cause that’s like, his illegitimate love child or something. Daddy’s favorite.” The new freshmen goalie, Charlie, decent but weak willed, spoke up next, but withered when Aaron turned his venom on him.
“We’re watching it because you don’t fucking communicate on the court so the second string defensive line sucks. The Sentinel’s are 4-0 because their defense is cohesive, unlike you idiots.” Aaron said.
“Whatever, the Riptides have just a good a defense, we’re only watching this because he’s his dad.” Lauren said, she scoffed and turned to look at those assembled behind her, “Sure hope my dad forces people to watch my games.”
“David Wymack is a better father than any of you ingrates would ever hope to deserve.” Andrew drawled.
“What,” Lauren scoffed, “And you do?”
There was a number of ways to answer, and Andrew was about to settle for mildly threatening when Wymack threw open the door to his office.
“This doesn’t sound like an Exy related conversation to me, maggots.” He said, surveying the room with his hands on his hips. The underclassmen shrank under his glare, but Andrew met his eyes calmly.
“It’s not, may we be excused to study in the dorm, Dad?” Andrew smirked.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Wymack said, rolling his eyes, “Get the fuck out of here. All of you. I want a report on the Sentinel’s defense’s communication strategies tomorrow night. Failure to do so means extra laps.”
Andrew and Aaron stood as one, and Wymack waved them all off.
“And tell your Captain if he doesn’t turn it in he’s got three hours of weight training ahead of his skinny ass!”
“You’re not supposed to giving presents at your own wedding.” Andrew said when Wymack handed him a small, unmarked manila envelope.
Wymack and Abby’s wedding ceremony had already wrapped up at the church Renee had suggested. Their group had migrated from Columbia proper to a small, cozy winery west of the city and were settling in after photos when Wymack had pulled Andrew aside and into the endless rows of ripening grapevines stretching across the hillside.
“It’s not a gift, just open it.”
Andrew tore off the top and shook the contents into his hand.
A set of shining new keys, patterned with hot rod flames and complete with a PSU fox charm, plopped happily into his palm.
Andrew raised a single eyebrow in silent demand for an explanation.
“Abby and I are moving to a new place, little bigger, more guest rooms.” Wymack said.
Andrew was silent, staring at the set of keys with a perfectly blank expression.
“There’s a note with the address inside. It’s closer to campus, but still nice and quiet. It’s got a gas range in it, Abby says they’re better.” David said, Andrew hadn't moved except to rub his thumb over the teeth of the keys, so he continued. “Doors all have locks. Windows are filled with argon or nitrogen or some shit-”
“Thank you.” Andrew said.
Wymack cleared his throat awkwardly and shrugged. “You’re always welcome, Andrew, you know that.”
“Coach? Andrew? It’s about time for speeches, come on.” Renee said, poking her head around the row of grapes they were standing amongst. She held up two bubbling champagne flutes and laughed, "Let's party!"
“This entire affair took entirely too long,” Andrew began, earning a smattering of chuckles from the small crowd, “Coach and Abby have basically been married for years.”
Andrew rolled his shoulders back and glanced again at where Neil was seated with the rest of the former Foxes. He rolled his eyes at the delighted grin he got in return and swapped the microphone from one hand to the other, tucking the other hand into his pocket. Kevin, due to give his speech next, sat nervously beside Thea, who’d reached out to wrap her arm around his stiff shoulders. She gave Andrew a closed lipped smile, wordlessly reassuring him that she had Kevin’s panic covered.
“In college, we used to call Coach and Abby ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad,’ but there’s always a Truth in jokes. As much as I hate dumbass quotes, I find one to be particularly applicable when it comes to David Wymack. ‘Any man could be a father, but it takes someone special to be a dad.’”
“For fuck’s sake.” Wymack said faintly. The Foxes cheered at their table, clinking their forks against their glasses.
“It may take someone special to be a dad, but it takes someone extraordinary to be the Dad of Foxes.” Andrew continued. He swapped mic hands again, and Neil could see him fiddling with something in his pocket as he swapped microphone hands for the third time. “I speak for all of us when I say that David and Abby are both extraordinary people, maintaining an extraordinary program with real, profound impacts on the kids that go through it. We wouldn’t be here today without you. To Coach and Abby.” He lifted the champagne flute in his hand and their tiny crowd erupted in applause and wolf whistles.
“To Coach and Abby!”
“To David and Abby!”
“To Mom and Dad!” The Foxes cried.
The winery erupted into laughter and even Wymack joined in, putting his head in his hands as Abby leaned over to rub his back.
But Neil wasn’t looking at Wymack’s exasperated and fond expression, he was looking at the tiny, almost invisible upturn to the side of Andrew's lips.
It shined like the sun.
“What's a HOA? Why is there a fee?”
“Homeowners Association,” Andrew said, he glanced up at Neil’s darkening expression over the top of his glasses, “They police what your house can look like. Sometimes they pay to have streets shoveled or some shit.”
Neil scowled at his laptop screen and closed the window.
“If I bought it, I should be able to do whatever I want with it.” He said, offended at the idea.
Andrew kicked at Neil's thighs and Neil lifted his laptop up to keep is steady until Andrew resettled his legs in his lap, “I'm right.” Neil said.
“It doesn't matter, that's how those things work.” Andrew said, resting his head back on the arm of their couch and flicking his glasses back up. “Don’t forget to add links to the Doc.”
Neil hated the first house. The layout, he said, was too similar to the only other house he'd ever lived in.
They crossed it off the list.
Andrew hated the next three. The neighbors were too close, too loud even on what should have been a sleepy Sunday morning. They were too close to major roadways, too small, too old.
“Let me do a deeper dive to the south of the city,” their realtor said, her voice tinny over the speakerphone, “I'll compile another list of options and get back to you by close of business Friday.”
“Thanks Dianne.” Neil said and hung up.
Andrew pulled out his own phone, stared at it for a moment, then dialed and put it on speaker. Neil tilted his head, confused for the fifteen seconds it took for the call to connect.
“Andrew, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Wymack said. In the background, Abby called out 'Andrew? Is he okay? Tell him last week's save was amazing!’
“How the fuck do you pick a decent house.” Andrew growled.
“Oh.” Neil said.
“Hello, Neil.” Wymack said, “It's a pain in that ass, that's for sure. But since you have the dual income of two professional athletes, you really should focus on finding a house with good bones in a nice location. Everything else is just cosmetic.”
“Bones?” Neil said.
“Ooh!” Abby said, voice closer than before, “House hunting! It sucks, amiright?”
“It looks easier on TV.” Neil agreed.
“You have him watching House Hunters, Andrew? Seriously?” David said.
“He found that himself.”
“Sure he did.” David said, eye roll clear I'm his voice, “But seriously, son. We can come down and give y'all some backup if you'd like.”
“Dan can handle those hooligans for a few days. Ooh! Let's road trip!” Abby said.
“We have a guest room at the apartment.” Andrew said.
Three days later, Neil and Andrew shared a glance as Wymack pressed his face flush with the wall of the basement of House #13. Abby was inspecting the pillars dotted around the basement and looking up a seemingly random string of numbers she found on the furnace at the same time. The realtor meanwhile was standing anxiously near the basement stairs, rambling into empty expanse about the fact that the backyard was actually about twice as large as the fenced in portion.
“No bowing,” Wymack said with a satisfied nod.
“Beams are solid, and the furnace is only five years old.” She smiled and slung her arm around his waist. “You mentioned an attic?”
“Is that new insulation?” David called. He was halfway up the stairs to the attic, standing on a stray stool while Abby nervously hovered below him as if she’d be able to actually catch him if he were to fall.
They’d inspected the hardwood in the large, open living room and the tile in the kitchen beyond. Abby had ooh and awwed at the new gas range and the quality of the back splash. She'd taken Andrew and Neil around while David checked for termites, poking and prodding at the carpeting in the three bedrooms, explaining how to check for water damage and poor workmanship while they admired the amount of natural light that would come through the floor to ceiling bay windows. Neil’s shoulders had relaxed, dropping tension that David hadn’t even noticed, when the realtor showed them the alarm system. (“It’s a retired neighborhood,” she’d said, “And its location means you won’t be getting any through traffic.”)
“Yes!” Said Dianne the Realtor, skittering around the stool, “It was replaced just last year by the previous owner.”
“Why are they selling?” Neil asked.
“Ah,” Dianne said, mouth twisting with sincere regret, “Mr. Asbell passed away. He was 97 years old. His children live out of state and decided to sell. Many of the improvements were made to increase the value of the home.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Abby said.
“He was a wonderful man. He taught history at the high school, he was my teacher in fact.” She smiled and shook her head, “Enough sad things. I think the backyard and patio will brighten everyone up!”
Once David had carefully climbed down from the attic, they made their way to the ‘expansive, sunny backyard space.’ Composed of a wide veranda the spanned the entire back of the house, a large, fenced in yard and a few acres of forest beyond the fence, it was in fact, quite sunny. Neil stepped out and ran his hand along the sun warmed oak railing, following it along to the built in swing on the right side of the porch. He sat down and idly pushed it into a gentle sway. Andrew moved and let the motion of the bench scoop him up, plopping down next to him to stare out across the sun soaked expanse of overgrown grass and fluffy hedges.
Abby reached out and grasped David’s hand, squeezing it tightly as she turned her gaze away from her boys and out across the yard. David let his eyes linger a little longer, watching as Andrew reached out and placed his hand palm up on the bench between them. Neil laced their fingers together and let out a deep, almost relieved, breath.
“I like it.” Andrew said softly.
“Me too.” Neil agreed.
They turned and looked at each other for a long moment, speaking without words until Andrew turned to Dianne.
“We’ll take it.” Andrew said, and Neil smiled.
“Do you want breakfast? It's three-fucking-am, but-”
Andrew, once again sitting in his kitchen counter, socked feet kicking against his cabinet doors reached into his pocket, pulled out a ring box and set it on the counter with what could only described as an air of finality.
“I'm a happily married man, Andrew.”
Andrew glared over the top of his mug at David and said nothing.
There were no bags under his eyes, no red rims or bloodshot whites to suggest he was extraordinarily stressed, as those were the usual prompts for his late night visits. This then, was something different.
David stepped forward and took the box, flipping it open to reveal a set of simple gold bands, as expected.
“Have you asked him yet?”
Andrew shook his head.
“You know he'll say yes. That boy would dive off a cliff if you told him you'd catch him.” David said.
“Exactly.” Andrew said, full of carefully stifled emotion.
“Are you-? Andrew, you're going to have to explain this to me, son.” David said, “Do you love him?”
Andrew stared into his mug of cocoa, eyebrows drawn together, for a long, quiet moment. For a boy who used to claim to feel nothing at all, for a man who was choosing to heal, David would wait. He knew how much it must be costing him to crack open his armor plating, to expose the dragon heart that beat within his soft, squishy insides, and David would never be the one to take up a sword against him.
“Yes.” Andrew said.
“And he very clearly loves the shit out of you, and in the end? That's all that matters.” David said, “Trust me.”
Andrew, eyes still locked on the swirling contents of his oversized PSU mug, frowned.
“He's inexperienced.” Andrew said.
“Uh huh? And?”
“He does not know-” Andrew finally looked up, thunking his head against the cabinet behind him and staring down at David through his lashes, “He can't know what he'll want long term. He doesn't know the meaning of 'forever’.”
“Well then,” David said, lifting his eyebrows as he turned and dug Abby's homemade pancake mix from the cabinet, “Good thing you'll be there to teach him, huh?”
Andrew made a sound in the back of his throat, but David cut in before he could reply, “Besides, what Neil wants is not for you to decide. You can't. Don't take the choice away from him, Andrew.”
Andrew sighed, the force of it made him sag dramatically, his mug precariously dangling from his fingertips.
“Are we making pancakes?” Abby said, shuffling into the kitchen with a yawn, “If you drop that mug, Drew, you're picking it up.” She was engulfed in a large fox themed robe, complete with a tail and fluffy hood with ears, a parting gift from Matt upon graduation.
Andrew tightened his hold on the mug, but otherwise didn't move, even as Abby shuffled around him, opening the cabinet to the right of his head for their large mixing bowl.
“Lean to the side a little- yes, thank you.” She said as he leaned out of the way then handed her the bowl.
“Are you alright?” She asked after another jaw cracking yawn, it seemed to wake her fully and she pushed her hair from her face as she looked Andrew up and down.
“Fine.” He said shortly, Abby nodded, satisfied, and took the pancake mix from David's hands.
“We're okay? Okay. Are we celebrating? I see a ring box. Do we want chocolate chips?” She asked.
“Yes.” Andrew said, David smiled at the confused look Abby shot him, and shrugged.
“Yes?” She looked between Andrew and David, “Yes? Wait! Wait! Did you ask him?”
She made the realization like a switch being flipped and fumbled the bag of chocolate chips in her hands. David caught the bag and set it on the counter. “Andrew! What did he say? Congratulations! Oh! This is awesome! Oh! Ha! I win, David!”
“I haven't asked him yet.” Andrew said.
“Oh, well. I still win.” She smiled, “This guy bet that Neil would ask first.”
Andrew raised an eyebrow and then stole a handful of chocolate chips when her back was turned.
The next morning, David came downstairs to find a small manila envelope on the kitchen counter tucked inside to a new Riptide's mug. He shook the contents of the envelope into his hand and huffed a laugh.
Inside was a note with an address and a set of shiny new house keys.