The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(103)

“Cinnamon Toast Crunch,” he mutters, dragging me even closer, his lips feathering over my neck.

I bite my lip, holding back a laugh. It does not surprise me at all to know Pat’s sleep-talk includes food.

I could live and die right here. Even with the whole sweat situation going on. Pat’s warmth is like a tropical beach without the possibility of sunburn or sand getting stuck in uncomfortable places.

He’s also the man you propositioned last night.

I freeze as the memories come back with painful clarity. I squeeze my eyes closed.

Oh. No. I. Did. Not.

Oh, yes. Yes, I did.

My entire body goes rigid as I trace back my memories of the night before. I practically begged Pat to take me to bed.

It shouldn’t be a big deal—I mean, we’re married. We’ve kissed. He’s told me he loves me, and I know I love him, even if I haven’t said the words.

But all those facts do nothing to ease the sharp sting of humiliation.

I know Pat was right to say no. I can only imagine how I’d feel if I had woken up in this same position right now, but naked.

Remembering, I feel naked. Is Pat getting hotter? Does he have a fever? Am I melting into a puddle of sweat or embarrassment?

I don’t know how I’ll face him when he wakes, or what I’ll say. Hey, remember that time I tried to proposition you and you turned me down like a gentleman? No? Me neither! That definitely NEVER happened.

This is bad. This is so bad. My shame burns with the intensity of a thousand suns.

I hear soft footsteps outside the room. Jo must be up. Jo.

The hearing.

A second wave of gut-wrenching realization washes over me. What started out so pleasant is now officially the worst morning ever!

I feel like I’ve been tossed into an industrial kitchen mixer that’s turning me end over end over end. Drawing in a deep breath, I start to count bricks in the wall. One row then two and three until my breathing slows to a manageable rate.

I’m going to get through today. I will. I WILL.

But in order to do that, I need to channel the Lindy who did this life on her own for the last five years. I need her to be strong today for me, for Jo. I need to zip that bulletproof vest back in place and kick the feral cat back to the curb. I can’t think about what happened with Pat last night, or about what my future with him will be.

One big, emotional thing at a time.

Pat smacks his lips, mumbling something about llamas and first downs. I love this man, despite my utter humiliation. I love him, and I will tell him, but first, there is a horrible, terrible, rotten day to get through.

As slowly and quietly as I can, I slip out of bed. Pat doesn’t even stir.





I can’t tell you a single thing about the drive to Austin for the hearing. We might have time traveled or flown in a shoe for all I remember. Too soon, I’m sitting at a table in the courtroom next to Ashlee wondering how I got here. Not just physically, but how my life brought me to this point.

Jo is in a secure room with Mari, and I already feel this small separation like a soul-deep paper cut. Because I’m the only one named as conservator, Pat is seated with his family behind us. Judge Judie agreed to grant permission for Pat to be here today, and in the end, removed the ankle monitor altogether, winking and telling him to stay close.

I’m hyper aware of things like the squeak of Ashlee’s chair and the faint smell of wet dog. I’m not sure where the wet dog smell is coming from, but after a discreet sniff of myself, I’m about eighty percent sure it’s not me.

Though some details are strikingly clear, I also feel like I’m suspended underwater. Everything around me is slow and muted. Nothing can quite touch me down here. Even the harsh lights in the courtroom seem be filtered through a soft, watery blue.

Which, I KNOW, makes it sound like I’ve opened the bag and let all my marbles roll away. I’m sure it’s a defense mechanism of some kind. I’ll take all the defense mechanisms. As far as mechanisms go, they’re pretty good.

“What does it mean if Rachel doesn’t show?” I whisper to Ashlee. “Is it an automatic forfeit?”

“Unfortunately, this won’t work like a football game. But she should be here. I’m not sure what the judge will say if she doesn’t show, but it’s good for you. I wish I could tell you something for sure. I just don’t know,” Ashlee says.

We’ve discussed so many scenarios in the last few weeks, and Ashlee went over them briefly again when we sat down today. More than likely, any changes will be implemented slowly, and a final decision might come after more time has passed. There could be court-ordered visitations or evaluations. If Rachel is awarded custody, there will probably be a transition period.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Got it. A stranger who doesn’t know me or Jo or Rachel will make a decision that will change all of our lives. Sounds like justice to me.

Rachel still isn’t here when the judge arrives. This shouldn’t surprise me, given my sister’s lifetime track record, and yet, color me surprised. She went through the trouble of retaining a lawyer, having someone pose as a pizza delivery guy to serve me with papers, and now she doesn’t show up?

I can’t stop watching her lawyer. Above the collar of his expensive suit, his neck is bright red. Anger? Sunburn? Body paint?

When the judge, a shrew-faced man with a patchy beard, asks Rachel’s lawyer where his client is, he stands. The room seems to hold its breath.