The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(105)

“Could I take a rain check? All this is just … so much,” I say weakly, and of course, Tank understands. Something crosses Pat’s face and then is gone. Is he mad? Disappointed? I cannot get a read on him.

“You don’t need to explain,” Tank says. “Of course. Another day. Anytime, really. We would love to have you both.”

Tank glances between me and Pat, his brow furrowed. So, I am definitely not imagining this strangeness. An uncomfortable prickling sensation starts in my fingertips and works its way up until it reaches my heart.

“Congratulations again,” Tank says. “I’m going to head on, I guess.” He grabs Pat’s shoulder, giving it a good shake, like he’s trying to reset him.

“I’m going to stop by,” Pat says. Tank’s mouth pulls down, but he doesn’t say anything else before walking away to join Pat’s siblings.

“You’re going to your dad’s?” I ask. “You’re staying here?”

Pat’s eyes dart away. More like slink away. There is definitely some slinking going on. “I think I’m going to stay in Austin for a bit. It’s the first time I’ve been home since, you know, all this went down.”

All this being his arrest and our marriage, I guess? I’m practically melting into a puddle of emotional overwhelm, the likes of which cannot handle whatever is happening here.

James appears like a grumpy specter. “Can I borrow Jo for a few?”

Winnie and Val swoop in from the other side, clearly feeling their best friend emergency beacon activating. “We’ve got her,” Winnie says. “Jojo, come with us.” She and James exchange glares over Jo’s head.

“I saw an ice cream vending machine down the hall.” Val waggles her brows, but she had Jo at ice cream vending machine. James steps back, and my friends whisk Jo away, leaving Pat and me to deal with whatever this is.

He’s apparently not so eager to talk, and we just stand there in the middle of the busy lobby, saying nothing for a good minute. I’m not sure I’ve ever known such an awkward pause. If someone handed out awards for awkward pauses, this one would be giving a teary acceptance speech right about now.

Can’t we just be super, super happy and then drive home and fall asleep for ten hours, wake up and stuff our faces with pizza, be happy some more, maybe have a DTR and then some celebratory making out? Or more than making out?

Pat’s face all but assures me I’m aiming the bar too high.

I know I’ve been weird all day—with good reason. I was cool with Pat this morning, not really meeting his eyes or saying much. In the car, I rode in back with Jo, and I may have shrugged out of his touch when we walked into the courthouse. None of this is really about him. I’m embarrassed I made an idiot of myself last night, and today has been emotionally exhausting, even though the outcome was better than I could have dreamed. I’m running on the fumes of fumes here. I just needed to get through the day, thinking of Jo before I could deal with Pat.

Was my weirdness contagious, like a flu? Or did he read more into how I’ve been acting today?

“Congratulations,” Pat says, and the word feels like a slap.

It’s what you say to someone else who’s won, not when you’re on the same team, celebrating a victory together. We should be doing chest bumps, hugging for REAL, making out like bandits.

I press a hand to my temple. “What exactly is happening here? Because this feels like a breakup. Will you just tell me if it is? I am hanging on by a thread here, Pat.”

He makes a face. “It’s not a breakup.”

“It’s something.” He shuffles, and I cross my arms over my chest, trying to still my quaking heart. “I know I’ve been weird all morning, and I’m sorry. I felt really stupid about last night, and then totally overwhelmed with today. I just needed to focus on Jo.”

Pat nods, then bends to scratch his ankle. I can see the moment he remembers there’s no monitor covering it. In a few days it will be like the monitor was never there at all.

I swallow.

Pat is free now, free to unfasten his seatbelt and move around the cabin. The only thing tying him officially to Sheet Cake is our marriage license. That piece of paper has never felt so thin. I’m not even sure where it is. But it still counts in the state of Texas, even if I lost it. Right?

“You’re not breaking up with me, but you’re also not coming home with me and Jo.”

Pat touches my shoulder, once, briefly, then drops his hand. “Lindy, I love you.”

So, why does this sound like an apology? Or a goodbye? I swallow down what feels like a mouthful of sawdust while he continues.

“Like I’ve said from the beginning, I want a second chance. I’ve wanted nothing more than to convince you this could be real. It could be so good.”

I sort of thought it WAS good.

There is a ride at the Sheet Cake Festival every year called the Scrambler. I begged Mama to let me ride it once, and once was enough. The jerking, spinning, twisting car left me heaving up my dinner behind the ticket booth. I feel like I’m on that ride now, being yanked into one whiplash after another.

“But? I can feel the but. Just say it, whatever it is. Please. Put me out of my misery here.”

“I am all in, Lindy.”

He meets and holds my eyes, his expression sincere and intense, like a laser searing going straight to my soul. And I’m frowning in confusion, because he sounds anything but all in. His mouth is saying one thing while his body language says something totally different.