The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(21)

“I wondered why I could never find your articles. I scoured the internet for your byline in every travel journal and website out there.”

He did?

I can’t let that detail soften me toward him, but it turns something in me, like the statement is a tiny brass key.

“I still write, just under another name. And not about travel, obviously.”

A ragged breath escapes him, and though his muscles bunch like he’s about to run, he doesn’t. “So, when I called, you were here?”

“Right inside the house.” I tilt my head toward the door. “I’ve been here ever since a few days after you left without saying goodbye. Remember that?”

I hate the way I wear bitterness like a too-small thrift store coat. But I won’t allow myself to feel bad for stating a fact. I may owe him an apology for lying, but what I need right now is not reconciliation. I need him to go.

I need to launch all the ammo at him I can, driving him off my emotional—and actual—property. My feelings for Pat are like a sticker-burr on a pair of wool socks. But it shouldn’t be too hard to get him off my porch. The man was easy enough to shake off the first time.

Except, maybe not. He came looking for me.

The idea rattles me. What if I’d been here that day? What if I had come home to find him sitting with Mama? What if I hadn’t lied in the first place but told him about Jo? What if—nope. I can’t play this game. It’s way too dangerous.

Then there’s the fact that Pat hasn’t apologized for ditching me. I still feel the sting of it, lemon squeezed over the raw wound in my heart.

“And you’re not … with anyone?” Pat asks. When I glare, he holds up both hands. “I know I don’t have the right to ask.”

“You definitely don’t.”

I don’t want to tell him. I’m not going to tell him. I refuse to—

“I’m not seeing anyone,” I find myself saying, as though my treacherous tongue is now under the control of those zombie butterflies. “I did date a little.”

Total exaggeration. I went out exactly once with Billy Waters, the guy I’d dated all through high school. He was even more entitled and awful as an adult than he’d been as a teenager. I’m not sure why this surprised me. The man is lucky he still has hands after the way he tried to put them all over me.

I can’t help but enjoy the flash of jealousy in Pat’s eyes. How does that feel, Patty? Now, imagine if my dating life was the one splashed all over every tabloid and every popular website.

“Lindy, I know that my words are just words. They’re too little and too late. But I am so sorry for leaving the way I did. I thought—I thought it would be easier to leave without having to say goodbye. For both of us.” He flinches. “It sounds so stupid, but I was stupid back then. I knew the moment I got on the plane how big of a mistake it was. When I called, I wanted to tell you the truth—that I fell in love with you, Lindy.”

He fell in—NOPE. We are going to pretend he never said that statement. It is categorically false and therefore does not exist.

I cut him off. “You called me from a club. There were women calling your name. If you called to tell me you loved me, that is the least convincing way I can think of.”

I expect him to try and defend himself. It’s a little disappointing when he doesn’t.

I keep going. “Let’s not forget the fact you got married to Padma less than a month after that call.”

Padma is the underwear model’s actual name. In my head, she’s Booby McUnderpants. In real life, I’m sure she’s a very lovely person and was one of only dozens of famous women Pat was linked to. But the one that hurt the most was Padma.

I was destroyed when Pat left. I was devastated when I heard he got married. Val and Winnie practically had to force me to eat for a week.

“You and I had all these rules keeping us from getting serious, to keep us casual, but you married someone else so quickly. What am I supposed to think about that?”

“We got the marriage annulled,” he says.

I throw my hands up. “The annulment doesn’t take away the fact that it happened. You stood before a judge or witnesses or an Elvis impersonator or whomever and said vows. I never even got to meet your family, to hang with your friends. To—” I can’t say the last part.

“I wanted it to be you.”

His voice is quiet and measured, yet its impact hits like a wrecking ball. I just want this moment, this conversation, this pain to be over. Give me a dentist’s drill every day of the year over this conversation. Throw in an OB-GYN visit too. Heck—I’ll take both at the same time over dredging up this painful past.

“You left me.” I know he already apologized for it, but I’m still processing. Because his words simply do not compute.

“Biggest regret of my life,” Pat says. “And I have a lot of regrets, believe me.” He pauses, his jaw working before he speaks again. “If you had told me the truth when I called, I would have come.”

“Do you really think I could have asked you to come to this nowhere town and help raise a child with me? Would you have traded late nights at parties for late nights with a newborn? Drinks for diapers?”

“I would have.”

I stare at him. And dang it if his deep brown eyes look sincere.