The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(69)

I back off, embarrassed I’m panting like this was actually a strenuous workout. Clearly, I don’t see the inside of a gym, like EVER. “Pat. Give me my list.”

“It’s my list now. And there’s no rule against this, so you’ll have to deal with it. Happy weeding day, weef.”

And if I had any question about whether Pat would stick to my rules or do his very best to bend or break every single one, it’s answered right there.





Chapter Twenty-One





Pat





When it comes to Texas and football, there are no excuses for missing practice. Even if you got married the day before. I’m exhausted but awake long before my alarm, with proverbial confetti still in my hair. Lindy and I got married!

I make a full pot of coffee and leave a note scrawled on a napkin after letting the dogs out: Morning, darlin! Hope to see you later. After a moment’s thought, I grab another napkin and write, Have an excellent day, Jojo! Stay away from sharks and alligators, even if they look like they need a friend.

I feel strangely forlorn driving away from the dark house, imagining Lindy’s dark hair spread over her pillow. If I play my cards right, maybe one day I’ll get to see the real thing.

Morning practices have started to become routine even after almost a week in this town. It’s like opening a strange portal back in time leading to the stink of sweat, the sound of pads crunching as bodies collide, and the feel of dewy grass dampening my shoes. There’s insecure posturing, towels snapping on bare skin, and fierce competitiveness.

I love it.

I love it, and I had no idea how much I missed it. Football is king in Texas, but even more so in this small town. Practice might be six-forty-five, but three old timers are up in the bleachers watching practice every single morning. The two Black men and one white are all equally gray-haired and pot-bellied. They also share an intensely serious outlook about Sheet Cake football. I asked Chevy about them my first day, wondering whose parents or grandparents they were.

“Those are the Bobs,” Chevy said, grinning. “The three of them played football for Sheet Cake back in their day.”

“No kidding?” I’m not sure if I’m more surprised they’re all named Bob or that these are former Sheet Cake players.

“Yep. They don’t have any family on the team, just a lot of Sheet Cake pride.”

Every morning, I’ve given the Bobs a friendly wave and smile. So far, I have yet to elicit anything but scowls.

Today, I stopped to pick up donuts. “Morning, fellas,” I say, holding out the box. “I brought reinforcements.”

Am I trying to buy the Bobs’ affection with hot glazed?

Why, yes. Yes, I am.

Is it working? No. No, it is not.

The Bobs simply stare, and I set the box on the metal risers nearby before jogging down to the field. I’ve got plenty of days to keep wearing them down.

“Did you bring me one?” Chevy asks.

I hand him a paper bag filled with donut holes, still warm. In places, the white bag is almost transparent. “Of course. I’m not a barbarian.”

“Remains to be seen,” Chevy says around a mouthful of dough.

Not for the first time, the head coach is late. I’m not sure what Coach Bright’s deal is, but he seems less invested in the team than his cell phone. Sometimes in the middle of practice, he’ll take a call and head off the field. It’s the kind of behavior that won’t help him with job security, especially if the team keeps losing.

Chevy and I have fallen into a rhythm running warm-ups and drills. It’s not until we’re starting to scrimmage that Coach Bright emerges from the locker room. I notice the Bobs giving him the same dark looks they give me. I also notice that the top of the donut box is askew, and one of the guys is wiping his mouth. Score!

I turn my attention back to the players, clapping my hands. “Let’s go! Y’all act like you didn’t sleep last night. Pick it up and run the play again—this time like you’ve played football before!”

The guys scatter, and Chevy sidles up to me with a wink. “Speaking of no sleep—you don’t look like you got any last night.”

It’s true. I got almost none. Definitely not for the reasons Chevy’s smug grin seems to be implying. I keep my focus on the field.

“So, you had a good wedding night?” he presses.

Good is a relative term, but even on a sliding scale, my night was not good. Have you ever tried to sleep when the woman you love is just across the hallway? Even worse, in a house with walls so thin you can hear every movement? Lindy’s sighs were torture.

My consolation was that it sounded like she tossed and turned just as much. I can only hope it’s because she was thinking about me. To that end, I made sure to roll over a million times on what must be the squeakiest bed on the planet, sighing heavily each time.

When Lindy did finally settle to sleep, I loved hearing her soft, breathy sounds. They were a comfort to me. After so many years apart, so many years of thinking how I royally screwed this up, Lindy was right there. So close.

I’m living the dream! Well, almost the dream.

Lindy is my wife. Her rules don’t cover my thought life, and I’m going to think of her that way as many times as I can until it feels true.

My wife. My wife. My wife, wife, WIFE.