The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(85)

“Hello, Jojo. Looking mighty festive tonight, aren’t you?”

She looks adorable. Pat brought home shirts for us both and pompom scrunchies in school colors. He wasn’t home to help with her hair, but I managed two high ponytails with blue and white scrunchies. My hair is staying down. I draw the line at pompoms in the hair. Did I mention Pat thought a cowbell was also a good idea? Jo shakes it too close to Tank's ear and we both wince.

“Jo! Remember our discussion? No close-range cowbell,” I tell her, mouthing an apology to Tank.

“Sorry, Mr. Tank,” she says.

“It’s all right, Jojo. I just might be a little hard of hearing on the left side tonight. No biggie.” He turns his infectious smile on me, holding out his free arm to give me a hug. “Good to see you, Lindy.”

Jo giggles as she’s squeezed between us. I have to swallow down a massive lump in my throat as I pull back from Tank. He’s still got Jo perched on his hip like he’s been doing this forever. This feels like a tease, something I could almost claim as my own, almost real.

Get back down, you stupid throat lump!

“We’re all up there,” Tank says, pointing. “The rowdiest bunch in the stadium.”

I look up, shocked when I see a full row of bleachers taken up by Pat’s family and friends right alongside mine, united in a wall of hometown blue.

They are attracting stares already. I’m sure some because of the famous faces (Tank and Collin) and some because non-Sheeters aren’t usually allowed on the hometown side. Then there’s the whole thing about Sheeters feuding with the Grahams over the town. But Pat is a coach, and that carries a lot of weight. Tonight, as with our wedding reception, the pitchforks have been left at home. Except for the Waters box above, where I’m sure a lot of people are glaring down.

But when are the Waters clan NOT looking down on the rest of us? Might as well let them do it from inside the box they paid for with their donations to the stadium. That way, we don’t have to look at them.

I should crochet a pillow: Football and Weddings Bring Us Together. I don’t crochet, so I’ll have Val do it. I don’t think she crochets either, but she’d probably take it as a creative challenge.

My heart constricts again as I scan the row. They’re all here, even the grumpy James, who’s standing next to an equally grumpy-looking Winnie. Dale was supposed to come and cancelled due to a last-minute accounting emergency. From the looks of it, Winnie is taking out her disappointment on James.

Val is talking to Harper, and even Thayden and Delilah are here. Judge Judie and Mari stand next to more of Harper’s friends I don’t remember meeting. The woman has dyed the bottom half of her hair Sheet Cake Blue. Now, THAT’S school spirit.

If the people in our row aren’t holding posters, they’ve got pompoms, and even Ashlee stands at the end next to Collin, wearing a jersey and cutoffs. I blink. I catch Collin sneaking a look at her legs. Because how can you not???

This sight also has me fighting a steady rise of emotion, which I’m sure has as much to do with the impending hearing as it does my growing feelings for Pat and the instalife and instafamily he provides.

Could this be real? Could it be mine? Could I for once be lucky and have something good that doesn’t turn to ash and blow away?

Tonight, amidst the excitement of the crowd, with the smell of popcorn and the sound of whistles blowing and cowbells making people deaf, the idea of this new life feels both magical and very, very real.

“Follow me,” Tank says, and I walk behind him, letting him cut a path through the throng.

Even as he keeps a steady pace, he also acknowledges the people who speak to him, giving out fist bumps, high fives, and waves with the arm not holding Jo. I can see his smile even from behind in the lift of his cheeks. He’s a man who doesn’t seem to have a public smile and a real smile. Everyone gets to experience the real one, and it’s glorious. I want to slap people away, to stick a flag in him—in Pat’s whole family, really—and declare them mine, not public property. Tank is a good man. And, as they say, the apples haven’t fallen far from the tree.

“Lindybird!”

Pat’s voice barely reaches me, but I am acutely attuned to the sound. I spin to see him, sprinting from the sideline. It may not be football pants, but Pat is wearing the HECK out of khakis and a blue polo with a matching Sheet Cake baseball cap.

“I’ve got Jo,” Tank says, giving me a wink. “Go on.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I’m already moving toward Pat, to the chain-link fence at the railing separating the raised bleachers from the field. The metal feels cold as I clutch it, waiting for my husband.

Like he’s some kind of Marvel character, Pat leaps and grabs the metal bar, hoisting himself up so his grinning face is right in mine. I grin right back.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.”

A chorus of cheers and wolf whistles erupts behind us. There is no shortage of cowbells clanging either, but I refuse to let more cowbell ruin this moment.

It’s like I’ve been dropped right into the middle of a teen movie. Except usually it’s the captain of the football team, finally confessing his feelings for the nerdy girl who instantly turned hot after removing her glasses. I’m not sure what roles Pat and I are playing right now, or if they’re roles at all. But my heart is thudding in my chest like it’s trying to break free.