Pat seems so steady now beside me, but I’ve watched his pattern over the years, the jumping from thing to thing and person to person. He’s told me himself how, after his injury, he hasn’t found a job he liked or an apartment he kept for more than a year. How can I be sure he’ll stay after the hearing? If Rachel wins custody of Jo, Pat doesn’t have to stay. If I win custody of Jo, Pat doesn’t need to stay. Any outcome, there’s still a chance he could go.
But he’s giving me every indication he will stay. He’s steadier than he used to be, more settled. I can’t believe I’m still harboring doubts when he is constantly bending over backward for me. I’m more than a little ashamed of doubting him. But that doesn’t make the doubts disappear.
“You’re doing so much, and I’m doing so little,” I say. “It feels unfair.”
“In a relationship, sometimes one person needs more help and support than the other. At another time, it may flip. And still other times, it might be totally equal give-and-take. For now, you need support and I’m freely giving it.”
Relationship. He said relationship! I can totally hear Winnie scoffing in my head, because of COURSE he said relationship. We are married—that’s, like the ultimate definition of a relationship. Still, hearing Pat describe us that way gives me a thrill. A thrill somewhere between terror and excitement, just like always when it comes to him.
I grip Pat’s shirt with all the strength I can muster. Despite feeling weak and worn, I’d like to see someone try to pry me off him.
He speaks, his lips almost brushing the shell of my ear. “I cannot imagine anyone caring for and raising Jo better than you, Lindybird. You’ve also been caring for your mama. I’m sure that has been heart-breaking.”
It really has. Anyone who has been through the deterioration of a parent’s memory and brain function knows exactly how much.
“And while you’ve got a great support system here, you’ve done so much on your own. Through force of will and force of caring. You have the biggest heart.”
I sniff, realizing the tears have regrouped and made an appearance again. They’re a little more like happy tears now.
“I don’t have a big heart. It’s all wrinkled and shriveled up. Like a raisin. It’s a raisin heart.”
“Oh, I think it’s bigger than a raisin, darlin’.”
“A prune, then.”
He snorts. “It’s the most beautiful prune heart in the world.”
I try not to let his compliments take root too deeply inside me. I’m not sure whether or not I’m successful. Pat’s arms tighten around my waist and he rests his chin on the top of my head. A little breeze picks up, but it doesn’t chill me. I’ve got my own Pat-heater right here.
“I do have a request,” Pat says.
“Of course. What is it?”
“Come watch my football game.”
This takes me aback. I hadn’t thought about coming to the games, because it’s not like Pat was playing. It just hadn’t even occurred to me he might want my support as a coach. “You want me to come to your game?”
“You and Jo. It would really mean a lot. Coach Bright resigned this week.”
“He did?” I feel bad that I didn’t know, that I haven’t even asked anything about football or Pat’s life.
“Yep. Now, it’s just me and Chevy.” He pauses, and his next words sound like a confession. “I’m nervous.”
“You, nervous?”
“I always got nervous. Playing or coaching, it’s no different. Before every single game, even in the pros, I would freak out. Sometimes I’d throw up.”
This is hard for me to imagine. Pat seems so unshakably confident at all times. “I watched you play in college.”
“You did? Seriously? That was back before we dated.” Pat sounds so unbelievably pleased, like my words are the equivalent of giving the man a new car with a shiny red bow on top. “And you noticed me?”
Before we met, I was all too aware of Patrick Graham, and not just because of his exceptional playing or how good he looked in tight football pants. I might have harbored a tiny crush on him from a distance for years, one I never told him about. I never thought I’d meet a man who was famous on campus or that I’d snag his attention.
“You were unmissable,” I tell him. “Except for the defense. They never could catch you.” The part of my brain always seeking choice metaphors hopes there’s not one in there for us.
“You watched me play. Huh.” He shakes his head, looking awed and way too pleased with this information. “Why didn’t you tell me back then?”
“And make that big head of yours any bigger? Nah.”
“I still have my football pants, by the way.” His fingertips find a ticklish spot on my neck. When I squeal and try to pull away, he stills his fingers but pulls me closer. “I could wear them sometime, if you’d like.”
“Why would I like?”
I would very, VERY MUCH LIKE.
“Hm. Just seems like you’ve had your share of ogling my top half. It’s hardly fair. My bottom half might be feeling jealous for the same attention.” I shove him, and he chuckles, bouncing right back and curling his arm around me even tighter. “So, you’ll come to my game?”
“We’ll be there. Now, can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he says, and my heart shudders with excitement at the promise in that one word.
“Will you be wearing your football pants?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lindy
I haven’t been to a high school football game since, well, high school, but I promised Pat, so here we are. Even though we’re just two days from the hearing, and all I want to do is hold Jo in a viselike grip in the comfort of home. But that’s not really feasible or advisable, so getting out of the house is probably a good thing.
The stadium is the new and improved version of the one where I watched my high school games with Val and Winnie beside me in the bleachers. To anyone who hasn’t grown up in small-town Texas, Friday Night Lights might have seemed like heavy fiction. A caricature of Texas football culture, whether you read the book, saw the movie, or watched the show. Ladies and gentlemen, I am here to tell you Friday Night Lights is not fiction. (Also, literally, the book is nonfiction.) Tonight, though, the game is going down on a Tuesday. Unfortunately, Tuesday Night Lights just doesn’t have the same ring to it.