Page 195 of One Big Little Secret

To my surprise, he doesn’t take me to his house.

He brings me to my apartment. A brutal lump in my throat makes it hard to breathe the second I look around.

Arlo’s toys are scattered across the floor. The bowl from pancakes this morning is still in the sink.

Oh, if only I’d taken a rain check and had that brunch with Delly another time.

It all feels so long ago.

I don’t think I can hold it together.

Patton slides an arm around my back, and for the second time since hearing the news, I’m in his arms. He holds me tight, almost until I can’t breathe, and that’s a good thing.

But I can’t relax into him with all the unsaid things between us.

He pulls away like he senses it, leaving one hand lingering by my hip.

“You should eat first. Then we’ll talk,” he says.

“I want to talk now.”

His eyes are dark pools at night, almost pained with shadows, but he nods.

“Okay. But at least let me make you food.”

My kitchen is a mess, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he finds a knife and a cutting board. A companionable silence falls over us with his rhythmic chopping.

I sit on the sofa where we first kissed.

This cramped, beat-up apartment feels dizzy with memories.

“I’m sorry for leaving,” he says eventually. “I know how bad you wanted me to stay.”

I rub my eyes. If there was any makeup smudged there, it’s long gone. “I didn’t want to be alone, Patton.”

“I know.”

“And you left.”

“I had to. I couldn’t sit back and do nothing. I’m sorry,” he growls, sighing heavily. “I think my efforts paid off. I know who did it, and I couldn’t tell you in front of Mom.”

Huh?

My head whips up. I stare at his back and the bunched muscles moving under his shirt as he chops vegetables. The world feels almost too enormous as I reach down inside and pull up a single word.

“Who?”

“Evelyn Hibbing. Goddamn her.” His voice is pure violence.

“Wait, what?” I sit up straighter. “No way, you—you can’t be serious. She’s just a harmless old lady. She’s just—” I stop cold.

She’s Evelyn. Sweet old grandmotherly Evelyn with her flowers and bittersweet Minnesota memories, missing her husband dearly.

Evelyn, who’s told us time and time again how wonderful we are together.

“I know it sounds batshit,” Patton says, his voice heavy. “That’s how we all felt when we figured it out. Arch and Dex, they’re thinking it, too. I’m not crazy.”

“I just don’t—how?Why?”

---