Page 63 of Patrick

“Sit down and join us for breakfast,” Dad says. “You’ll have to forgive our… surprise, but believe it or not, Patrick has never had a girlfriend before, at least not the kind he introduced to his family.”

Pammy goes white, and I give her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. I’m about to make an excuse to Dad about breakfast when she jumps in.

“Breakfast would be nice. Thank you.”

That pleases Kathleen, and she moves her chair so Mom can squeeze another one in for Pam to sit next to me.

I notice Daniel shake his head and Liam smirks. Rory studies Pammy curiously. I’m glad Connor and Sean aren’t here or they’d probably beat the truth out of me, concussion or no concussion.

As soon as she’s seated, Pammy turns to me. “How are you? How’s your head? I read that you have a concussion.”

“Yeah. Sorry they took my phone or I’d have let you know.” I aim an accusing nod at my Dad.

“I apologize, Pammy. If we’d known, we would have contacted you.” He sends me an accusing glare right back. “The doctor gave strict orders for Patrick to avoid all screens for forty-eight hours.”

She nods, and I offer her a piece of bacon by way of apology for the distinct tension in the room. In fact, my head is back to pounding, and I have no doubt it’s from the tension.

“We have any aspirin, Kathleen?” She always has a stash of painkillers—the off-the-shelf kind.

She pulls a bottle from her apron pocket and hands it to me.

“Your headache is back.”

I nod and pop a few in my mouth, avoiding looking at anyone.

“How did you two meet?” The question would be normal if it wasn’t coming from Daniel, but there’s a challenge in his tone of voice like we have something to prove.

No matter, Pammy is up to the challenge as her face opens into a beautiful big grin.

“We met at the Coop—the UNH bookstore. I work there and he came in for⁠—”

“I was looking for a book on the history of hockey so I could post some interesting factoids on my IG account.” I sort of make this up out of nowhere, and I squeeze Pammy’s thigh—however fucking inappropriate that is—because I need her to go along with it. No way was I going to let her tell my family I was looking for a book of poetry. No matter what excuse she gave them for such a book, they’d never believe her if she were a nun married to the pope.

“That’s actually a good idea,” Kathleen says. “Send me some quotes, and I’ll include them. Also, I need more photos.”

“Right.” Shit. She’s been helping me out with my IG account because I don’t have the time or much interest to bother, and she insists that I need to do it for my personal brand or some such shit.

“It is a brilliant idea, right?” Pammy says.

“What’s your major, Pammy?” Dad says, wearing his friendly smile.

This is where Pammy shines, and I enjoy watching the faces of everyone in my family as she explains to them what she’s studying. Everyone’s impressed, and everyone but Mom gives me an extra look of skepticism.

Kathleen says, “My, you’re on your way to a big career. What are you doing with the likes of my brother?” She turns to me. “Nothing personal, Patrick, but…” she shrugs.

“No problem. I ask her the same thing.”

Pammy blushes, and everyone else chuckles. Turns out I’m serious. As soon as we’re alone, I’m going to ask her what the heck she’s doing pretending to be my girlfriend.

I know I started it, but that was… for a minute, a one-time very short-term stint.

When breakfast is finally over, I excuse us from the table and take Pammy to my bedroom-turned-office off the kitchen to talk. I close the door, and I don’t care what Mom thinks. Shit. That’s not right. But she doesn’t say anything, and I figure she trusts me for a short visit with Pammy.

“Are you alright?” Pammy asks. “For real? I heard the concussion was bad⁠—”

“I’m fine. What the—what are you doing here?” I take a couple of breaths and lower my voice. “Our girlfriend charade was supposed to be temporary.” Panic rises up my throat at the idea that she might think there’s something between us, bringing a return of my nausea with it.

Shit. This is exactly the kind of thing I’m supposed to avoid. No excitement. I give an inner snort. This is definitely the wrong kind of excitement.