Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

EPILOGUE “Memory Lane”

Haley Joelle

Nate

Six months later . . .

T he door opens to the bathroom as I secure my cufflinks and pull my jacket down.

“Can you zip me?” Addie asks as I turn to see my wife holding the top of her long, navy silk gown to her chest. It flows over her porcelain skin, perfectly accentuating her figure. With her glossy dark hair secured on top of her head, tendrils of flyaway curls already coming loose—just the way I like them. The floating diamond I gave her on our tenth-anniversary sparkles on her chest, next to the diamond on her left hand, which glints against the material. A diamond I gifted her on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. She lifts a brow at my reaction to her half-dressed, half-accessible body and does her best to hide her smile.

“Not bad for an old lady?” She asks, wrinkling her nose.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking perfect,” I murmur, taking long strides toward her as she turns and offers her bare back to me. Taking the opportunity, I press a kiss to her nape and feel her involuntary shiver.

“You’re anything but an old lady,” I assure her. “Apparently, I did a shit job of reminding you last night.”

“That was two nights ago, old man .”

I slowly pull the zipper up to secure her dress. “You’re fucking breathtaking, Addie, always have been,” I tell her as she glances at me over her shoulder, her pink-painted lips curling up.

“You don’t look so bad, yourself,” she murmurs, “but get that look out of your eyes, Butler. We have an appointment to keep.”

“What look?” I taunt, playing the long game we started with years ago as a flash of Addie the first time I saw her at the party flits through my mind. She looked like a living dream, despite the scowl on her face as she chugged champagne. Stunned by the sight of her, I stood waiting until she spotted me standing between the tables, zeroed in on her. The second our eyes met, she stopped her glass halfway to her mouth, her lips lifting up in much the same way as they are now, her expression looking a lot like ‘okay, now who in the hell are you?’

Like me, she was a little bit jaded, a little bit over it, but just as hopeful she was wrong about being both those things. I didn’t have the answer that night of who I was to her, but it hit me like a freight train a few months later.

Hers.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks. “You okay?”

Turning her toward the mirror, I circle her waist and dip my chin to rest in the curve of her neck as I study our reflection. “Better than okay . . . thinking about the night I saw the most beautiful pissed-off woman at a party and immediately wanted her naked.”

She grips my hands resting on her stomach. “Good thing to think about,” she says as we soak each other in. “This is going to be one of those days, isn’t it?”

The slight shake in her voice tells me none of us are getting out of this without our emotions getting the best of us. Though my wife is tougher than nails—tougher than me—I can’t help but feel the same burn of what she’s feeling as her eyes mist. “We’ve still got a ton to look forward to as well, Addie.”

“I wish we’d have had more kids,” she sighs. “At least so we wouldn’t lose our shit on her every time she hits a milestone. That’s a lot of pressure for her,” she says through a laugh.

“I wouldn’t change anything.”

She runs a hand up to catch a tear from beneath her eyes. “Me neither. Now get away from me before you ruin my makeup.”

Refusing to budge, I hold her tightly to me a little bit longer. “I love you, Addison Butler.”

“What did I just say, you jackass?” She snaps playfully as I turn her and gently lift her tears away with my thumbs.

“Not my fault you’re a cry baby.”

She smooths her palms over my shoulders before gliding them down the arms of my jacket, eyes flaring with familiar heat. “Don’t drink too much,” she orders huskily, the promise of a good night shining in her eyes if I obey.

I run my nose along hers. “Yes, ma’am.”

Ignoring her protest, I kiss her, ruining her lipstick, and she resists for just a second before she allows it. It deepens, and I rip myself free before I make good on what’s brewing between us.

“I’m going to go check on the bride.”

“Okay,” she says, wiping my lips free of the color before turning back toward the mirror. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Take your time, baby. We’ve still got a few hours.”

“Go,” she waves me off, “stop worrying about me and go take care of our little girl.”

The humidity covers me as soon as I close the door to our bungalow. Sweat gathering on my brow, I follow the walkway past the lush tropical landscape and take it all in. Aside from the heat, it’s the perfect day. Fragrance drifts from a cluster of some exotic flowers I can’t identify a few feet away, and I inhale it deeply, deciding to burn every detail of this day into memory. This is definitely one of those days to pay attention to, to take detailed notes of, to cherish.

Addie and I have had hundreds of them over our years together, and adding today to the collection is bittersweet. The burn in my throat threatens as they continue to trickle in, and I pause on the rolling memory of Addie in the back of my Tahoe—hovering over our newly occupied car seat the day we brought our baby home from the hospital. Terrified, I drove home going ten miles an hour as every asshole in Austin sped around us, cursing us and laying on their horn. The mortification I felt that day knowing I had a big job to do, the pressure continually mounting as the world revealed its ugly side while I fought to safely get my wife and newborn home. Addie had laughed at me for driving too slowly, but I could see the slight fear in her own expression just before she shakily whispered, “We’ve got this.”

We didn’t always have it, but at least it didn’t feel that way until we had weathered through some of our trials. It was only after when we came out stronger, wiser—if not a bit tattered, that those words rang true. Years of trials and triumphs continue to replay in my mind as I travel down the well-marked path of the tiny island resort toward Natalie’s bungalow. Turning the corner, back already covered in a sheen of humidity-induced sweat, I’m stopped short when I see Stella stepping out and pulling the door closed, a close-lipped smile on her face. She takes the few steps down and stops. As if sensing me, she looks up, and our eyes meet for the first time in nearly three decades.

“Nate,” she rushes out, watering eyes sweeping me from head to freshly polished wingtips.

“Hi, Stella. Fancy meeting you here,” I quip, sliding my hands into the pockets of my tailored tuxedo slacks. Reid and Stella’s flight got delayed due to a tropical storm, so they missed the rehearsal dinner. They arrived late last night, and we haven’t had a chance to greet each other yet.

“Oh my God,” she proclaims, “we got old.”

“Hey, speak for yourself. I’m feeling every bit the handsome motherfucker today,” I grin, exaggeratedly adjusting my bowtie.

“Well, most definitely that,” she compliments as her eyes trail over me. I take her in as well, her flowing pale pink dress. Her long, black hair curled and draped over her shoulders.

“You look beautiful.” I take a step forward. “It’s good to see you. Ready for this?”

She immediately lifts a palm. “Stay back!”

I flinch at her outburst and stop my approach.

“Sorry,” she sniffs and laughs. “But I’m warning you, I’m an emotional, sentimental wreck today. If you come any closer, I

will cry.”

“Well,” I say, stalking toward her, “tough shit.”

I make it to her in two more strides, and she grips me tightly to her as I lift her off her feet. We hug for several seconds, and I keep her suspended as she pulls away, her palms on my shoulders, beaming as a tear skates down her cheek. “I warned you,” she says. “Wow . . . Nate.” She shakes her head in disbelief.

“I know . . . but you should know you aren’t alone,” I say, easing her back to her feet. “You should go introduce yourself to Addie. Bungalow 12. She’s anxious to meet you and hasn’t been able to leave the room yet, because she’s in the same state. Though she’ll be hard-pressed to admit it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” I grin. “Believe it or not, I married a woman more ornery than you.”

“Ohhhh, in that case,” she playfully rubs her hands together. “Then I definitely will. Maybe I’ll grab a bottle of something strong we can share.”

I chuckle. “That’s a very good idea, and at the same time, fucking terrifying .”

She laughs, and the sound hits me with a shot of nostalgia. We take a few seconds to soak in the moment, lost in our individual recollections.

“See you in a little while?” She asks, giving us both an out.

“See you there,” I say with a wink before turning and taking the stairs up to the bungalow.

“Nate?”

Glancing over my shoulder, I see Stella’s already at the foot of the stairs, her eyes lowered. Her fearful expression has me walking back down to stand in front of her.

“Yeah?”

“I can’t believe this happened—this is happening, has been happening.” She lifts her grey eyes to mine, and in them, I see a glimpse of the girl who kicked open my office door with sharpie lyric scribbled Converse before roller-skating her way into my heart.

“Yeah, it’s pretty surreal,” I agree.

“Fate really did its thing, didn’t it?”

“Sure,” I say, rolling my eyes up.

“Oh, please,” she scolds playfully. “ Fate is why you became a writer. I’ll always remember the story of how you got started.”

“I know. I read your book.”

Mouth parting, eyes wide, she gapes at me.

“Stella . . . speechless,” I buff my nails on the breast of my tux. “I’ve definitely still got it.”

“You read it?”

“Yeah, I did,” I say, as our own memories continue to trickle in. Memories of a different life. “A copy materialized on my desk last year.”

“Oh,” she says, her expression clouding with anxiety.

“I’m glad I read it,” I admit.

“Yeah?” She prompts, hope lighting her eyes.

“Yeah, I am,” I say sincerely. “Kind of hard to hold onto any grudge when your ex-fiancée introduces you as a sex God someone forgot about.”

“Pretty sure sex wasn’t the preface—”

“You have your interpretation. I have mine. But . . . to be honest, I loved your interpretation.”

“Really?”

“Really. It fit.”

“Well, that’s . . . shit . . . Nate.” Her eyes water over again as she inhales a deep breath, her voice shaking when she speaks. “Even if this was hard to accept at first, it’s . . . kind of beautiful, isn’t it? That our love story led to theirs?”

“Yeah, it is, truly,” I agree as we fully relax our guards. “You raised a good man, Stella.”

“I think so, too,” she says with pride. “And Natalie is . . . she’s absolutely beautiful, Nate. The spitting image of you , too, in every imaginable way.”

“I know,” I smile with my own parental pride as she playfully slaps my chest.

“Ughhh, still an egomaniac.”

“Some things never change,” I muse.

“Good,” she whispers, “and I hope some things never will.”

“They won’t,” I assure, bending and pressing a quick kiss to her temple.

Relief relaxes her features as we silently exchange that we’re both at peace with the place we have in each other’s lives. I don’t want Stella feeling guilty because I meant the words I spoke to my wife. I wouldn’t change a thing. I wouldn’t go back. I wouldn’t alter a minute of my life, not a fucking second.

“Now, go fetch my wife from the closet I’m sure she’s hiding in, and please do your best not to corrupt her.”

“No promises,” she quips, her grin growing as she begins to back away, beaming a smile at me before turning. I do the same as she disappears and I reclimb the steps before knocking on the door.

“Uncle Nate, you look so handsome,” Holly says with a smile, ushering me inside.

Before I get a chance to reply, I spot Natalie standing on a stepstool in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror in her wedding gown, a bouquet of pale pink roses in hand. Eyes already stinging, it’s when ours meet in the reflection, and she gasps out an elated but tearful, “Daddy,” that I’m a goner.

“Sleep Walk”

Deftones

Shaking my hands free of excess water, I grab a fresh towel and wipe them dry as the bass filters through the walls from the reception. Exiting the restroom, I retrieve Addie’s empty champagne flute where I left it. Headed towards the bar, I stop dead in my tracks as a familiar voice sounds up from the other side of a closed door.

“Oh my God . . . stop! We’re going to get busted.”

“It’s all right, baby. No one can hear us. The music is too loud.” I know that voice , too.

“We . . . have . . . to . . . stop. Jesus, Damon, what in the hell was in that Mexican beach water?!”

“I love you, Holly, that’s what was in the damned water, now less talking and less pant—”

I rap firmly on the door twice . “I’m going to stop you right there and tell you that anyone, and I mean anyone, who walks past this door, will be able to both hear and identify you, clearly .”

A long pause.

Holly is the first to speak up. “Uncle Nate?”

“Yes, sweetheart, it’s me.”

“Ummm, I . . . we . . . thank you for . . . this . . . see, the truth is, we really haven’t come—”

“Out of the closet?” I finish, because it can’t be helped. “That’s apparent. Tell you what, I’ll do you both and myself a favor and pretend like I didn’t hear anything.”

Because you’ve changed both their damned diapers.

The thought of that has me cringing as they speak up in unison. “Thank you.”

I take two steps away, hearing the click of my wingtips on the floor and their relieved sighs just before Holly whispers a scolding, “I told you!”

“And guys . . .” I speak up again, only to be met by another pregnant pause.

“Yes, Uncle Nate?” Holly asks. The squeak in her tone has my smile cracking wider.

“It’s about damned time.”

I walk away in fast strides, thankful that I didn’t exit the bathroom a minute later. I might not have survived it. Entering the reception, I walk up to the bar and hand over the empty champagne glass to the bartender requesting a fresh one.

“Hey, man.”

I turn to see Reid standing next to me, dressed in a matching tux, his hair still slicked back presentably.

“Hey,” I chuckle as he adjusts his jacket, looking uncomfortable before patting down his pockets.

“Fuck,” he closes his eyes briefly before shaking his head in irritation. “Leave it to me to quit smoking on an overseas trip where my wife assured me some witch doctor’s herbs will help curb it.”

“Careful, Crowne, you almost passed for a gentleman.” I grin as he scowls at me, fidgeting with the collar of his fitted tux.

“Let’s get you some old-fashioned therapy,” I suggest. “What are you drinking?”

He tilts his empty rocks glass my way. “Whiskey.”

“I’ll join you,” I say, nodding toward the bartender to add to my order before tossing a bill in his tip jar. Drinks in hand, we both sip our whiskey as our wives—who are standing on opposite sides of the reception hall—spot us at the bar, their expressions a mix of fear and intrigue. I stifle my grin by taking a long sip of my drink.

“They’re nervous as hell right now,” Reid mutters, his tone just as amused as he keeps a straight face.

“This is too good. It’s like they’re expecting a full-on brawl,” I agree, trying like hell to keep my cool as Stella watches us carefully like we’re zoo animals.

“It’s amazing how helpless they think we are,” Reid says.

“Little do they know,” I say, turning back toward the bar, no longer able to hide my smile. Reid follows suit as we both let them slip. Under the radar, I clink my glass to his. “Should we keep them guessing?”

“Maybe a little longer,” he says. “This is too good.”

The bartender flits his attention behind us, and we take the cue and step aside to allow the guests their turn at the bar. Though the wedding is on the smaller scale, the hall is filled to the brim with friends and family from both sides—some of whom I have yet to meet. My eyes drift toward familiar when I spot Lexi and Ben, who are slow dancing on the floor.

“Are they ever going to get it together?” I ask. Reid follows my line of sight and the lift of my chin. I’m all too aware of Lexi and Ben’s drama, having firsthand witnessed Lexi’s state in the aftermath of her and Ben’s initial breakup, along with following the headlines they’ve made over the years.

“Ben has had a diamond in his pocket since the day after we played at the Super Bowl,” Reid chuckles. “I have no doubt it will be on her finger one day soon. And she’ll marry him and throw it back at him a hundred times before we finally toss them in the grave together . To be honest, right now, they’re the least of my worries. I’m seeing a lot more drama unfolding than those two can toss at us tonight.”

“Do tell,” I say, circling the whiskey in my glass before taking a sip.

“Benji,” he prompts, and I follow his line of sight to see Ben and Lexi’s tuxedo-clad son standing on the side of the dance floor, his posture relaxed, his expression livid .

“Oh, I see him, and he’s foaming at the mouth at—”

“Easton’s bodyguard.”

“Joel,” I toss in. “Yeah, I’ve met him. Good man, oh shit, I see ,” I reiterate, spotting Joel on the dance floor with Rye’s daughter, Rian, their body language making it clear they’re sharing more than a friendly dance.

Reid exhales harshly, “We should fucking pop some popcorn and wait this out because we’ve got the best seats in the house.”

“It’s never easy, is it?” I shake my head as our eyes focus on Easton and Natalie, who are in the middle of the dance floor nose to nose, swaying to the guitar-fueled melody of “Sleep Walk,” completely oblivious of the world around them.

“They have no idea what they’re in for,” Reid says, a father’s concern in his voice.

“They have some idea,” I remind him.

“Yeah, that’s true.” He glances over at me. “We did a good thing, man.”

“More than one,” I say as Easton dips and whispers to Natalie, and she beams up at him in response before her smile grows impossibly brighter. “I’m pretty sure we can thank Stella’s cosmic influence on both of them. Otherwise, we couldn’t have pulled it off.”

“Still,” he says, “it was a stroke of genius to throw them in the blender in Mexico.”

“Yes, it was,” I say with a chuckle. “Stella can replace the F in fate with an N ,” I muse, tossing back more whiskey.

“Still no way to make sense of how they ended up together in the first place,” Reid states with a bewildered tone.

“I can’t deny that—At. Fucking. All. Can’t say it didn’t play a part, either.”

Reid glances over at me. “What if it hadn’t worked out?”

“We can only do so much, right? God knows we made our own mistakes.”

“Truth,” he says, slowly lifting his chin to Stella to ease her worry just before I catch Addie’s eye and give her a slow wink.

“Nate.” Reid’s change of tone has me glancing over at him. “Can we keep this to—”

I nod, sharply cutting him off. “It stays solely between us. It’s the secret we can take to our separate graves.”

He nods, seeming satisfied as I retire my rocks glass and exchange it before lifting the flute in my hand. “I’m going to bring my wife her champagne.”

“See you around, Butler.”

“Yeah, you will,” I circle my face with my free hand while sporting a shit-eating grin. “So, you might want to get used to this pretty face.”

“Careful, Butler. You almost dodged pretentious prick.” Reid full-on smiles at me before sipping his whiskey.

“Touché, Crowne.”

THE END