Chapter 8 Nisha
eight
nisha
Not Asking For Forever
One Year Ago
Itune out the roar from the bleachers—the various national flags, the distant yells from proud parents and family, the scattered applause.
My focus is locked on my student, Sydney, as she blocks a chop kick from her opponent and pivots to land a clean kick to her side.
“Good,” I whisper to myself, though my hands ball at my sides. In my right hand, I’m gripping my protest card so tight, it’s threatening to slice through skin.
I’m waiting—fucking daring—Sydney’s opponent to try something sketchy again. She’s a German girl who’s built like a tank and probably eats toddlers for breakfast. How the hell did she even get into the featherweight class? There’s literally nothing feather-like about her.
Sydney, on the other hand, is all long legs and refined kicks. The kind that makes her look like she’s meant for ballet until they’re trying to crack your spine. But right now, she’s off balance coming off a clinch, the mat squeaking under her feet as she tries to stay upright but can’t.
It’s as if I’ve willed the scenario into existence when her opponent delivers a sharp kick a second after Sydney hits the floor. Not only was that kick unnecessary, it was completely illegal.
Or it should have been.
I wait for the referee to call it. He doesn’t.
What the hell?
I shoot to my feet and hold the protest card up like I’m trying to stab someone with it. “Coach challenge! That should have been a gam-jeom.”
The ref calls for a pause, separating the two fighters.
And while Sydney is back on her feet, her eyes flick to mine, wondering the same thing—why isn’t the ref calling textbook bullshit?
A grounded opponent taking a kick? That should have been an automatic deduction.
And it’s not like I’m the only one who saw it.
I give Sydney a short nod, letting her know I’ve got her, but inside, I’m fuming. My eyes are locked on where the judges are reviewing the footage on their monitors while my fists park themselves on my hips.
And that’s when I feel it—that strange pull that starts inside my chest, like a string tugging me upright. It stiffens my spine, making me turn to find the cause.
I scan the bleachers, already searching before my brain can even register it. It’s then that they land on the tall figure partially hidden behind two massive men, who are likely part of his protection team.
He’s wearing an oversized hoodie with a cap and sunglasses, but I’d know that set of shoulders, those unfairly plush lips, and that stubbled cut of his jaw anywhere.
Not because any of those features belong to a man who’s been gracing People’s Sexiest Men list for the past five years, but because he’s starred in every single one of my damn dreams since the moment I left him.
Hell, the man could have worn a paper bag over his head, and I’d probably still recognize him.
But why is he here?
Why now?
And while I know he loves taekwondo as much as I do, I’ve never seen him at one of these competitions before.
Is he here for me?
My eyes flick back to the judges before the ref announces the deduction of a point from Sydney’s opponent and the girls go back to finish the round. But my mind is still stuck on the man in the bleachers, begging my eyes not to betray its command.
My attention stays on Sydney, and I watch the way her posture changes.
There’s a fire in her eyes, a determination in her stance—the I was just warming up, but I’m about to own you kind—as she lands three solid kicks in succession.
She delivers them like claps of lightning, the last one landing just as the buzzer sounds.
And just like that, the match is over with Sydney winning by two points and advancing to the semifinals. While she doesn’t win the next one, she earns herself—and our dojang—a bronze medal, which is a huge feat on its own.
After a long embrace, where I tell her how proud I am of her, Sydney pulls back, eyes shining and breaths still heavy from the exertion. Her parents have joined us near the exit.
“I can’t believe I did it,” Sydney says, clutching her medal over her chest. “I can’t believe I got this far.”
“I can,” I respond easily, because it’s true. “You’re one of the hardest working athletes I know. It’s not a surprise to me at all.”
“Thank you for always believing in me, Sabumnim Arora.” Sydney beams, looking from her parents to me. “Would you like to come to dinner with me and my family?”
My gaze flicks to the man standing near a pillar behind her, his two bodyguards hovering close, blending in about as well as Madonna in Amish country.
I give Sydney’s shoulder a final squeeze before nodding my thanks to her parents. “You guys go on and celebrate. I have something I need to catch up on.”
With that, I make my way over to the man watching me approach as if mesmerized. His glasses are gone, but his hood is still up, as if that will stop anyone from recognizing one of the most recognizable faces in the world. But I guess he doesn’t care much about that if he’s risking being here.
His eyes grow darker, richer, with each step I take, and his lips tilt upward. His bodyguards assess me warily, likely wondering if I’m a threat, given I’m charging at their ward like I’m either going to kiss him or kill him.
Honestly, it could go either way.
Coming to a stop in front of him, I try to get straight to the point. Annoyingly, his familiar bergamot and mint scent permeates my thoughts, diminishing some of my tartness.
“What are you doing here?”
We’re hidden enough by the pillar and his security detail that Patton brushes back the hood over his head, his jawline looking anything but casual.
He lifts one shoulder. “I wanted to see you.”
“You wanted to see me,” I repeat. “Why?”
I refuse to acknowledge the way my heart gallops in his presence. In fact, I’ve never had a regular heartbeat around this man. Not when we were dating, not when we were married, and certainly not now. I’m not sure if he made the damn organ stronger or weaker.
“Can I not want to see my best friend?”
I huff out an incredulous laugh. “Yeah, well, we’re not best friends anymore, are we, Patton? In fact, I’d hedge to say we’re pretty far from that after six years of radio silence.”
His gaze drops to my wrist, a smug smile threatening to emerge on his face. “And yet you’re still wearing our bracelet.”
I stand up taller, nostrils flaring.
I knew I should have gotten rid of the damn thing after all these years. And while I took off my wedding ring a year after the divorce was finalized, for whatever reason, I didn’t have it in me to cut the permanent bracelet we’d gotten as teens, his silver to my gold.
“I didn’t want a perfectly good piece of metal to go to waste.”
His smile says he knows I’m lying to both of us. Dropping his eyes to his own wrist, he says, “Yeah, me, too.”
I nod, readying myself to turn around and leave. “Well, this has been swell—”
“And as for the years of silence, who wanted that, Nisha? Who asked for that?”
Yeah, me. I asked for that. Because I needed that.
But fuck him for following through.
I suck in a slow, calming breath. “I’m not going to do this with you here, Patton—”
“Then don’t.” He steps toward me, swallowing hard. “Not here, not anywhere. Have dinner with me.”
“Why?” The bitterness leaks out before I can contain it. “So we can rehash what happened and come to the same conclusion—that you chose your career over me and I chose to be okay with it? Until I wasn’t. Until I had to live the most excruciating night of my life alone because you weren’t there?”
Though he doesn’t flinch, his eyes close for a moment too long, confirmation that I’ve hit my mark.
My throat feels dry. It’s not like I want to hurt him. I know what happened between us wasn’t all on him. But it’s as if just his presence alone has the power to bring everything bubbling to the surface, making it all seep out through angry, bitter words.
But the truth is . . . I miss him.
I miss the boy I fell in love with and the man I watched him become.
I miss my best friend. My husband. The only person who could make me laugh until I cried, and the only person to have turned real tears into laughter.
I miss him, dammit. With every hollow breath, with a longing set inside my bones. I don’t know when I’ll get over him.
Patton takes my hand, and though the current that zips through me should have me pulling back from his touch, I let him.
Maybe because I’m tired of pretending to be strong, unfeeling, and okay. Maybe because I’ve spent the last six years building walls that he’s managed to crumble in a mere six minutes. Or maybe because his hand feels warm and familiar against my cold one.
“No,” he says softly, shaking his head. “I’m not here to rehash or defend my mistakes, Little Borealis.
I’ve been living the consequences of my decisions, day in and day out.
I’m asking you to put it all aside for just a night.
A few hours. Hell, I’ll even take one hour if that’s all you’ll give me. ”
“But why?”
His rich brown eyes hold my charcoal ones, and in them I see a reflection of my own longing. “Because I miss you, plain and simple.”
The corners of my eyes prick, betraying tears threatening to spill as I recall the messages he sent me the first year after we separated. Messages saying he missed me and wanted me back. Messages I left unanswered. Like clockwork, he sent them daily. Until I asked him not to and changed my number.
Because I couldn’t survive them.
Hell, I barely survived without them.
But I had to do what was right for me at the time.
But now? With him saying those words aloud and my hand still inside his . . . do I have any fight left?
“I don’t know, Patton,” I say finally, but we both know I’m not saying no.
“I’m not asking for forever, Little Borealis. Just dinner.”
That shouldn’t have sent a stabbing pain through my ribs, but I barely stop myself from rubbing my chest.
I pull my hand out of his grasp. Not because I want to, but because I need to. Because, with just one touch, he has me breaking all rules and resolve. If I don’t reset and give myself a little distance to think, he’ll have the power to break a lot more. To take a lot more.
I glance away, thinking of another way to stall. “I’m leaving L.A. tomorrow morning.”
“Then I guess we need to make tonight worth it.”
A beat passes between us, with his victory shining through his smug smile before I’ve even provided an answer.
I sigh, shaking my head and knowing I’m being reckless.
But it has been so long since I have.
“Send me the address. I’ll meet you there in an hour.”