Chapter 21 Patton #2
“Then why have you been avoiding me?” I ask, my chest rising and falling against her from both the adrenaline and this completely unexpected news.
“Because I needed a chance to process!” Her hand grasps mine before she pulls me toward her suite. “Let’s just talk inside. I’m assuming you’re Alex Fleming, since he hasn’t shown up?”
I smile, following her in. “Did you know he was the scientist who discovered penicillin?”
“I do now.”
“I debated going with Michael Faraday, the creator of the helium balloon, but given your aversion . . .”
She glares at me, and I drop my smile. Pregnant or not, it would take point-two seconds for my ex-wife to have me sprawled out on the floor like the other idiot.
“Anyway, if I’d given my real name, you know you would have found a way to cancel.”
She rolls her eyes, but says nothing, probably because she knows I’m right.
“Give me a second,” she says, heading toward the half-bath connected to her suite. “I need to pee. Be right back.”
I turn to close the suite door when the sight in the hall makes me freeze.
All three cats—Beaver, Snatch, and Vajayjay—are starting to circle Micah as he tries to stand, tails in the air like bullwhips and alien-eyes locked on him like they’re about to do a human sacrifice.
Micah flaps a hand at them. “Shoo. Go on now. Move.”
The cats just hiss at him in response, causing him to pull his hand back quickly like it’s been bitten. I can’t help the smile that tugs at my face. Mr. Fifth dan is losing his shit because of three house cats.
Vajayjay, the most “talkative” of the three siblings, breaks the formation to press one of the buttons against the wall, making it speak in a robotic voice. “I’m hungry.”
Since they adopted the cats, Piper, Sarina, and Nisha have been training them to use communication buttons to announce their needs.
And while his siblings love using the buttons, Beaver is more of a silent-type.
According to Nisha, he prefers to communicate through unnerving stares and random gifts.
But two weeks ago, when I’d dropped by to see Nisha after she left my bed without giving me my usual good-morning kiss, Beaver shocked everyone.
Right as I was leaving, having gotten more than a kiss when I took my girl up against the wall in her suite, Beaver rushed to press the “Stay with me” and “I love you” buttons.
Not going to lie, it was that day I knew the hairless hellion had wormed his way under my skin. I still won’t call myself a cat person, but Beaver is the exception.
“I’m hungry.” Vajayjay presses the button again, staring straight at Micah before hitting the “Go away” button.
“Uh, Nisha?” Micah calls out, trying to take a step out of their circle, only for Snatch to block his path, tail swishing like a sword. “Anyone? Bloody hell, are these hellhounds about to attack?”
“Patton? What’s going on out there?” Nisha’s concerned voice resounds behind me.
My grin widens. “Looks like the cats are vetting your friend.”
She makes her way to the door, taking in the scene. A gasp falls from her lips when she sees Micah is now back on the floor with Beaver sitting on top of his chest like a triumphant hunter over a kill.
“Christ, can someone please take this demonic cat off me?” Micah wheezes.
And right when Beaver raises a paw, claws twitching, about to bop Micah in the face, Nisha’s voice cuts through. “Beaver, no!”
Beaver freezes mid-strike while the other cats flee the scene like the little criminals they are.
Nisha swings her glare onto me. “Seriously? You just stood here, watching them torture him?”
“Torture is such a strong word. They were . . . interviewing him.” I rub my jaw, wincing dramatically. “Doesn’t look like he passed.”
Giving me an exasperated shake of her head, Nisha steps into the hall. She scoops up her cat, murmuring something to him in a soft but admonishing tone, before turning to Micah. “I am so sorry about that, Micah. I don’t know what’s gotten into the cats. They don’t usually act like this.”
“Don’t usually act like this?!” Micah struggles to his feet, combing his hand through his hair. “I should hope not! Your cats were circling me like bloody vultures! And that one”—he points to Beaver, still in Nisha’s hands—“has the eyes of a serial killer.”
Nisha opens her mouth, likely to apologize again, when Micah lifts a hand, cutting her off.
“It’s fine. But between your ex-husband or current boyfriend, or whatever the hell he is, nearly taking off my head, getting mauled by your bald four-legged mafia, and finding out you're pregnant, it’s about as much as I can take. I’m going to leave before someone actually kills me.”
He straightens his collar, shooting me a glare.
I throw him a salute. “Thanks for the housecall, Michael, but as you can see, Beaver and I have my wife handled.”
Micah’s jaw ticks, and my ex-wife shoots me a glare that makes my dick stir, but I give them both my most charming smile.
“You’re a caveman, you know that?”
My arm wraps around her stomach, my palm splaying over the place our baby is growing. I lean in to brush a kiss on the curve of her neck. “I do, and I won’t apologize for it . . . not when it comes to you.”
We’re sitting in a leather recliner in her suite. Nisha’s on my lap with her back against my chest. The scent of her pomegranate shampoo mingles with something uniquely her, drawing my nose into her hair. Fuck, she always smells so good, like home and desire.
Like heaven in my arms.
My lips brush the shell of her ear, lined with the tiny diamond stars she’s worn ever since I gave her that nickname in high school.
“You’ve always been the most beautiful woman I’ve seen, Neesh.
But pregnant with my baby?” I press a kiss to the sensitive spot below her ear, feeling her shiver against me. “You’re stunning.”
Nisha shifts in my arms, turning to cradle my face. “I need to go to the doctor first and confirm everything, Patton.” Her eyes bounce between mine in a plea, her fear barely contained behind her dark irises. “Don’t get too excited. You know what happened last—”
I press a finger to her lips. It won’t be like last time; I refuse to believe it’ll be anything like last time. “This time will be different.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Aside from the fact that this”—I lay my palm on her belly, holding the two most precious things in my arms—“happened naturally, we’re different.”
Our eyes hold, and I know she’s remembering all those grueling months when her body was a battlefield of hormones and hope. When making love became a clinical necessity rather than an act of passion and desire.
“Are we?” Her voice is small and uncertain. “Different, I mean. Because while I know I’ve changed, I don’t really know how much you have.” Her fingers drop to my chest, her eyes following as they trace patterns on my shirt. “From what I can tell, you’re still just as busy.”
“How so?”
“Aren’t you?” Her eyes flick back up to meet mine.
“You’re filming the movie here, but you told Vanity Fair last year that you had no reason to slow down.
From what I read, you’ve committed to several movies over the next couple of years.
And that’s okay,” she adds quickly, her hand pressing firmly against my chest as if underscoring her words.
“I know how much you love your job, and I’m not asking you to justify anything. ”
“Don’t believe everything you read, baby.
” I capture her hand, bringing it up to kiss the inside of her wrist, where she’s still wearing our friendship bracelet.
“Aside from the handful of overnight trips I’ve made for press tours and the one day I flew out for that foster charity event, have you seen me go anywhere? ”
She hesitates, her brows furrowing. “Well, no. But I thought that’s just because filming the movie here is taking up your time. You said you’d leave as soon as you were done.”
“I said that when I didn’t know if things would ever change between us. I was hellbent on trying to knock down the walls you’d built over the years, but I didn’t know if I’d actually be able to.”
“And now?”
I grasp her face in my hands, my thumbs tracing the tops of her cheeks. “Don’t you fucking get it, Little Borealis? I’m here for you, because of you. Nothing in this goddamn world is as important to me as you. I’m not fucking going anywhere.”
“But—”
“And, no, it didn’t take me seven years to figure that out, sweetheart. I knew it the moment I came back home and saw you’d left.”
“Patton, I’m . . .” Her glistening eyes meet mine. “I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head. “No, baby. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry you had to go through that”—my voice cracks, the words shredding my insides—“all on your own. You shouldn’t have had to, not once and definitely not twice. I should have been there.”
A sob bubbles out of her as her body collapses against mine. Our arms fold around each other as our hearts mourn every loss we’ve ever suffered—our children, our marriage, our friendship. My chest burns as her tears soak my shirt.
My eyes prick as I hold her, brushing my fingers through her hair as she cries into my neck. I kiss her temple, her jaw, anywhere I can reach until her sobs turn to shuddering breaths.
When she lifts her head, I wipe her cheeks with my thumbs, wishing for the millionth time over the past seven years that I’d been there to wipe her cheeks that night when she endured everything all on her own.
“When I told Vanity Fair I had no reason to slow down, I hadn’t found my way back to you again.” I swallow past the barbed wire inside my throat. “I was still working on myself, trying to find the best version of myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Soon after you left, I started going to therapy to work through some of my trauma from my childhood, like the unsafe environment I was in before I went into the foster system and the abandonment I felt after my mom was taken away. I had significant things I needed to address before I could heal from them. Apart from therapy, I also raised awareness and volunteered at various foster organizations and kept up with my taekwondo training.”
Her eyes bounce between mine in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”
“And then one day I was watching a Bay Area Blazers game on TV. Their star pitcher had made this incredible comeback from a potentially career-ending injury, but that’s not what caught my eye.
It was Sarina in the stands, fighting to get to him.
The camera panned to her making a scene, trying to get to Troy.
And when he finally saw her, he ran over and pulled her into a kiss. ”
“Oh, my God. Yeah.” A small smile tugs at her lips. “It was when she realized how much she loved him and couldn’t wait to tell him.” Her smile fades, confusion clouding her features. “But what does that have to do with you being here?”
“That’s when I realized I had a path back to you.
” I lean my forehead against hers. “I pitched a comeback story of a baseball star to my producer, told him I needed to interview Troy for research. But really, I was working toward getting the biggest role of my life, the role I’d lost.” My voice drops to a whisper. “Being your husband.”
Her eyes shimmer with fresh tears. “Patton . . .”
“I have worked for seven years to be with you again, Little Borealis. And I’ll work seventy more if I have to. All those projects and films you’ve read about? I pulled out of them months ago.”
“But you’ve worked hard for your career, and I’d never want you to abandon your dreams. My problem wasn’t that you loved your job; it was that I felt left behind.
I spent more nights alone than with you.
We’d go weeks without having a meaningful conversation while you were on set, and even when you were home, our conversations were constantly interrupted with work calls.
I just felt like we’d lost all balance, like I always came second. ”
The pain in her voice cuts through me like a thousand razor blades, and I close my eyes, letting the weight of my failures slam against my heart. “Fuck, that was my fault, Neesh. All my fault.”
When I open my eyes, I make sure she can see the sincerity inside them, the regret I’ve carried for so long.
“I just kept chasing the next high, thinking ‘one more movie,’ and then I’d take a break.
‘One more big production,’ and then I’d finally be home with my wife.
But the more I took on, the more opportunities came my way that I felt like I couldn’t refuse.
I should have, though. Because in the end, I lost the most important thing in my life.
” My voice breaks. “I lost you . . . and I won’t do that again. ”
“But what about your career? Your fans? You love what you do.”
“I’ll continue to make films, maybe get into producing. But I’ll never take on so many projects again.” I lay my hand on her stomach. “Not when I have so much more to fill my heart.”
“What if we’re not enough?” she whispers. “I want you to feel fulfilled, too.”
“You’re more than enough, baby. You always have been.
I was just too blind to see it. I could give every minute of every day to this industry, and it would still demand more.
” I shake my head. “What I realized was I needed to create boundaries, a work-life balance. I never want to give it so much again, certainly not at the cost of my happiness.”
“But—”
“None of the fame, no premier mattered without you by my side. No Oscar filled the hole you left. The spotlight was dark and lonely. So when I realized you really weren’t coming back, I decided to work on myself to become the man you wished for.”
“What do you mean?” She leans back slightly, studying my face.
“I found your list.”
“What list? I didn’t leave you a list. Just a letter.”
A small smile plays on my lips. “I’ll give you a clue. It was aptly titled ‘Ten Things I Wish About You’.”
A sharp gasp leaves her lips as recognition dawns. “You found that?”
I shift, tugging my wallet out of my pocket and taking out the crumpled paper with words I have memorized by heart. “I did.”