Chapter 28 Patton
twenty-eight
patton
Are You Waiting For A Meteor Shower!?
It’s not an Indian wedding if there’s no dancing.
And by that, I don’t just mean hitting the dance floor custom-built for a former MLB player and his new wife’s wedding on a private beach in Cabo with tiki torches and a fully stocked open bar, because there’s plenty of that.
I mean, full-blown choreographed routines done by the groom and his best friends and the bride and her best friends.
That’s right. I’m happy to say that tonight, I checked that off my bucket list as well.
I wouldn’t say dancing comes naturally to me, but given my time in Hollywood and having made more than a few films where I had to dance, I thought I knew my way around a stage.
Fuck, was I wrong.
Turns out the form of dance the choreographer taught us, bhangra, isn’t just jumping around with our arms up. It tests your core strength and makes your legs feel like jelly.
But seeing the look on everyone’s face, especially the only woman I’ve had my eyes on all night, made a week of learning the damn dance worth it.
Unlike our high-energy dance, which Dean insisted we fuel with shots of what tasted like gasoline, the girls’ routine was a lot more graceful.
Sarina never said it outright, but I could tell she purposely chose the softer movements with Nisha in mind, making sure her sister never felt left out and could participate without any stress.
And now, I watch my ex-wife from the bar where my friends are congregated, drinks in hand. The tattooed sleeve, that mid-thigh gold dress hugging every curve, and that ebony hair waving softly in the wind all makes her impossible to miss, and impossible to wonder what she’s wearing underneath.
She’s still on the dance floor, swaying to a Bollywood song spun by the DJ. He’s no ordinary DJ, either. Troy flew in the world-famous Logan Miller, better known as DJ Access. The guy sells out arenas, so I can only imagine what it took to book him for this wedding.
My eyes stay glued to my breathtaking wife, who’s laughing at something Piper has said. Yeah, I know. But it’s just a matter of time till that “ex” portion of her title is dropped, so it makes sense I refer to her as my wife, at least in my head.
“You okay there, big guy?” Dean asks Hudson, who’s quietly sipping his drink, eyes locked on his wife on the dance floor.
“Are your old joints hurting after all that bhangra? Want me to flag down a server with some Icy Hot? I think I saw an extra walker somewhere, too. It had a pretty cool cup holder, so I thought of you.”
Hudson takes a slow sip of his drink, eyes never straying from his wife. “Bold words coming from the guy who walked over to my room earlier to ask me to unscrew his wife’s Stanley travel mug.”
“That was a one-time thing! I told you my hands were slippery; I’d just used them to lube myself.”
Hudson doesn’t even flinch, just shakes his head because no reaction is the best reaction when it comes to Dean.
Chuckling and knowing he’ll never get a rise out of Hudson, Dean swings an arm around Troy. “Man, I can’t believe you’re married. Fucking married! I’m so happy for you, bro. And that ceremony was beautiful. Seriously, this was the best day of my life.”
“The best day of your life was today?” Dev asks, eyebrow raised. “At Troy’s wedding? Not your own?”
Dean rears back like he’s dealing with lunatics. “Of course, the happiest day of my life was my own wedding day; I married a goddess. But, fuck man, you can’t just have one happiest day, you know? It would be like saying only one of you is my best friend, which would be completely ridiculous.”
Hudson lifts his glass. “I’m sure Mala will be thrilled sharing the top spot with Troy’s wedding.”
Dean shrugs. “There are many things on my happiest day list, bro. Like the day I was born, though it was short-lived once I realized I had to share it with this asshole here.” He jerks a thumb at Garrett, who flips him off.
“Along with the birth of each of my kids—also on the happiest day list. And, of course, that one day when I orgasmed for almost an hour straight.”
“Jesus Christ.” Darian pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why can’t we go one day without a reminder of your dick, Dean?”
“Because, little brother, my dick deserves to be remembered, memorialized even . . . unlike yours.”
Troy grimaces. “I assume you ended up inside a hospital.”
Dean grins. “Nah. I ended up inside my wife.”
I drain the last of my bourbon, setting my glass on the bar. “And this is why you weren’t allowed to give a speech.”
“Bro, you’re all just jealous because you can’t say the same.”
“Nor do we want to,” Garrett says. “Anyway, back to Troy. Congratulations, man! You married the woman of your dreams.”
Troy shakes his head. “Kind of surreal, but fuck, I feel like the happiest bastard alive.”
We all raise our glasses, and Troy grins, finding his new bride on the dance floor, dancing with her hands in the air.
They’d sent the kids back to the hotel with Troy’s parents so the newlyweds could party as long as they wanted. Though with the way Troy has been eye-fucking his wife—similar to the way I’ve been staring at mine—I have a feeling he’s planning to call it a night soon.
As if Sarina can feel his pull, she turns, beaming at him. Then, her eyes find mine. She glances around, noticing Nisha wrapped in a conversation with Bella and Mala, before tugging on Piper’s hand and striding over.
As soon as the two women reach us, they’re pulled in for long kisses by their husbands that have me averting my gaze back to the dance floor in search of Nisha. Damn, I wish they’d brought her along, too.
“Patton, have a minute?” Sarina asks, nodding toward a quiet area past the bar. Piper is standing right next to her with a contrite expression.
I look between the women I spent a portion of my teen years with, my gut telling me I have an inkling as to what this conversation might be about. We’ve talked over the past couple of months, but we’ve avoided talking about the elephant-sized crater our friendship became after Nisha and I split.
Both girls give knowing looks to their husbands before we walk to find a quieter spot. For a few moments, only the ocean waves fill the silence between us, but I can feel the weight of seven years hanging in the air.
Sarina stares down at her henna-painted hands. “I don’t even know where to start . . .”
“You don’t have to,” I say, giving her an out. “We’re all good now. We were never not good. And ever since I moved to San Jose, we’ve spoken, haven’t we?”
“That’s exactly it,” Piper says quickly. “We were never not good, which means we could have kept in touch all those years. Fuck, you even tried to.” She swallows, and I can see the emotion in her eyes. “But we cut you out.”
Sarina’s voice shakes like she’s barely holding it together. “After seeing how broken Nisha was when she came to live with Dad, I thought the only way to support her was to choose a side. And I chose hers. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I realize now how much that must have hurt you.”
“I understand,” I say.
And I do, I really do. But, fuck, there were days I wished they’d have answered their phones or even their emails. Days I needed my friends. Days that were darker than nights.
Aside from Hollywood’s superficial relationships, I didn’t really have anyone else. My foster parents had their hands full with other kids, and I didn’t want to burden them any more than necessary.
Joe and Molly had always been good to me and had encouraged me to pursue my passion for theater from a young age.
And while they were the closest thing to what I’d call family, we didn’t talk often.
I visited them a couple of years ago when I had to film in Boston, but my career often meant years between real visits.
And since they were also always busy raising a new generation of kids, they understood.
Thank God for my father-in-law, though. Because, without him, I probably would have drowned in bottles of whiskey and lost sight of everything, especially my plans to win Nisha back.
My eyes drift back to the dance floor where Suraj is doing what looks like a version of the Macarena with Emanuel, and I can’t help but smile.
Sarina’s hand touches my arm. “I went through my divorce soon after you guys, and I guess I was jaded, too. It’s not an excuse, though; I still should have kept up with you. You were important to me, too, Patton.”
I place my hand over hers. “That asshole never deserved you. I’m glad you gave Troy a chance. He’s one of the good ones.”
“You are, too. You’ve always been one of the good ones.
” Her voice cracks, and fuck, the last thing I want is to make the bride cry on her wedding day.
“We should have realized everything you were grieving as well: the miscarriages, the end of your marriage, losing all of us. But instead of being there for you, we abandoned you—”
“Hey,” I talk past the knot in my throat. “She needed you more. After what she went through . . . ” My jaw hardens, the familiar prick finding the corners of my eyes. “She needed you more.”
Piper steps closer, gripping my bicep. “We just want to say we’re sorry, Patton. You deserved better from your friends.”
I pull them into a hug without any hesitation, like we used to when we were kids. When everything was simpler. “There’s nothing to forgive. You’re my family, always have been.”
At that, Piper sobs against my shoulder. “Fuck, now you’re making me ugly cry the same way Dean did when Troy didn’t choose him as a groomsman.”
We separate on a chuckle as Sarina wipes a tear from her cheek. “I’m so happy you and my sister are working things out again.”
I look toward the dance floor where “I Gotta Feeling” by Black Eyed Peas pounds through the speakers. In the distance, Nisha’s still swaying to the beat, and fuck, I want to be close to her.
“Thanks for tipping me off when the house in front of hers went on the market.”
Sarina winks. “I couldn’t see you both being separated any longer. Plus, her ‘Crying in My Car’ playlist was really getting out of hand.”
I blink. “Crying in my what?”
“Nevermind. The point is, you two belong together.”
“I’ve always been crazy about her.”
Piper smiles. “You still love her.”
There’s no question about it. “I never stopped loving her, if I’m being honest.”
“Does that mean you’ll be walking down the aisle again?”
“Fuck yeah,” I say without missing a beat. “I’d marry her tonight if she’d have me.”
Both women squeal, bouncing on their toes.
“Have you told her?” Sarina asks.
I scoff. “That I want to marry her tonight? Um, no. She’d think it was wedding fever talking and all her stupid doubts would creep back in.”
“Fair point.” Piper laughs. “But have you told her that you love her?”
“Not in those exact words . . .”
Piper throws up her hands. “What, are you waiting for a meteor shower!? A solar eclipse?”
“Life’s too short, Patton,” Sarina says, squeezing my arm again. “You’ve already lost so much time; don’t waste any more looking for the perfect moment.”
They’re right. What the hell am I waiting for?
My hand trails down her arm, fingertips tracing the tattooed designs there, as my mouth finds the shell of her ear, feeling her shudder in awareness. She knows there’s only one person who would dare to touch her like this. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”
Her hips sway, pressing against my growing need. “Not in this hour.”
I pull back her shoulder-length hair, brushing the curve of her neck with my lips, and feel goosebumps rise over her soft skin.
The ocean breeze mingles with the perfume of flowers decorating the dance floor and the faint smoke from the tiki torches drifts through the air. But I can’t smell anything but pomegranates, sweet and enticing.
“Then let me remind you. You are the most devastatingly gorgeous woman, and the only one who owns me completely.” My arm curves around her, my palm covering her belly protectively. “I love you, Little Borealis. I’ve always only ever loved you.”
A soft gasp falls from her lips as Nisha spins in my arms. Her hands glide up to cup my jaw as her eyes bounce between mine like she’s wondering if she heard me correctly.
I’m aware of the eyes on us and the soft squeals leaving her friends’ lips, but none of it matters at this moment.
For all intents and purposes, no one else is even here.
We’re all alone under the dark painted sky, so much like that night we climbed a hill in Boston to chase the rare flickers of the Aurora Borealis.
That was the night I knew no one could ever own my heart the way she does.
“You love me?” Her sweet breath skims my lips.
“I never stopped, and I never will. I love you more than life itself, baby. Living without you was sheer torture, and it’s a hell I won’t survive again.”
Her eyes pool, her chin trembling as she nods.
“I don’t ever want to be without you, Nisha. Not years, not months, not even a moment. I’ll choose you over everything else, myself included.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to. I want you to have your career, your ambitions. I just wanted to see some . . . balance.”
“And have you?”
She nods, holding my gaze silently for a moment. Her fingers trail through my hair as she rises on her toes, bringing our lips closer. “I love you so much, Patton Pierce. I’ve never known a moment where my heart didn’t beat just for you.”
Fuck, I want to sob, to drown in her arms. But instead I capture her lips with mine, pouring all the words inside my chest through a kiss. It’s desperate and consuming, the kind that tastes like years of missed “I love yous” and vows I want to relive again.
Her fingers twist through my hair, pulling me closer, like she’s trying to rid herself of the same ache I feel pulsing through my body.
But she never will.
Because this is a forever kind of ache, and we’re a forever kind of thing.
I swear I’ve never tasted anything sweeter, felt anything deeper, held anyone tighter.
This isn’t just a kiss. This is a promise—a plea, and a prayer embedded in our souls—not just written on some meaningless papers.
And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure she never forgets how wholly she owns me.
She tugs on my bottom lip, and I know she feels the groan rumble inside my chest. Pulling our mouths apart, her swollen lips form the words I’ve been waiting to hear all day. “Take me to bed, Hollywood.”