“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 anexcuse, 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.”
