Because I signed up forhim.
And even though I’ve accepted being in the background or even being known only as “Patton’s wife” or “Patton’s plus-one,” I can’t deny there are times I wish I had something that was mine. An identity of my own.
God, look at me. Don’t I sound like a privileged asshole? How many women out there would kill to be me, the woman on Patton Pierce’s arm?
I shake my head, encircling his wrists with my hands. “Patton, I can barely make it through a drive across town to the salon without throwing up. You want me to get on a fifteen-hour flight to Thailand? Plus, I want to stay close to my doctors here, in case something happens?—”
His hand tightens around my jaw. “Nothing is going to happen. You’re further along this time.”
“I hope not,” my voice is quieter now, “but I don’t want to risk anything. And anyway, what about after the baby’s here? What, do we just follow you around the globe, hopping from set to set with a diaper bag and a car seat in tow?”
His hands drop from my face.
“I know you want me with you. That you love me. I love you, too, Patton. But I don’t know if?—”
My words are cut off when his phone vibrates on the nightstand, and he goes to check who it is. From just the way his shoulders sag, I know he has to take the call.
No, he doesn’thaveto take the call, but I know he will. Because that’s who we’ve become—a couple on Hollywood’s schedule.
I make my way to our bedroom door, my heart somewhere in the pit of my stomach.
He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. I get that. He’s chased this dream for as long as I’ve known him. From our high school stage to the silver screen, he’s worked his ass off to get here.
I know how much he loves me, I do. So, I get that this can’t be easy for him, either.
And yet, I still feel a little deprioritized. Like I’m a piece of mail he’s told himself he’ll open later when he has more time, energy, and bandwidth.
Knowing this conversation isn’t going to be resolved today—not when he’s made the decision to leave tonight—I decide to let him off the hook.Again.
I’ll just make it easier on him, letting him know I understand, even if understanding doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I give him a reassuring smile over my shoulder, hoping it reaches my eyes. “I’m going to make myself some tea.”
nineteen
nisha
The Color of War
Seven Years Ago
“Ooof.”
I groan when another cramp registers, yanking me awake like claws around my stomach. I blink in the dark, but it’s so heavy and consuming, it doesn’t feel much different from having my eyes closed.
Under the covers, my hand drags down to my belly as another wave rolls through me. It’s a tightness so painful that it leaves me breathless and sweaty.
My mind travels to what I ate for dinner tonight—homemade ramen and a bowl of fruit. That couldn’t be it, could it? I’ve had bouts of nausea and bloating for weeks, but this . . .? It feels different and wrong, like my organs are folding in on themselves, contracting and crying out.
My hand stretches toward the other side of the bed, desperately trying to find Patton, my heart plummeting when all I feel is cool sheets. You’d think I’d have remembered after three weeks . . .
It’s been three weeks since he left for Thailand. Three weeks since I felt his warm body next to mine, his arms here tosurround me in times like this. The loneliness, the fact that there’s no one here to hear my cries, hits me almost as hard as the physical pain.
Another sharp stab pierces my lower abdomen, and I pull into a sitting position, my breath catching, eyes pricking with fear.
Something is happening. Something that will leave me broken.
And then it catches again when my hand brushes over the damp sheets.
