Sweet Cheeks

by K. Bromberg

  Something he said to me the other day echoes through my mind. Never let someone steal your passion. And I know he’s right. I know that if he hadn’t gone, hadn’t left and walked away without my holding him back, I would have been responsible for stealing his passion. My selfishness would have robbed the world of knowing his incredible talent. It would have robbed him too.

  “I’m glad you took the chance, Hayes.” My voice is soft but resolute and I can see the visible startle in his body from my words.

  “You don’t have to say that, Saylor.” His lips are tight. Head angled to the side as he looks at me.

  “Yes, I do. Staying or me pulling you back . . . it would have stolen your chance to pursue your passion.”

  He nods his head a couple times. Contemplating something I’m unsure of. “The funny thing is, Say, the older I get, I’m learning it’s okay to have more than one passion. One doesn’t have to be more important than the other. They can complement each other.”

  The question is what does he mean by that?

  And I think of Ryder. His ultimatum. How Hayes walked away.

  He loved me. When I was hurting and swore he didn’t care about me anymore, he had loved me.

  I can’t help but wonder when we part ways again, will it be under similar circumstances? That he loves me but will continue to pursue his passion, or he loved me, time’s changed us, and there’s no longer anything there?

  The thought consumes me.

  But he’s here. Dropped everything in his crazy life to come here for me.

  Doesn’t that say something?

  “Relax.” Hayes’s voice is soft, the heat of his breath a comforting feeling against my ear as the wedding march begins. “You look beautiful. You are beautiful. And it’s definitely his loss and my gain you’re sitting here with me.”

  I take a deep breath and let myself lean into him for a bit more mental support. We’re standing in the last row of seats, which is the only place I wanted to sit so I could avoid seeing Mitch before the ceremony. We’re turned toward the aisle, waiting to see the bride.

  When she appears, the guests suck in their breaths in reaction to how beautiful she looks while I do it out of surprise.

  It shouldn’t shock me, considering everything else about this whole situation, but when I see her wearing a dress so very similar to the one I had picked it could be the same, my mouth drops open. And when I add the dress to the color scheme and flower choices I previously selected, I can’t help but selfishly feel like this whole event has been planned to rub my nose in what I could have had. Hence receiving a wedding invitation in the first place.

  Is Mitch really that vindictive? He didn’t even ask me to reconsider or tell me he still loved me. Not a single word of protest.

  It all comes back to me. How when I looked Mitch in the eye and told him I was leaving, having already packed and taken some things to my brother’s, he just stood there.

  “I’m sorry, Mitch. I can’t go through with this.”

  “With what?” There’s annoyance in his voice. I must be interrupting the PGA highlights or something.

  “Our wedding.” And now I’ve got his attention. His eyes narrow and lips pull tight in disbelief.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Just what I said.” My voice is even, despite the riot of nerves I feel within. “This isn’t working anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. I won’t be able to make you happy.” And you don’t know—or care—about what makes me happy in the slightest.

  His chuckle fills the smothering silence of the room. “You’re joking, right? Having cold toes or whatever it’s called, are you?”

  I lick my lips. Shift my feet that are anything but cold. Force myself to not avert my eyes. “No. I’m not. We’re over.”

  The shock on his face is what I remember the most. Like he was appalled that I’d ever think of leaving him. And then it morphed into anger. Disgust. Impatience like I’ve wasted his time. “Not marrying me will be the biggest mistake you’ll ever make. You know that, right?”

  You’re kidding me, right? I bite back the smartass retort. Focus on keeping this as civil as possible. “If that’s what you want to think.”

  “No. It’s what I know.” He takes a step back. Shakes his head. Looks back to me like I’m crazy—a pompous smirk on his lips. “Leave your keys on the counter on the way out. Hope your cupcakes can keep you warm at night, but I doubt it.”

  And then he turned his back on me and walked away. Back to his Golf Digest or to polish his nine iron, or whatever it was that he cared so much about. Because it definitely wasn’t me, and his reaction—or lack thereof—just proved it.

  He didn’t even seem angry. Or surprised. More than anything, he appeared put out. I had felt dismissed. Not missed.

  So why did he send me the stupid invitation to this wedding if he didn’t care about me then?

  The guests in the rows in front of us block my view, so when people finally take a seat, I think I’m the last to do so because I can finally see clearly. Mitch, handsome and debonair as ever, looks nervous, but only in a way that someone who has known him for a long time can notice. It’s the continued flex of his hands. The chuckle that sounds off. But then again, a lot of people are nervous when getting married.

  And when she takes her place beneath the trellis and faces Mitch, her face falls perfectly into my line of sight.

  The surprised murmur that Hayes softly emits says it all for me. Either Mitch definitely has a type—the blonde-haired, blue-eyed type—or it’s a complete coincidence that Sarah Taylor could be my long-lost sister.

  I sit on the edge of my chair, eyes blinking as if I don’t believe what I’m seeing, but then again isn’t it just par for the course? Hayes rubs a hand up and down my back, a tangible reminder to remain calm, while I watch the ceremony.

  And I’m not sure how I feel. My insides are a hurricane of emotions, each one blowing through quickly to make room for the next one. My stomach churns watching the life I could have had be given to someone else. Taken by someone else. And she may very well be deserving of it. On the other hand, maybe this is the life and social status she’s searched for, and if letting Mitch’s mom plan the wedding is the price she has to pay, she’s willing to give up the control to get what she wants. Unlike me.

  I look to Mitch and his sure and steady movements. He’s a bit calmer now, so I study his face, watch his hands, and wait for that gut-wrenching pang of regret to hit me. The one that knocks me upside the head and tells me I made the hugest mistake walking away from him. That I still love him.

  But it doesn’t come. Not once.

  One of the two reasons I came here was to get this feeling and sense that I did the right thing. Sitting here, as a guest at the wedding I was invited to possibly to make a mockery of me, I can easily say I sure as hell did the right thing.

  And I wonder how much the man beside me has helped to reinforce that feeling. How much hearing him validate some of my opinions, even though he didn’t know he was, has helped me and this newfound sense of self. The carefree, spontaneous sense of self I lost so very long ago.

  I also study her, knowing this will be the only time I can without people thinking I’m being rude. She is the bride, after all, and the center of everyone’s attention right now.

  Her hair is a similar shade to mine. Her makeup is flawless and her stature similar. She seems sure of herself. Happy. In love. Stunning. Classy. Timeless.

  And so I watch the man I spent over six years of my life with marry a woman he met less than nine months ago.

  Or maybe he met her before I left him? Maybe she was waiting in the wings and swooped in for the prize the minute she found out we had broken up? Or even worse, maybe they were sneaking around behind my back and that’s why Mitch was so indifferent to my leaving? The errant thoughts grow crazier with each second that passes. But regardless how bizarre my imagination makes them, one thing remains the same.

  When
I look at Mitch, I feel nothing.

  “You’re awfully quiet.” His arm drapes across the back of my chair so his hand can rest on my opposite arm. He gives a gentle nudge of his knee against mine. Little reminders to let me know he’s beside me. But it’s not like I could forget. Between the numerous guests staring at us to the camera phones snapping pictures on the sly, it seems that everyone knows Hayes Whitley is here. And a catty part of me wonders how many of the cameras left on the tabletops for guests to use to help document the reception are going to have pictures of Hayes on them. With me.

  The irony is not lost on me. Nor is it on Hayes evidently by the way he was so generous with his time by taking pictures and giving autographs while we waited for the wedding party to finish their post-ceremony pictures.

  The ones I’m most certain were taken down on the private beach beneath the palm trees I had chosen. I mean why not, right? Good thing for them this island has a pretty moderate temperature all year-round or God forbid with the change of seasons, Rebound Sarah might have had to make a decision on her own.

  I’m not oblivious to the constant whispers that stop when I walk by and then start again or the sly glances of the women who all think they’re better than me. But I do have to admit they sure as hell do a double take when they see Hayes’s hand on my waist or how he pulls out my chair for me. I force myself to meet their eyes despite the unease rioting through me, knowing they are talking about and turning their noses down at me.

  Confidence, Ships, a constant refrain off Hayes’s tongue.

  But I’m still on edge. Still waiting for security to show up and tell me I need to leave because I wasn’t invited, and that’s why I have the invitation tucked inside Hayes’s suit jacket pocket. Just in case. And still in shock over seeing my meticulous preparations come to life before me and not actually be for me.

  “I’m just thinking,” I say quietly and look around once again at the centerpieces and linens and room setup.

  “About?”

  “About how Uptight Ursula sold this to Rebound Sarah. I mean, did she tell her the hotel offered a package deal where everything was already decided . . . and Sarah just went along with it?” What sort of woman happily accepts a wedding completely organized for a different bride? By a different bride. “Or was Sarah just so love-struck that she agreed to anything his mom wanted just to smooth over the waters because she can already tell what a controlling bitch she is?”

  “Mmm.” He nods his head before pressing a kiss to my temple. And I love the gesture, the feeling it gives me, but hate that I immediately wonder if it’s for show or because he wants to do it. “I couldn’t tell you.”

  “I mean as stupid as I now feel about allowing it to happen, I can stomach the similarities in our wedding dresses. Hell, even I had a weak moment and succumbed to Mrs. Layton’s relentless ramblings about how very special it would be for me to wear a modern-day version of the dress she’d married Mitch’s dad in. She had a designer bring in a couple of racks full of similar-looking dresses for me to choose from. And I did. And it was gorgeous. But that’s where I drew the line in giving in to her demands.”

  Another murmur of acknowledgement from Hayes followed by a kiss to my temple.

  And I love that he’s letting me ramble on and get it all out. That he’s giving me the elbows in the batter feeling I need and yet I’m nowhere near a kitchen or mixer.

  The man really gets me.

  I look his way to see his sudden interest in the room around us. “Something wrong?”

  “Nah. There’s just an all-round weird vibe here . . . but it’s not our wedding, so who are we to judge?”

  Not our wedding. I know he doesn’t mean the words how I hear them, but it makes me pause for a moment. Ideas and images flicker through my mind of what our wedding would look like. Simplicity over grandeur. In the field under the tree house with shabby chic décor and mason jars with tea lights in them for mood.

  “Ships?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.” My cheeks heat at getting caught thinking things I shouldn’t be thinking. “The weird vibe? It’s probably just because we’re here.”

  “Nah. Don’t look now, but I think it has to do with Mitch’s mom over there shooting daggers at you while you’re sitting over here with a drink in your hand and a smile on your face. I definitely don’t think Mitch told her they invited you.”

  “But she had to have known. This is an all-inclusive resort. It’s not like we’ve been hiding in the villa the whole time.”

  “Maybe she’s just a bitch,” he muses as he tips the bottle of beer to his mouth with a half-cocked smirk on his lips that tugs on places deep within me.

  I snort in response. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “You’re incredible.” Two words. That’s all they are. But the way he says them with a mixture of conviction, awe, and reverence, and with a completely serious look on his face as he holds my eyes captive, causes my heart to stutter a beat in my chest.

  “And you’re ridiculous.” But I can’t help my smile from growing to epic proportions. You’re incredible. I try to laugh off my unease from the compliment but he won’t have any of it.

  “No, I’m serious.” He leans in close, mouth skimming over my ear. His voice is low, just a whisper of a sound so that even surrounded by the hundred or so guests, only I can hear him. “Not many women would have the guts to show up here today. And if they did, not many people would know that it has absolutely zero to do with you. It has to do with your business. With not wanting to let Ryder down. I’m proud of you, Ships. Proud of you for walking in here with your head held high and a sincere smile on your face, when I know under your breath you’re cursing at many of them.”

  I chuckle and lean the side of my head against his forehead. I hear the words he’s saying and know the only reason I’m on the island, the only reason I was able to walk in here with such confidence, is because of the time we’ve spent together prior to this moment.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you.”

  “I disagree. You’ve been doing it without me for a long time.”

  There’s a pang of guilt attached to his words. A reminder of what it’s like when he’s not around. But this time there is no anger, no resentment over the past. He came back for me but then walked away when he knew he would just end up hurting me more.

  Our eyes hold. The room buzzes around us and yet when he leans forward and presses his lips to mine, I zone everyone else out. The incomplete comments I heard walking to the restroom after the ceremony earlier, words like disgrace and homewrecker and trash, evaporate from my mind. It’s just Hayes’s lips on mine and the comfort, warmth, and calm they bring.

  The kiss ends but so does the angst I was feeling. Once again, Hayes has calmed me. And when I open my eyes and look over his shoulder, I freeze when I meet Mitch’s gaze.

  He’s standing off to the far end of the banquet room, if you can call it that. The reception is being held in a round room with half the room enclosed like a normal hall while the other is an open-aired covered patio that overlooks the ocean beyond. He’s standing where the open-air portion meets the walled portion, sneaking a peek at the reception before the DJ announces the wedding party.

  The connection causes my breath to burn in my lungs and words to escape me, and yet I can’t look away from Mitch. His gaze shows hurt. Reflects anger. But there’s something else there . . . wounded pride or possibly longing?

  I reject the thought immediately. Hate that I’d think so much of myself to believe Mitch just married Sarah—like minutes ago—and is standing there taking a glimpse of his reception while the camera woman is snapping shots of his new bride behind him . . . and is wishing it were me.

  “He still loves you.”

  Hayes’s murmur startles me and yet I don’t move. Don’t want to process the thought. Just want to pretend like I didn’t just see it too.

  I break my gaze from Mitch and look to Hayes with a forced smile on m
y face. My stomach churns over how horrible it would be to be Sarah if she just saw that exchange between us. Because while seeing him scrapes up the melancholy I should have felt over our break up, the affection he possibly feels for me isn’t reciprocated.

  Not like how I feel when I look at Hayes. My smile is always genuine and the emotion I feel is real. Not forced. “No, he doesn’t.” Something fleets through Hayes’s eyes. I want to say disbelief or relief—either of them causes parts of me to stand to attention and wonder why they are there. But before I can ask, the DJ taps the mic to get everyone’s attention.

  And while the wedding party is introduced, while the cheers go up and the music pumps through the speakers, and as Mitch and Sarah immediately take to the dance floor for their first dance, I can’t help but wonder exactly how I feel.

  The moment I traveled all this way for is finally here, and yet everything I came here to prove doesn’t seem to feel so relevant anymore. The meal unfolds, the typical wedding events transpire, and the whole time I’m preoccupied with the why behind this change of opinion. My pride? My bakery?

  It all comes back to Hayes. He’s the reason for all of this—the resolution of my past. The validation that Mitch wasn’t the right choice for me as a husband. The overwhelming surge of emotions he’s made me feel with his hands and his words when I didn’t realize I could be made to feel that way to begin with. And more than anything the realization that it’s okay to want more in all aspects of my life.

  I feel like I’m starting a new chapter in my life. A different one where I have needs and wants and dreams and passion. While I may want to share that with someone in the future, I also know what makes me happy and that’s just as important as making your partner happy.

  I watch Mitch and Sarah take their seat at the head table. Hear mutterings of my name followed by the word tramp. I listen to their speeches professing their love to each other.

  I have to stop myself from snickering at their lovey-dovey terms. The gentle nudges from Hayes tell me he feels the same way too. Wasn’t it not too long ago that Mitch was professing the same love for me?