Chapter Fifteen
They sneak out of the resort in the morning, return the rented Porsche, and charter a private jet to Kauai as the sun rises over the horizon. Will’s sorry to say goodbye to the Big Island with so much still not checked off their to-do list, but Patrick just shrugs as they wait for the hired pilot to board their plane.
“It’s not like we can’t come back. We’ll want to escape the kiddo once we have her.”
“A girl?”
“Probably. Your sperm will make girls,” Patrick says, pulling a small bag of chips and a bottle of water out of his briefcase. He throws back an anti-anxiety pill and chases it down with a chip.
“What? That’s absurd.”
“Sugar and spice and everything nice. Your sperm will make a girl. Trust me. Mine will make a really angry little boy.”
“I can’t believe you’re a doctor sometimes.”
“Doctors are allowed to believe illogical things too. It’s a genius’s prerogative.”
Will rolls his eyes, but clicks his seat belt together without arguing that Patrick’s sperm is the more rational choice, or that Patrick never lets him believe illogical things just for the hell of it. They have time to debate it all later.
“Sorry for the delay,” the short, smiling pilot says as he climbs aboard, with his dark hair wind-tousled and his eyes glittering happily. “We’ll be on our way shortly.”
The flight is uneventful but beautiful. Will can’t keep his eyes off the play of colors on the water as the sun rises higher in the sky. Patrick falls asleep and snores adorably with his head on Will’s shoulder.
Once they land, they rent a car and drive to the north side of the island. While they wait for their room to be prepared, they sip freshly squeezed juice on the new, posh hotel’s veranda.
“We’re free!” Patrick says, lifting his glass to toast the view.
“Knock on wood,” Will insists. “Don’t jinx it.”
“We need to maximize the time we have left. What do you most want to do here?”
“Not much. I want to see a few sites, walk the hotel’s strip of beach, eat good meals, and just be quiet with you.”
“That seems easy enough.”
“I’m easy to please, really.”
“I’ve discovered that over the years. You should demand more.”
Will just shrugs and they finish their juices while listening to morning bird song.
Finally ensconced in their beautifully appointed room, they nap for a few hours, holding each other in the cool sheets. When they wake in the early afternoon, they text Jenny to make sure she knows where they are in the event of a true emergency, and swear her to absolute secrecy on their whereabouts.
“Now, what do you want to do next, puddin’-pop?”
What follows are three days of easy joy. No drama tugs them under. No unwanted guests appear. They drift and read, chat and laugh, swim and explore the north side of the island. They discuss babies and how to make them. And they make love every day. They sleep deeply and well every night.
It’s everything Will has ever wanted from a honeymoon and more.
At the end of their final day on Kauai, they settle at a table in the hotel’s beautiful open-air bar to sip sodas, watch the sunset, and confront the reality that their trip is at an end. The bar is nearly empty, save for another couple eating dinner and talking quietly, a few servers, and the bartender. Everyone appears sun-soaked and dreamy in the early evening light.
Will alternates his gaze between the place where the sun slips lower and Patrick’s auburn hair glittering red and blond in the dying light. Their silence is peaceful. The light music playing overhead, the calls of birds, and the gentle hum of the hotel bar employees’ conversations buoys Will’s spirits even higher.
“No use putting it off,” Patrick says finally, pulling his cell phone out of the back pocket of his white shorts. “Are you ready?”
Will shakes his head, unwilling to pop the beautiful bubble they’ve been living in quite yet. “Just a few more minutes. And then we can do it.”
Patrick places the phone on the table in front of them and dutifully waits.
Eventually, after the sun has been swallowed by the sea, and they’ve both had two more sodas, Will pulls his phone out and gives Patrick the go-ahead. He shudders as their phones ping with dozens of texts.
Will glimpses incoming messages from Owen, Kevin, Caitlin, and one from Olivia, plus a bunch from his mom and a few from his dad before they’re swallowed by Good Works-related texts and old weather alerts.
“I don’t know where to start.” Will chooses to open the one from Olivia first, in case his youngest sister needs him.
Connor stole my Army boots and wore them into the creek on the farm. They got stuck in the mud and he left them there. Now I can’t find them and even if I could they’re probably ruined. I hate him.
Okay, not great, but not an emergency. It can wait. He scrolls to the message from Caitlin next.
Patrick interrupts him before he can read it. “Good news. Jenny says she’s kicked Tom to the curb.”
“And Jax?”
“Begged him to forgive her.”
“Did he take her back?”
“Looks like.”
“Tell her not to mess it up again,” Will says, skimming Caitlin’s message about school, her dorm, and her decision to rush a sorority.
Patrick nods and types in his reply. “That’s it. The hospital actually respected my order not to text me, shocking as that is. There are texts from your mom that basically accuse us of ruining her trip by leaving without discussing it with her first. Won’t dignify those with a response. And I’m done. I won’t risk further exposure to the outside world.” He powers down his phone.
Will replies to Caitlin and offers to cover the expense of anything she’s forgotten to take or anything she needs.
“Like birth control,” Patrick quips, reading over his shoulder.
Will frowns. But then adds a line about birth control and his willingness to pay for the pills if need be. He gathers from the texts from Kevin that his mother still hasn’t returned from her jaunt to meet up with his father, but nothing in Kevin’s messages seems urgent.
He texts his uncle anyway with their anticipated arrival time the next day. He ignores the Good Works texts, because surely Owen has everything under control. And, if he doesn’t, then Will can wait until he’s back in Healing to deal with it all.
Then, through half-squinted eyes, he opens the string of texts from his mother, dating all the way back to before she crashed their honeymoon. Quickly, he messages her that they’re leaving Hawaii tomorrow, and he’ll see her back home in Healing. “That should do it.”
“Quick, shut down before she can reply,” Patrick urges him.
But before he can, his phone pings with a message from Uncle Kevin.
I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you should know that Ryan passed away last night.
Will’s mouth goes dry, cold chills race over him, and a lump fills his throat. The world around him whistles in a wind tunnel of shock.
Patrick grabs his phone out of his hands, and Will realizes he’s been staring at the message, unresponsive, for a long time. After a minute, Patrick powers down the phone and takes hold of Will’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
Will nods.
Out of the corner of his eye, Will sees Patrick motioning for a server. “Charge it to the room.” Then he grips Will by his arm and gently hauls him to a standing position. “C’mon, puddin’-pop.” His voice is sandpaper rough. “Let’s take a walk to the beach.”
Will stumbles several times on the trail surrounded by flowering bushes leading down to the empty, sandy beach, still strewn with footsteps of earlier beach goers.
Everyone seems to have retreated to their rooms or the hotel restaurant for the evening, and Will’s grateful for it. He’d hate for a bunch of strangers to see him cry, and the idea of going to their room, spacious and beautiful as it is, feels too claustrophobic to hold all of his emotions.
Because he’s having big ones.
Emotions that don’t even feel like they fit inside his body. They crash out all around him like water on the rocks and beat at the seams of him like the waves on the sand. The ocean breathes his pain, holds it, and then smashes it out again.
“It shouldn’t hurt like this,” he says finally. “It shouldn’t even matter.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Patrick pulls him down to sit on the sand near a shady outcropping of rocks. “Of course it matters. You loved him. He was a big part of your life, for better or worse, and you’re too good of a person to want this to be how it ended for him.”
“I wanted him to be happy. That’s all I ever wanted for him. It’s why I let him treat me the way he did. I never wanted him to die miserable.” He wiped the tears from his cheeks. “And I hate that he died still hurting someone else.”
Patrick rubs Will’s back, his hand soothing and familiar. “Should we text for information on the funeral?”
“No.” Will shakes his head, tears rolling off his chin and splashing, hot and surprising, against his exposed knees. He kicks off his flip-flops and digs his toes into the rough, yellow sand.
He stares out at the rolling water, grateful that Patrick doesn’t say anything. His hand on Will’s back is the exact weight that he needs to hold him together.
“I really want a drink,” Will says. “More than I’ve wanted one in a long time.”
Patrick still says nothing. He just strokes Will’s back slowly. They sit together watching the moon rise above the horizon.
Will closes his eyes, and more tears slip down his face. Wordlessly, he leans against Patrick, finally giving into sobs, and folds down to pillow his head on Patrick’s thigh. Patrick runs his fingers through his hair. The moon continues to rise.
Eventually, Will’s tears stop, and he wipes his eyes with the edge of Patrick’s shirt. “I’m ready,” he whispers, rising to his feet and reaching down to help Patrick up. “It’s been long past time to say goodbye to Ryan.”
Patrick remains quiet, and they walk hand-in-hand to their room, where they shower before climbing into bed to curl in each other’s arms.
“I want to help Hartley,” Will says, nuzzling Patrick’s soft hair.
“If he’ll accept your help, that’s fine by me.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“There isn’t much you can do. He’s been through a lot.”
“Yeah.” Will swallows hard and squeezes Patrick closer. “I owe you so much for opening my eyes to what real love feels like.”
“Ditto.”
Will smiles, his heart aching with bittersweet feelings. “Hartley deserves to know real love too.”
“You planning to show him?”
“No.”
“Then there’s not much you can do about that either. Let Hartley find his own way. He’s strong.”
“He’s been broken.”
Patrick kisses Will’s chest and rubs his cheek against his chest hair. “No, he’s strong. That was Ryan’s type, you know. The stronger, the better. The more fun to break.”
Will remembers the prideful Hartley he once knew and has to admit Patrick’s on to something. “I still want to be there for him.”
“Fine. But when he bites your head off, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Can you make me forget?”
Patrick trails a hand down to Will’s crotch. “Like this?”
“No,” Will murmurs, tugging Patrick’s mouth up for a kiss. “Like this.”
They kiss sweetly for a long time. Eventually, mouths raw and sore, they rub against each other until they come. It’s enough to leave Will sleepy and ready to let go for the night.
Patrick cleans them up, checks Will’s monitor, and then assumes his sleeping position: head on Will’s chest, arm slung across his stomach. It’s familiar and comforting. It’s right.
“Sleep tight, puddin’-pop,” Patrick slurs as he drifts off.
Will stares at the moon outside their hotel room window. It shines on the waves, illuminating the comfortable darkness of their room. The next morning they’ll fly home and life will start up where it left off. There’ll be family to cope with, jobs to do, and, in Patrick’s case, patients and nurses to cure and offend. They’ll have life to live, and a future life to plan.
Tears swim up to the surface again as he realizes that it’s all so precious, and so perfect, and all squandered by the man he’d first given his heart away to years ago.
Squandered and lost for good. How horrible, how meaningless, how sad.
“Sleep,” Patrick whispers. “It’ll all still be there tomorrow.”
Obediently, Will closes his eyes. It doesn’t take long at all for dreams to catch him. Thankfully, sleep steals his grief away.
The next morning, Patrick knows Will’s still hurting, but his shoulders are back and his chin is up as they wait at the airport for their pilot to arrive so they can take the Good Works jet home.
“Well, this hasn’t been the honeymoon I expected but I can’t say I was bored,” Patrick offers, putting out his hand.
Will grips it tightly and smiles. The light Patrick usually finds in his eyes is duller than usual, but not entirely missing. “Me either.”
“I turned my phone on this morning while you were still sleeping,” Patrick confesses. “Made a few calls. Paid a few bills.”
“Ryan’s funeral services.”
He nods.
Will’s lips tremble, but he swallows hard, getting a visible grip on his emotions. “I love you. And you didn’t have to do that.”
“He’s part of you, for better or worse.”
“But we shouldn’t clean up Ryan’s mistakes. I did that for a long time. Took the blame and the brunt of it all.” Patrick watches as Will’s eyes open wider. He’s getting it now. “This isn’t about Ryan. It’s about Hartley.”
Patrick shrugs. “Why should he worry about how to afford a funeral when he’s probably confused about how to carry on with his life now? It’s no skin off my nose to take care of everything.”
“You’re such a secret softy.”
Patrick frowns. “Not according to Ruby Lovell. She’s been fired and her license revoked.” He narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. “Good riddance.”
The pilot joins them on the tarmac, and they board the Good Works jet shortly thereafter. Will takes his usual seat by the window, and Patrick downs his anti-anxiety meds with a half a turkey sandwich the pilot has for him in the cooler.
“Thank you,” Will says quietly as Patrick’s nodding off. “For this honeymoon. For marrying me in Vegas. For sticking with me through everything.”
Patrick rouses himself enough to reply, “Don’t be an idiot. I’m the one who should thank you. Now let me sleep.”
Will’s lips are soft on Patrick’s forehead, and Patrick slips into sleep not long after the plane hits cruising altitude. His dreams are full of brains and victory, and he wakes when they land to refuel in Los Angeles with anticipation flooding his system.
Hours and hours later, he’s finally home again. Their house in Healing is a welcome sight after the endless tin can of an airplane and the drive from the airport. It’s after midnight, but they’re both still wide awake, stuck back on Hawaii time and overly rested from the naps on the plane.
“Well, we’re here,” Will says, dropping his luggage on the kitchen floor and stretching his arms wide. He’s a disheveled mess, with wild hair, and his shorts and shirt wrinkled from the travel. “Home sweet home.”
Patrick takes a deep breath. The maid has been by and the kitchen smells like lavender cleanser and lemons, and he loves it. “Ten days away with no social media. I’m gonna pop some corn and log in to The Hurting Times ASAP.” He rubs his hands together. “See what I’ve been missing.”
Will laughs and slings his lightest bag over his shoulder. “Do that. I’m going to download some of the photos from my camera to my laptop so I can text them to Dinah like she asked.”
“That was the one bummer about not having our phones, wasn’t it?” Patrick mutters, grabbing a bowl for the popcorn and kicking the rest of their luggage out of the way. They can deal with unpacking later.
“I didn’t mind carrying the camera. Though I guess we took a lot fewer pictures than we normally would have.”
“Good thing I’m a genius with a photographic memory.”
“So you claim.”
It’s easy how quickly they fall back into old habits, though everything feels mildly surreal given the late hour. After they’re both comfortable on the sofa with their respective screens, Patrick grabs handfuls of popcorn and shoves it into his mouth as he skims through ten days worth of Healing’s gossip.
“Oh, ho, listen to this about Jenny.” He nudges Will with his shoulder. “This is from when she kicked out Tom: Our favorite blonde heartbreaker is breaking hearts again. This time she’s kicking baby-daddy to the curb despite his promises to stick around. Rumor has it, she’s missing all that hot coffee lovin’ from our favorite barista now that she’s been reminded of the sadly uninspiring length of baby-daddy’s D.” Patrick laughs until there are tears in his eyes.
“Guess you’ll be calling Jenny first thing in the morning.”
“Of course. Need to know all about her baby-daddy’s D.” He snorts and wipes at his eyes. “Holy cripes, have I ever told you how much I love it here?”
“What?” Laughing, Will sets aside his laptop. “Seriously? Are you still high from those anti-anxiety meds?”
“They don’t make me high. Just relaxed. And maybe, but I do love it here. It’s the absolute trashiest, most drama-riddled town of all time, and I love it. Not as much as I love you, but…” He cracks up again, his face growing splotchy with laughter. “It’s so awful it follows us halfway around the world.”
“So you’re content to raise a kid here?” Will asks once Patrick’s calmed down.
“Sure. Speaking of, let’s try to make one for ourselves one last time.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Maybe we just haven’t tried hard enough.”
Will flushes, his eyes shining. “Pretty sure I don’t have the right parts.”
“You know what I always say: If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”
“I thought you always say that I’m a great lay.”
“That too. C’mon, let’s finish this the way it began.” Patrick stands up and pulls Will along with him. “With you shouting my name.”
As they walk up the stairs to the bedroom, Will whispers, “Want to play superhero and villain again?”
“No.” Patrick kisses Will’s cheek before whispering in his ear, “Let’s just play Will and Patrick.”
THE END