Page 79 of Coincidentally Kismet

Bri gently squeezes my hand, tugging me back down to the couch, saying, “We can’t leave until tomorrow. The flights are grounded until this storm passes. I booked three tickets on a flight leaving at eight in the morning. I have my stuff in the car, so I can just stay here tonight, if that’s alright with you. We will swing by and get Amy at about six and head out.”

“Ohhh, okay. Does Amy know? How much was the ticket? I need to call Daveed...” I ramble as the questions continue to breeze through my head, much like the wind blowing outside.

“Amy knows. they notified their mother, and she called me as soon as she heard to ask me to help her tell you. I was already on my way and told her not to rush over given the storm. Don’t worry about the ticket right now, we can deal with that later. You should go call Daveed and start packing for at least three days.” Her voice is calm and steady now that she’s gotten the worst of the news out. She’s confident and commanding in a way that I find oddly comforting in this moment.

I all but sprint into my room, stumbling into things along the way due to the lack of light. Instead of packing, though, all I can do is sit on my bed, head in my hands, and cry. Loud sobs slip out of me, despite my attempts to be quiet about it. I cannot lose him. I want to take every ounce of pain he is feeling upon myself, relieve him of the demons and scars he is inevitably going to carry.

Powerless is what I am, though. I can’t fix this, can’t wish it away no matter how hard I try. I have to face it head on. Will needs me to love him through this and all that comes with it. Determination settles into my bones like hot iron being poured into a mold. Nothing will stand in my way of seeing him, supporting him, or loving him from here to the end of all my days. Every worry I had about him leaving or being hurt again vanishes into thin air. Nothing else matters as long as I have a little more time.

Amy, Bri, and I wait patiently outside the airport in the arrivals pickup zone for her friend, Regina. Bri has briefed us on her friend, explaining that she is a nurse at the hospital on base, a spunky woman in her fifties who doesn’t take shit from anyone but who also has seen the worst of the worst come through her doors, which fills her with a sense of unparalleled compassion.

A black SUV zooms around cars and comes hurtling up to the curb much faster than it should.

“Hey, ladies, hop in. We need to make tracks before the traffic settles in,” Regina bellows.

Glancing at Amy, I shrug and we toss our bags into the open trunk. Bri slides into the passenger seat while Amy and I make our way into the back.

“Okay, girls, I’m going to give you some tough love. I see the looks on your faces and I get that you’re worried, but it’s all going to be fine. I checked on Will this morning and he is quite banged up. But you all need to fix those faces or I’m not bringing you to see him. Do you understand me?” she reprimands.

“Yes, ma’am. How is he?” I ask, tentatively.

“I’ve seen worse, sweetheart. At least those assholes didn’t mess up that pretty face. Hot damn, I tell you, that man is a model.”

We burst into a fit of giggles over her assessment of Will’s face. He is adorably handsome, but something about this nurse calling him out about it heals a part of my soul. I shouldn’t be laughing at a time like this, but it’s cathartic—it feels good to feel something other than heartache.

“In all seriousness, though, you need to know that with a lot of these soldiers, their physical wounds are far less worrisome than their emotional ones.” Regina glances at Bri and reaches for her hand to offer a gentle squeeze.

“We will support him no matter what, he just has to be okay,” Amy says, still stifling a laugh.

“That’s the first I have heard either of them laugh in well over a day, thank you.” Bri winks at her and smiles. How is she okay, how is she not breaking down with all she’s been through, I wonder.

We ride the rest of the way in silence, listening to the thrumming of the music mixed with the sounds of traffic surrounding us.

Pulling up to the base’s gate, we all show our driver’s licenses and Regina signs us in for visitors’ badges. The guards are stoic but polite as we pass through. I’m sure they see grieving and worried families on a daily basis, a few young women shifting between laughing and crying are par for the course.

Stopping before we enter the corridor that Will’s room is off of, Regina puts her hand up and spins to face us one last time. “Remember, he could look much worse. He is probably asleep from all the sedation they gave him. Talk to him, hold his hand, but be gentle and positive. No boo-hooing in that room or I will personally kick you out. My shift is about to start, so you will be stuck here for the next twelve hours unless you want to walk to the gate and get an Uber. You girls will be just fine, lean on each other to get him through this.” She presses a kiss to each of our cheeks and then swipes her badge to open the doors.

Hospitals are all the same. They smell distinctly like bodily fluids mixed with bleach, the beeping from machines creates a cacophony of sounds, and employees race around from room to room, speaking in what I like to call “doctor speech,” which makes absolutely zero sense to a normal person.

We walk to Will’s room, number 362, and enter slowly. He’s lying on the bed, hooked up to machines. There are leads on his chest monitoring his breathing and heart rate, multiple IVs, and his arm is bandaged from his shoulder to his fingertips. He looks peaceful, like he’s sleeping and not at all in pain.

Regina wasn’t lying about his face. That chiseled jawline, perfectly straight nose, and curly hair flopped over his forehead in the front. Those ridiculously long eyelashes. He is breathtakingly beautiful. I want to lean in and kiss him, but we still haven’t talked about everything that happened.

Bri has reassured me close to a thousand times that Will loves me, but I can’t help thinking or feeling like there is more to the story of why he didn’t call sooner. He had to have had time in between getting the call and chasing down Ruiz. My insecurities prevent me from planting one on him. We need to talk first. I would hate to do something he doesn’t want while he’s out of it.

I sit in the chair closest to his noninjured arm, grasping for his hand to give it a squeeze. Bri and Amy sit in the chairsopposite me, and we all just stare at him in silence. What are we supposed to do or say? Should we let him sleep, or should we try to talk to him? Bri stands up, moving closer to the edge of the bed. She gently strokes a hand down the side of his face with tears in her eyes and says, “Will...I brought Cam and Amy to see you. We’re glad you’re going to be okay.” She cares for him, it’s so clear how much he means to her, how much we all mean to her. Guilt eats at my stomach. She shouldn’t have to live through this, not after all she’s endured.

His eyelids flutter but he doesn’t wake up, doesn’t say a word. Amy stands and gently runs her hand over his curly hair saying, “Will, it’s Aims. You look like shit, big bro, but I’m happy to see you.” I swear he smirks, but again, he doesn’t wake up.

I should say something, but I don’t know what to say, and I don’t want to talk to him in front of Bri and Amy. I know it sounds petty, but this thing we have is between us. Glancing at them both, they look at me with sympathy written on their faces.

A doctor comes in, followed by a couple of residents.

“My name is Captain Boswell and this is Jenkins, Reed, and Walters.” He points to each resident so we know who is who. “Staff Sergeant Davenport was wounded in two places. He took a shot to the shoulder and one in his bicep. His shoulder was the worst off. We repaired what we could with surgery, but he is going to need a lot of physical therapy to get back on duty.” Captain Boswell looks at us to make sure we are following. Amy has pulled out a notepad and is beginning to write things down. “He’s on a heavy dose of antibiotics, and we are keeping him comfortable with pain medication. I will need to monitor him for a few more days at a minimum before he can fly home. Once he’s home, he will need to be debriefed about what happened and begin therapy right away so his shoulder joint doesn’t seize up. Now, which one of you is Cameron?”

“That’s me.” I raise my hand, standing from my chair.

“Can I speak with you for a moment in the hall?” The residents file out of the room with the captain following behind. He turns briefly to make sure I am, in fact, coming with him. I step into the empty hallway, trailing him as he continues over to the main nurses’ station.

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