Page 44 of Coincidentally Kismet

Today, I’m simply befuddled, if that’s even a word I could use to describe my feelings. I laid on my floor mat last night thinking this morning would give us a chance to talk. I planned to ask her to walk with me for coffee so we could hash everything out, except at just after six in the morning, I was awoken by the quiet sounds of her sneaking out and getting into an Uber. She’s always been a magician when it comes to executing an Irish goodbye, but this was different. Cam was running full steam away from me. It’s exactly what I knew would happen, and why I never should’ve listened to my sister.

After she woke up, Lo hit me with a million questions about where Cam had gone, and frankly, all it did was piss me off more that I didn’t have answers. I nursed several cups of coffee, packed up my shit, and made my way back to my apartment with Amy in tow. Amy is being cautious around me; she can probably read my mixed feelings. Either that or she’s afraid I’m going to take out my frustrations on her, since it was her idea for me to act on my urges last night.

A soft knock on my door sounds, and Amy pops her head in.

“Are you feeling okay, want some soup?”

“I’m fine,” I huff at her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She eyes me cautiously.

“I don’t know, Aims. You tell me, have you ever put yourself out there and been rejected so coldly?” I ask with vehemence that’s unmatched.

“Well, first of all...you can’t claim to have been rejected when everyone saw that kiss, Will.”

“What do you call her icing me out and then running away this morning like her ass was on fire?” I scoff.

“I call that fear. She has reasons to be scared, and I can’t say I blame her, not completely anyway,” she rebukes.

Fear, I know fear. Okay, I can work with fear. But Cam doesn’t need to be afraid of me. What does she think is going to happen?Oh yeah, maybe that you’re going to break her heart again, dumbass.Well, she might realize it, but she’s the one holding all the power here. I’ve fought tooth and nail, tried everything I could to keep my distance and keep it light, but I can’t. Cam is the only thing that’s exactly right in the world, at least for me anyway.

“She doesn’t need to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt her again,” I say in a hushed tone.

“That’s the thing, you may not intend to ever hurt anyone, but you did hurt her. Your whole argument against this thing between you two has been that you didn’t want to be a burden to her, that you were afraid she would get sick of all the unknowns that come with your career and leave. Can you honestly tell me that a couple of kisses has changed your mind about staying in the friend zone?” What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?

“No, yes, I don’t know.” I run my fingers through my hair for what feels like the thousandth time. At this rate, male-pattern baldness should top my list of concerns. “I’ve been keeping a distance from everyone for so long because I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Having her around, though, is like breathing fresh air for the first time in years. I wonder if maybe I need her just as much as I want her.”

Amy’s face becomes slightly marred with pity. “Will, you need to think long and hard about this. I’ve heard every excuse you’ve told yourself and, well, everyone else for that matter. The thing is, love defies logic. It isn’t ever convenient, and there’s always a risk of getting hurt or hurting someone else. The magical thing about it is that when you find it, none of the risk outweighs the reward. If you don’t believe me, ask Mom. She would tell you she would marry Dad all over again, even knowing how things turned out, because the years they had together meant something. They shaped her into who she is today, and she is stronger for having had that love. It’s why I want to find someone so badly. I don’t want to get hurt, but I want to touch the sun, even if only for a little while.” Tears prick her eyes, making me feel empathy for how lonely she is.

“Thanks, Aims. I will think about it, I promise. Now did you say soup?”

Amy sniffs then chuckles. Rolling her eyes, she quickly goes to the kitchen and returns with a steaming bowl of broccoli cheddar soup and a crusty piece of bread. Amy is an angel. She’s annoying sometimes, but having her here has made me feel better, and it’s a bonus to have someone constantly feeding me.

I spent most of the afternoon holed up in my room, vacillating between being determined to make Cam see that what we have is worth giving another shot and talking myself out of it because it’s destined to go up in flames. After giving up the argument with myself, I decided to head to the one place I haven’t been often enough. To go see Thatch.

Walking up here feels surreal. While it isn’t the somber and austere sanctuary that is Arlington National Cemetery, it’s stilla military graveyard honoring those who’ve paid the ultimate sacrifice. Identical white headstones mark those that answered the call, those whose loved ones still live in agony without them.

The grass is kept neatly trimmed, and some plots have the flowers or wreaths of a loved one’s visit. Thatch’s always has flowers since he and Bri loved to tend their garden together, but there is also always a bottle of his favorite whiskey on the side or one of his favorite beers. Between myself, Ruiz, and Smith, we’ve likely spent an entire paycheck bringing along extra alcohol to drink with Thatch.

Today, I brought a six-pack. He can’t actually drink with me, of course, but it wouldn’t feel right to not at least pour one out for him. Approaching his site, my stomach always gets a little twisted up, and today is no different. There’s a sturdy tree at the base of his plot, slightly to the right, and it’s my favorite spot to settle into. Taking a deep breath, I lower myself down, cracking two of the bottles open.

“Hey, buddy, sorry I haven’t been here very much lately. It’s not that I don’t want to visit, I just still can’t believe you’re gone, man.”

I feel immensely guilty about how long it’s been since my last visit here. When we first lost him, I vowed to visit at least once a week, but lately it’s been less and less frequent. I recognize that it’s normal to move on with life, but it can’t be right to move on from someone that’s practically family.

“My life is kind of a mess without you keeping me in line. I don’t understand why you had to go.” Shaking my head as the words come out, I feel embarrassed and ashamed that I’m giving him crap for leaving me. “Work is the same, we head out soon, but who the fuck knows when. Smith is all kinds of whipped with his new girl, and I’m sure he told you Cam lives here. Can you believe that shit?”

I chuckle to myself, imagining how big Thatch’s grin would be hearing the whole story of me running into Cam again. He would have found that whole debacle hilarious, and he would’ve loved giving Bri all the dirt. Probably would’ve had a betting pool over how long it would take for me to fall for her again.

“Smith relished breaking the news to you, I’m sure. He’s such an asshole. I miss you every day, Thatch. I know you’d give me the most shit over this situation with Cam, but you would’ve also known exactly what to do...I sure as hell don’t.”

Thatch was never serious, he was always the first to crack a joke or make you laugh. But somehow, he just knew what to say, he would come out of nowhere with some profound advice that would leave you wondering if you were ever going to get it together and grow up like he had. He seemed to always have it all figured out.But then he was an anomaly. Never scared on missions, yet the most affected by them.

I knew he was struggling when we got back, haunted by what we’d seen, but I thought it would pass. He had the love of his life, and he had us, his friends. It was never going to be an easy road, it just never dawned on me it would end like this. Me sitting at his grave, pouring a beer into the grass, talking to a ghost.

The worst part of all of it is that I get it. I’m not angry. There have been moments where I’ve thought to myself it would be easier to end it too. Moments when I wake up drenched in sweat, grasping for the weapon by my bed, only to realize the door isn’t an enemy, the lamp isn’t someone lurking, the fan isn’t an enemy chopper overhead. And don’t get me started on fireworks. They’re beautiful, symbolic, and torturous for people like me. Action movies, completely out of the question. I’ve tried to watch them and usually end up face down on the floor panting to catch my breath. Once I heard some music that was reminiscent of the music played in Iraq; I broke out in a cold sweat and my vision got cloudy.

I’m not looking forward to going back. The dreams have eased some with being home, but I know what I’m in for this time. If I’m being honest, I’m scared. Not for myself, but for my teammates, my friends. I don’t want to lose anyone else, and yet I live for the job. I love it. Rock meet hard place, that about sums it up.

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