Page 58 of Coincidentally Kismet

We take a couple more shots and dance a little more before the swaying and blurred vision settle in. Lo and I have both obviously had more than we should have, and Amy is passed out on a stool, her face plastered to the railing holding her up. Butler is suspiciously close by, ensuring she doesn’t fall...I think. Lo and I look at each other, silently exchanging our need to find out more about that.

“Looks like it’s time to hit the road.” Will snaps his fingers, twirling his pointer in a circular motion in an effort to round up the group. I lean into him, intent on giving him a kiss, but I clumsily miss, ending up a little closer to his chin. I can’tfeel much at this point, but the slow rumble of his laugh is comforting.

The next conscious awakening I have is that I’m home. Ruiz thankfully lived true to his word and expertly performed his designated driver duties. Will and Smith help Lo and me to our apartment and into our separate rooms.

“Come heeere, Ramboooo,” I slur from my position, perched on the edge of the bed.

“I’m gonna tuck you in. Do you need pajamas?” he asks, grabbing my shoulders to stabilize me.

“Not if I’m sleeping with you.” I bonk my finger to the tip of his nose.

“As much as I’d love that, not when you’re drunk, Wright.”

I put on my best puppy dog eyes and beg him to stay with me. Instead, he chuckles, helps me pull off my jeans, and expertly tucks me in like a burrito. My eyes are fluttering and I know I won’t be awake, or maybe alive, for long, but I do notice him placing a trash can and bottle of water by the bed.

Will kisses me on the forehead and tells me to call him in the morning. I huff an “Okayy fine, sur losssss,” and then he’s gone, quietly closing the door. I faintly hear him and Smith exchange a few laughs and then head out the front door.

I wish he would have stayed. We had a blast tonight, and yes, I definitely drank way too much. Cuddling would have been nice, although the thought of lying on my side stings the back of my throat with the precursor to what is surely bound to be vomit. I guess it’s good he didn’t stay for the disgustingly unflattering night and morning coming my way.

CHAPTER 27

WILL

“MILES ON IT” - MARSHMELLO & KANE BROWN

I’ve faced down bullets, seen enemies do all kinds of radical shit, baled hay for hours upon hours, and spent more time than I care to admit studying; I’m no stranger to hard work. Raised to put my head down and push through the pain, the heat, the mental strain that inevitably exists. What’s the one thing I wasn’t raised to do? Plan a date when your significant other is surely going to be hungover. I’m at a loss here.

Sundays are one of Cam’s usual days off, and seeing that I don’t know when exactly the call will come in for me to leave, taking advantage of every available moment in our schedules is paramount. The trouble is, she deserves better than me just snuggling in bed with her, even if it’s likely the one thing she feels like doing today.

I called her to check in this morning and was met with a few groans and questions as to why I would allow her to once again take those “little green syringes of death.” Reminding her that I am not, in fact, responsible for her decisions and that she’s an independent woman went over about as well as if I had suggested she was on her period during a fight. Note to everysignificant other out there: Do not bring up periods as an excuse or supplement to any argument, ever!

So here I sit, pondering how to steal time with her while also not aggravating the world’s worst hangover; yes, I know because I’ve been there—those Jell-O shooters are no joke. The beach would be nice, the salty air and breeze usually makes me feel better. Packing a late lunch, maybe some hair of the dog, and a nice soft blanket to lay out on...This would be semi-close to lying in bed all day but would also eliminate any of the pressure that being in bed brings.

Not that I don’t want the pressure, I’d give Cam almost anything she asked me for at this point, but I still feel a little guilty for taking things so far the other night. I know that she was into it, but at the same time, there’s a nagging feeling in my stomach that when she finally sees the real me, the scarred version, she is going to run.

Deciding a beach picnic is the way to go, I call Cam and confirm that I can pick her up around three. Planning for later in the day gives me time to renew the pass that allows me to drive on the beach, plan food, pick up some wine, and hit up a Target for the softest blanket I can find. It also gives me time to prepare for the conversation that I desperately need to have with her but have been strictly avoiding.

Until now, we have kept things simple, not too serious, but reality is quickly setting in. I’m going to be leaving, no clue when, and she doesn’t even know that’s a possibility. Honestly, it’s highly likely she doesn’t even know what I really do. She knows about Thatch, but not the details of how, when, why. If I had to guess, she assumes he always had mental health problems, not that he won them as the ultimate prize of war or that I have them too. We briefly talked about therapy the other day, but I didn’t tell herwhyI go. I haven’t been honest enough, and that alonesends my stomach clawing into my throat because she has every right to tuck tail and run.

It’s possible Lo has given her some sort of warning; she’s facing the same very cold reality with Smith. He hasn’t mentioned talking about it with her, though, not that he tells me everything that goes on between them. On the other hand, maybe Lo didn’t tell Cam anything because she knows Cam will overthink it. I think Lo knows this is fate bringing us back for our second chance. I think she wants us to make it and I’m grateful.

Adding to the dilemma, I’m questioning if Cam will even care. I want her to care, and on some baseline human level she will, I know that. What I mean is, I want a reaction that makes me feel more secure in this relationship. Is that messed up? Yeah, it is.

Cam’s never been one to hide her feelings, and even though she’s different than she used to be in a lot of ways, I anticipate this going one of two ways: It will either drive us closer or it will end us. Maybe it’s better to find out sooner rather than later.

“Will, I swear to all that’s holy, you are a genius!” Cam shouts from her spot on the navy blue knit blanket I brought to the beach.

She’s sprawled out, on her back, wearing a peach-colored bikini, with her head resting comfortably on her pillow. Yeah, she demanded that she bring a pillow to the beach despite my efforts to explain that the sand will ruin it. She said she needed it for maximum comfort. I could only argue so much when she offered to bring one for me too. Pillows on the beach—not something I’ve done before, but it does seem remarkably comfortable.

“Oh really? What did I do that makes me the next Einstein?” I make my way over to her with the basket of food and drinks.

“Hmm, let’s see. You took the girl with a hangover from hell and made her a bed on the beach. Who needs a sound machine blasting ocean waves when you can have the real deal?”

Smiling at her, I shift down on my side of the beach bed and carefully put my hand on hers.

“You want to guess what else I brought?” I ask cheekily.

“Hopefully food . . . Please say there’s food in that basket.”

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