They dated, albeit briefly, during one of the rare times that Cam was home during his stint in the Navy Seals. I’ve never seen him happier, but then they had some sort of argument right before he shipped out that last time. Three months later, we got the call that he’d been hurt during an op. It was the longest seventy-two hours ever while we waited for news on what exactly had happened, and if he was going to make it or not.
Mom and Dad flew out to Germany, where he had been airlifted for medical treatment. They hadn’t been able to save his leg, and he hasn’t been the same ever since.
“Things change,” I finally mumble, before finishing off the rest the beer and sliding the empty glass back over toward Sebastian. He takes the hint and refills it quickly.
“So what happened between you and Tristan?” Cam questions.
Wyatt leans closer. “Does it have anything to do with the rumor I heard about Lesa Jacobs?”
Shit. I knew it wasn’t going to take long for that juicy little tidbit to get out. Lesa texted me that she’d spoken to Tristan and that they’d settled into some sort of weird agreement not to talk about it ever again. It has been a few of days, so I think Lesa has also settled into some false sense of security that her little stunt isn’t going to get out. It’s like she has momentarily forgotten where we live. In a small town, where the juiciest gossip travels the fastest.
“Wait…” Bash leans forward on the bar. “What rumor? Why haven’t I heard about this?”
“Because I was doing my best to keep it quiet,” I growl with a glare to Wyatt.
Wyatt raises his hands in mock surrender. “It’s not my fault,” he says. “The story is making the rounds.”
“What story?” Bash demands again.
I just roll my eyes as I take another long drink of beer since I know that Wyatt is going to share the story. I’m sure it’s going to be embellished significantly from the actual events. That’s the way gossip works in this town—like a good old game of telephone. The story the first person told is vastly different from what the last person hears.
“Seems like Owen has the magic stick.” Wyatt laughs at my frown. “What? How else would you explain it? It’s not every day that a girl reports a fake crime to keep you from being able to mack on another girl.”
“Did you seriously just say mack on another girl? When did we go back to high school?”
“I think Wyatt is stuck in middle school.”
Bash waves off the heckling. “Wait, she reported a fake crime? When?”
“Last Saturday when Tristan and I were on our way to dinner.”
Bash hoots out another laugh, smacking his hand on the bar. “Shit, you do have the magic stick.”
I shake my head. “What in the hell is wrong with you guys?”
Cam snorts. “I think Bash is just fucking jealous that you have two girls after you and he can’t pay one to sleep with his sorry ass.”
I tip my beer in his direction in agreement. “Now that makes sense.”
“Fuck off, assholes,” Bash mutters as he wanders down the bar to take care of a customer, our laughter chasing him as he goes.
Next to me, Wyatt drops his empty beer glass on the bar. “Lesa must not be too worried about the rumors.” He nods his head in the direction of the door and I glance up to see Lesa strolling inside. She hesitates when she sees me. Typically, she’d come over and say hi—we’ve known each other for years, but instead she crosses to a table in the far corner where some friends of hers are sitting.
Wyatt looks over to me. “If she isn’t pissed because of the Lesa thing, what’d you do?”
“Why does it have to be something I did?”
Wyatt snorts, moving behind the bar to refill his glass since Bash is still down with the other customers. “You’ve been following that girl around like a lovesick puppy since she came to town so I figure it’s a safe bet that you’re the one that fucked it up.”
“She asked me about mo chuisle mo chori.”
“You didn’t actually tell her about that bullshit, did you?” Bash asks, coming back from the other side of the bar. “Get out from behind my bar.” He shoves Wyatt. “Did you seriously tell her that stupid story? Please, God, tell me you didn’t tell her the part about the sorceress.”
“That’s the story.”
Bash shakes his head. “That’s the stupidest thing you could have done. Do you know how lame you probably sounded? A story about a fucking sorceress. She probably thinks you’re certifiable.”
“I wasn’t going to lie to her.”
“That would have been preferable to telling her that stupid-ass story.”
I flick him off before turning my back against the bar, focusing on the two different football games that are playing on the large-screen TVs that line the back wall of the bar. Next to me, Cam turns around so he’s facing the games as well. He has his beer in one hand and a contemplative look on his face.
It doesn’t take as long as I figured it would before he starts talking. “So you think this mo chuisle mo chori thing is real?”
I can’t tell if he wants me to tell him yes or tell him no. “I think,” I answer carefully, “that I knew the second I saw Tristan Maddox, that something inside of me shifted.”
“Yeah,” Cam agrees, taking another long drink. “It’s like all the pieces finally fall into place.”
I nod my head in agreement, but don’t say anything else. We sit for a few more minutes in silence, watching the Georgia Bulldogs take on Clemson. Wyatt has given up on us and is flirting shamelessly with a pretty tourist. One of the largest reasons Wyatt has remained in Broward is the large number of tourists that come through our town. He treats them like they’re a smorgasbord laid out especially for him.
If there was an Olympic game of picking up women, Wyatt would win gold every time. It helps that three years ago he participated in a well-known televised tattoo-artist contest. He only came in second place, but he’s still managed to make a name for himself, and the small tattoo shop he’d opened one block off the beach has grown significantly.
“What if you can’t…be with your person?” Cam suddenly asks, and my gaze jerks back to him. He’s still focused on the game, but after I stare at him for several long seconds, he finally turns his head in my direction. “What do you think happens then?”
“I don’t know.” I take another long drink of my beer, treading lightly since this is the most Cam’s opened up since he came home. “What do you think?”
I’m afraid he thinks he is never going to be able to work things out with Nora, and that he’s trying to find some way to be at peace. Since coming home, Cam has carried himself as if something is broken. And it’s not just the loss of his leg. It’s something inside of him that was ripped apart while he was over there, and I don’t know if it’s that he doesn’t know how to fix it, or if he just doesn’t think he’s worthy enough to even try. We’ve never been the touchy feely, talk about what we’re thinking kind of brothers.
“I think you need to figure out how to fix this shit with Tristan.”
“That was already part of the plan.”