Page 202

That night, back at the hotel, the madness fades for a second. Camdyn and I sneak up to our suite balcony. The city below is aglittering sea of lights, the Burj Khalifa rising up like something out of a dream. She leans into me, her head on my shoulder, and I feel her sigh melt right into my chest.
I play with a lock of her hair, and for a second, I wonder what I ever did to get this lucky. “You know,” I say, trying to sound casual, “I think I’ve figured out our future.”
She looks up, eyebrow raised, half a smile tugging at her lips. “Oh really? You’ve seen the future now? Been hanging out with Fork Guy too much?”
I nudge her, grinning. “No tarot needed. I just know. I’m gonna get drafted, play in the MLB, buy us a house—maybe two, if you want a beach one and a city one. We’ll have three kids. A dog. Maybe a trampoline in the backyard, but only if you promise not to let Fork Guy babysit. He’d probably try to teach the dog how to read tarot.”
She laughs, that perfect, bright sound, and squeezes my hand. “Three kids, huh? You sure you’re ready for all that chaos?”
“I’ll have you,” I say, looking out over the city. “That’s all the backup I need. I don’t care where I end up, Cam. I want you in it. I want us. The rest is just details.”
She goes quiet for a second, then looks at me, serious and soft all at once. “Promise?”
I kiss her forehead, pulling her a little closer. “Promise. Even if Fork Guy tries to sneak into our wedding dressed as a fork.”
Down below, the city keeps buzzing, the lights still burning. But up here, it’s the two of us, the future wide open and—at least for tonight—exactly the way I want it.
Our final day in Dubai,that’s when things are taken to another level.
Lunch kicks off at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the city, where the tables are somehow both floating and bolted down. The whole crew is there, sunburned and buzzing, chowing down on mezze and shawarma like we haven’t eaten in days. Fork Guy spends half the meal teaching the concierge how to juggle hotel spoons, then convinces three German tourists to join in. By the time dessert rolls around, he’s orchestrated a spontaneous “spoon circus” to the delight (and mild horror) of the waitstaff.
King and Brynn can’t stop plotting a midnight swim in the rooftop pool—King’s already scouting for towels to “borrow.” Mom is on the phone with the hotel manager, deep in a conversation about “pillow firmness metrics” and “the optimal thread count for REM sleep.” Camdyn and I sit side by side, her knee pressed against mine, soaking in every last ounce of the view, the laughter, the weirdness that somehow became our normal.
The afternoon is one last adventure: sandboarding on the dunes. King wipes out spectacularly, Fork Guy tries to ride his board standing on one leg “for balance and spiritual alignment,” and Jameson gets lost and emerges with a mouthful of sand, swearing he’ll never leave home without a compass again. Brynn and Callie race down the biggest hill, screaming with laughter. Even Mom gives it a go, her scarf flying behind her like she’s some kind of desert superhero.
Then—
Back at the suite, just as we’re all starting to crash, Callie’s voice explodes down the hall. “JAMESON! You are the most infuriating, stubborn, clueless?—”
Jameson yells back, “You’re the one who can’t let anything go! Why are you even?—?”
Fork Guy peeks out, grinning like he’s front row at a soap opera taping. “Ooooh, drama!”
Callie storms in, cheeks blazing, eyes wild. Jameson follows, looking like he’s been hit by a sandstorm.
She drops the bombshell: “I’m pregnant! There. Now you can stop arguing every five seconds!”
Silence. Absolute, drop-a-pin silence.
Fork Guy gasps, clutching his pearls (well, a string of hotel sugar packets he’s calling “pearls” for the day). “Is it mine?”
Nobody answers Fork Guy.
King chokes on his water. Brynn drops her phone. Mom freezes mid-step, one eyebrow arched so high it’s in another tax bracket.
Jameson’s mouth hangs open like a goldfish.
Callie glares at him and all of us. “Congrats, you’re all going to be uncles and aunts. Someone better learn diaper duty, because I’m not doing this alone.”
Fork Guy raises a hand. “I’m great with babies.”
Camdyn squeezes my hand tight and leans into me. “Didn’t see that coming.”
I stare at her, then at Jameson. “I don’t think Jameson did either.”
Fork Guy’s already texting his mom for “baby-rearing tips from the Fork Family vault.” King and Brynn are whispering frantically. Mom’s still frozen, mentally rearranging her life plans for all of us, probably.
Jameson stares at Callie, a mix of terror and awe on his face, and for once, he’s speechless. Both of them are on full-ridesports scholarships. Jameson’s had a straight shot to the MLB, and now… who knows?