Chapter 37

Lock

4:37 PM SATURDAY

I take it all back. I’m actually hoping that she doesn’t call.

Fuck it. Fuck it all.

I really don’t know why I thought things would have been different this time around. For the last three years, it’s always ended up the exact same way.

I’m like the walking definition of insanity. My name and face are right beside the word in the dictionary at this point.

And, to top it all off, I’m walking in this incredibly disgusting heat and humidity while smelling of the oh-so-lovely Chao Phraya.

On a cool day, that would smell bad enough. You throw in the damned heat and humidity, and I could probably kill a mob of kangaroos.

I’m surprised there are so many boats in the water. How do people tolerate this nastiness?

Back home, if the water stunk, you leave it the fuck alone. No one wants what comes out of it.

When I finally return to my hotel to check out, I’m not at all surprised that everyone is moving away from me as if I were Moses parting the Red Sea. Nobody wants to be near Michael Jackson’s pimp who smells like he just crawled out of a hippo’s arse.

The poor girl behind the counter gets one whiff of me, and she’s reaching for the nearest trash can. I do all I can to make it a painless transaction.

“Look, I’m sorry, darl. I know I’m rancid. I just want to check out.”

She calls for some help, but nobody is willing to get much closer than twenty feet.

I feel bad for the woman. She’s a real trooper, though. We go through everything as quickly as we can for her sake so that I can get out of here.

I’m making my way out of the hotel when the woman behind the counter yells at me.

“Sir, what about your possessions in the room?”

“Don’t worry about it, darl. Consider it a write-off,” I yell back over my shoulder.

Just like the rest of this fucking trip.

And boy, has this trip been one large pain in my arse. Even if I were to exclude all of the crazy shenanigans with Sammi and her people, I’ve still lost all my luggage from my room, was forced to dress like a member of Thailand’s worst boy band, and was forced to take a dive into the Chao Phraya.

I’m barely into my miserable walk back to my boat so that I can leave this damn country when a couple of guys who look like your typical United States frat boys approach me.

“Hey, man, can you help us? My friends and I are trying to find the Golden Gun. You know where it is?”

Of course I would get stopped and asked about the Golden Gun.

I want to throw each of them into the river, but I’m too damn drained and just tell them where to find the place instead.

“Thanks, dude. And, uh, just a suggestion, but you should take a shower and change. You reek, bro.”

“Thanks, dude,” I say, deadpan.

I had really hoped that things could have been different this time around. This time was different than the others. It was like some incredibly adventurous joyride, and that was all before the getting married bit.

I really thought that this time I would end up with my happily ever after.

And it’s a bitter pill to swallow, but happily ever after doesn’t fucking exist. It’s all just one big cosmic joke.

And truthfully—in hindsight—I really shouldn’t have gone through with everything.

She was drunk. I was drunk. Her friends were on another plane of existence kind of drunk.

None of us were in the right state of mind at all, really. But I always felt that getting married while drunk was something that drunk me would know not to do.

In the end, it all boils down to two things.

One, Sammi is still a coward. Even after she remembers most of what happened last night, she ran.

Two, I’m a fucking idiot. Dumbest dumb person on Earth.

“Excuse me, sir?”

I don’t even realize I’m being addressed until I feel this tap on my shoulder.

I turn and see a small family of obvious tourists with wads of tissue up their noses.

“What can I do for you folks?”

“Hi. We’re trying to find the Golden Gun. Do you know where it is?”

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me right now.

“The Golden Gun? You guys are trying to find the Golden Gun?” comes a voice from another group of wandering tourists.

“Oh, so you’re both trying to find the Golden Gun?” I sneer, addressing both groups.

Both groups of tourists are nodding and smiling. They look at me like I’m some blonde, smelly Jesus who’s going to show them the way to salvation.

“Well, here’s how you find it.” I pause and I swear they lean in as if waiting to hear the word of gospel. “Fuck off.”

The two groups look at me with surprise, as if they’re getting pranked.

“I’m sorry?” one poor soul pipes up.

“I said: Fuck. Off. Do you want me to spell it out for you, mate?”

I turn and start to walk away. A small voice, like that of a child, calls me an asshole behind my back.

The kid isn’t wrong.

Normally, I would have been happy to help those people out. I’m a nice guy.

But right now, I am exhausted, I am frustrated, and I am in no mood to be the laughing stock of some big universal joke.

I just want to get on my boat, hit the water, and sail back home.

No more Thai mafia. No more stolen Buddha heads. No more underground gambling dens.

No more squirting on people. No more looking and smelling like a Thai sewer. No more Sammi.

The moment I step foot on my boat, I feel more than a bit at ease. I’m peeling off my clothes, and I jump straight into my shower.

It feels good to be back on my boat. Hell, I didn’t even want to stay at the hotel I was at. The only reason I was there was because there were some conferences about the migration pattern of the great white that I didn’t want to miss out on.

I get out of my shower and—unfortunately—I still smell. It’s not nearly as vomit-inducing, but it’s a stench that will probably linger for a day or two.

Just another reminder of how much this trip has completely sucked.

I’m down on the dock when I feel this tapping on my back.

Oh, this better not be someone asking me about the fucking Golden Gun again.

I turn around, and I’m ready to let it all out, mate. I’m ready to lay out whoever is behind me.

Only it isn’t some tourist looking to ask me about the Golden Gun.

Instead, I’m looking in the lovely green eyes of the woman I love.

“Lock, I remember. I remember it all.”

“You mean—”

She doesn’t even give me time to finish. Sammi jumps up into my arms and presses her lips against mine.

Suddenly, every sullen moment from my final walk away from Sammi Brighton is in the past. Every unkind thing I had to say about myself and about her all recanted.

Sammi Brighton is in my arms, kissing my lips, remembering how she’s my fucking girl. And nothing in the world could top how I feel right fucking now.

She pulls her lips away from mine and smiles at me with a smile I’ve never seen on face her face before.

“I love you, Lock. And I plan on spending the rest of my life with you. I plan on saving the world with you.”

“I feel a distinct ‘but’ coming on here, Sam.”

She laughs. “But there is one thing I need to do first.” She looks me up and down and sniffs me. “And you could probably stand to take another shower.”

We laugh.

I kiss Sammi—my wife—with every ounce of love that I have.

I hold onto her tightly and refuse to let her go as we share a loving, passionate kiss with no restrictions, no reservations, and no holds barred.