Page 97 of When the Smoke Clears

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Why is that?” he asks.

“Because Karen has become a pejorative term.”

“Pejorative?”

“Disparaging. Belittling.”

“Then it should be easy for you not to be jealous of a Karen.”

“Why would I be jealous?”

He glances over his shoulder, slowing his steps for a second.

“I’ve had your dick in me too,” I mumble. “It’s overrated.”

He lifts an eyebrow, and I smirk.

“We’ll see about that,” he says.

Wait. What? We will?

Before I can follow up with a few pertinent questions, he joins the others and remains at the head of the pack for the rest of the hike.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Will

I arrive at Everleigh’s early the next morning ready to help her because I said I would. It’s nothing more than a kept promise.

Yeah right.

“Good morning,” I say as she walks toward the trash can with a dustpan full of sawdust.

She doesn’t acknowledge me, so I touch her shoulder. When she whips around, sawdust flies in my face.

“Gah!” It coats my eyeballs like slivers of glass.

“Oh, shit. Will, you scared me.”

God, this hurts like a motherfucker. I may never see again. “Call 9-1-1,” I mumble.

“What? No. I’m a doctor.”

“I can’t see! My eyes are filled with sawdust! I don’t need therapy.”

“William, I’m soooo sorry. I had my AirPods in. You snuck up behind me. Now, move your hands,” she says, pulling at my wrists.

“Stop.” I push her away with one hand. “Call an ambulance.”

“Just let me see.” She persists, pulling my hands away from my face as I lower to the ground before I lose my balance, eyes watering like a hemorrhaging artery. “I’m truly so sorry. I didn’t mean to do this. Let me grab the eyewash kit over here in my first aid bag.”

Her touch disappears, and I reach for my phone, feeling my pockets. When I find it, I still can’t see anything.

“Call 9-1-1,” I say into my phone and wait.

“Will, stop,” Everleigh calls from somewhere in the room.