Page 151 of Hawaii Can Suck It

Are those turtles banging on his shirt?

SHE GOT INTO A BLACK SEDAN!

She’s already leaving the airport?Fuck!

My heart plummets into my stomach. Black sedans. Everywhere. Dozens of them.

Every muscle in my body begs for mercy. Every breath feels like inhaling fire. Every step sends shockwaves of pain up my spine.

But I don’t stop.

I won’t stop.

If Tom Cruise can run with a broken ankle, I can run through this pain. I can’t lose her.

My body moves before my brain fully forms the plan. I launch myself into the traffic lane, narrowly avoiding a shuttle bus that lays on its horn, vibrating my skull. The driver’s middle finger shoots up, and yeah—fair. If I saw me doing this, I’d flip me off twice.

“CAM!” I shout, my voice lost in the cacophony of airport noise. “CAMILA!”

I peek into one black sedan.

Not her.

I sprint to the next car, slamming my hands against the tinted glass. “CAM?”

An elderly woman screams.

“Sorry!”

My body moves on reflex, years of performing stunts taking over as I flip, jump, slide, and weave my way through the crowded pickup area. The phone still clutched in my hand, livestream still rolling.

My eyes dart from window to window, searching for her.

“Cam, baby… if you’re watching this, please stop!” My voice cracks with desperation. “I know you’re upset. You have every right to be. But please—give me five minutes. That’s all I’m asking. Five minutes to explain!”

A horn blares, and I whip around to see a Mustang bearing down on me faster than the surrounding traffic. No time to move—my body makes the split-second decision that would make a stunt coordinator proud. I dive across the hood, my palms slick with sweat as they connect with the warm metal.

“Sorry!” I slide off, rolling to absorb the impact.

“What the hell, man?” the driver yells, but I’m already gone, parkour-ing my way into the next automotive challenge.

Phones are out. People are filming. A group of tourists are literally cheering.

A guy yells, “YO, IS THIS A PRANK OR A MOVIE?”

I leap onto a garbage can to get a better view.

And then—

I spot her. Sitting in the back seat of a black sedan. Only two cars up.

“CAM!” I shout, reaching out.

I jump to the ground—

And trip over a goddamn suitcase.

WHAM!I hit the pavement hard, my phone flying from my hand, skidding across the sidewalk.

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