Chapter 18
eighteen
Percy
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I fumble for my phone, swiping the screen.
The obnoxious noise cuts out, and I sink back into my mattress, trying to determine if I can safely ignore my alarm and go back to sleep.
For a brief, glorious moment, I think I’m in my one-bedroom apartment, about to head to class. Then, the memories come rushing back.
That first emotional wreck of a Saturday while I retraced the disjointed fragments of my mom’s life as though that would bring us closer instead of reminding me of how much I’d lost.
Waking up to find myself forced to repeat the same horrible day over again.
Investigating the phenomenon, only to draw an enormous blank.
And throughout it all, Chris. The guy I’d almost come out for until my mom got sick, and my entire world came crashing down.
The guy I’d pushed away, thinking it was for the best. The guy who (understandably) hates my guts.
Except for sometimes when it seems like maybe he doesn’t—like things between us aren’t quite as broken as they’d appeared.
Groaning, I force my eyes open and sit up. I stretch a trembling hand toward my phone where it rests on the nightstand, pausing to draw in a shaky breath.
All right, so sure, I’d spent the last twenty-four hours reliving a day straight out of hell.
And even though that second take had been better and less emotionally draining than the first in a lot of ways, in others, it had been equally frustrating.
But no matter Chris’ certainty last night, there’s no guarantee we’ll suffer the same fate today.
Only one way to find out.
Before I can chicken out, I snatch my phone from the nightstand, tap to unlock the screen, and check the display. My eyes fix on the time as I hold my breath.
Saturday, October 14th, 8:07 AM.
Fuck.
I flop back onto my mattress, unable to even begin sorting through my flurry of emotions.
Real. It had all been real. Is still real.
One repeated day might be a fluke, but two?
Two represents a pattern. And in lieu of any other obvious solutions, I’m forced to accept Chris’ hypothesis as fact until proven otherwise: we’re trapped here together in a time loop, with no idea how the hell to break free.
The truth weighs me down, crushing me beneath its impossible weight.
I squeeze my eyes shut in a vain attempt to block out the rest of the world, but there’s no escaping my whirring thoughts.
Jesus, why us? What’s so special about us out of all the thousands of people on Mackinac Island? Why had we been singled out?
Like everything else about our predicament, the answer eludes me.
Nothing had seemed amiss in town yesterday.
Medical tests were out—no way we’d get any meaningful results back in time.
And while the ghost tour had offered an okay distraction, we’d seen nothing to suggest a connection between our plight and the supernatural.
Not that we can rule anything out for certain at this point.
That’s the real problem, isn’t it? There are far too many unknowns.
Let’s assume someone on the island had cursed Chris and me.
We could spend weeks combing every inch of this place and still never stumble on them, let alone figure out how to undo the enchantment.
And God, am I really entertaining the possibility that magic is behind what’s happening to us? Is this what my future looks like—a proverbial hunt for a needle in a haystack, played out over an eternal day trapped on repeat with no certainty the needle even exists?
I’m spiraling. I don’t need a clear mind to recognize that much. My breaths come in quick pants, and my chest is way too tight. Is this what a panic attack feels like? Oh, God.
I scramble for something, anything, to grasp onto, and a vision of Chris fills my mind.
Not any of the numerous glares or scowls he’s given me this weekend.
Instead, I see his look of concern at Friendship’s Altar when he asked if I was okay.
The way he’d inserted himself between Oshkoff and me last night as if to instinctively protect me.
Chris should’ve been my absolute last choice for an ally.
My ex-best friend and ex-secret boyfriend.
The guy who’d made it clear he wanted nothing to do with me after how thoroughly I’d broken his heart.
And yet, for some reason, knowing he’s the one stuck here with me loosens some of the panic squeezing my insides to a pulp.
Gradually, my breathing returns to normal, my tensed body settling back onto the mattress.
I shiver, my sweat prickling in the cool air despite the radiator chugging away in the corner.
One thing’s clear—I won’t get any answers lying here feeling sorry for myself.
Conjuring my resolve, I force myself to rise and throw on some clothes.
A pall of exhaustion hangs over me as I exit my room into the hall.
I’d gone to bed relatively early last night—I know I had, too drained to do anything else.
But despite getting what should’ve been nearly ten hours of sleep, my eyes feel dry, my body sleep deprived.
Then again, I don’t remember setting my alarm last night, either.
It’s the time loop, I realize as I traverse the hall. How I went to sleep last night doesn’t matter because last night technically never happened. I’d stayed up late Friday night playing RuneWorld Online, and that’s what my body remembers.
I suppress a groan. Great. For as long as this time loop lasts, I’ll be eternally tired as punishment for my poor sleep habits.
I’m sure my dad would be thrilled after all the times he and Mom yelled at me to shut my computer down and go to bed.
Thinking of my mom sends a familiar dull lance of pain through me, and I scrub a hand over my face.
How many loops will I have to repeat before that particular wound mends?
Probably about as many as it’d take to get over my other source of persistent heartache.
A new thought stops me at the top of the stairs.
It’s a bad idea. Terrible, really. We need space, especially after yesterday.
But I remember how lost I’d felt this morning when I’d realized our predicament.
What if Chris is experiencing something similar right this minute?
What if he needs someone there to comfort him and help him through it?
What if he needs me?
Already kicking myself for being a total idiot, I trudge down the hall until I find the closed door to Chris’ room. I’d watched him stalk through it last night, practically slamming the door behind him in his haste to escape me.
I hesitate, knuckles raised. This is a truly awful idea. Swallowing down my doubts, I rap lightly on the wood.
Silence.
My uncertainty grows as I shift from foot to foot.
Maybe he’s not even here. Just because I’d beaten him downstairs the last two Saturdays doesn’t mean it’ll be the same this time.
For all I know, he already decided he was better off without me and snuck downtown for his own independent investigation.
I’m on the verge of fleeing downstairs when the door finally opens to reveal a water-slicked Chris standing there in nothing but a towel.
His nipples are hard from the cold, and water glistens in the patch of hair on his chest, tracing a sheen of wetness down his muscular torso.
My eyes catch on the line of dark hair trailing from his navel beneath the edge of his towel.
A very thin towel that hangs low on his narrow hips.
A furious blush darkens my cheeks. I know I’m staring. I should avert my eyes or say something, but my body’s no longer obeying my commands. I pray Chris will do it for me—make some joke or maybe even slam the door in my face. Anything would be better than standing here like an idiot.
It doesn’t help that I know exactly what that bulge beneath his towel conceals.
Or how good it would feel to trace his smooth muscles with my fingertips and nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his clean scent.
This blatant reminder of everything I’ve been missing makes it a thousand times harder to tear my eyes away.
Chris clears his throat, the sound echoing through the hall like a gunshot.
It gives me the jolt I need to break free of whatever idiotic spell has me in its grasp.
I rip my gaze from his body and focus on his face, but his expressive brown and green eyes, sharp cheekbones, and soft black bangs aren’t much safer, so I shift my gaze to the door frame next to him instead.
For a moment, he looks as confused and uncertain as I probably do. Then, his face clears as if he’s donned a mask. His lips quirk into a smirk, and he leans against the door frame, crossing his arms in a way that flexes his abs. Clearly, he’s noticed my interest and is mocking me for it.
“What do you want, Percy?” He cocks an eyebrow when he says it, and heat floods me, my furious blush intensifying.
“I…I…” Pull it together, Percy! “It’s still Saturday,” I manage lamely. “We really are trapped in a time loop.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Chris shift again. The movement makes the edges of his wrapped towel flutter. His smirk morphs to a frown. “No shit, Sherlock. I don’t need your help to figure that out.”
Right. Still hates me. Somehow, that relieves some of my nerves. So what if I still find him attractive? Knowing it’ll never go anywhere lowers the stakes.
“Well,” I reply, turning to look at him more fully, “that means our investigation is more important than ever. The sooner we figure out what’s going on, the sooner we can escape and go back to pretending the other doesn’t exist.”
Something flits across Chris’ face, there and gone too quickly for me to process. He shrugs, his disinterested mask back in place. I struggle not to stare at the way the gesture makes his stomach muscles tense and his towel shudder.
“Sounds good to me,” he says. “Got any new ideas to try today?”
A few had occurred to me while I got ready this morning, and I give voice to the one that seems the surest bet. “Maybe we did something that first Saturday—something that set us apart from everyone else.”
“What, like a trigger?” He frowns. “Are you saying Quinn was right, and this is all our fault?”
The notion gives me pause. “No clue,” I admit.
“Maybe we were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s as much a long shot as everything else we’ve tried, but it sounds better to me than combing the island inch by inch.
” Things might well come to that, but we weren’t that desperate yet. At least, I wasn’t.
Chris strums his fingers on the edge of the door. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. So, what do we do?”
“I thought today we could retrace our steps as closely as possible—you know, check everywhere we went that first Saturday to see if anything seems off.”
His mask cracks a little, and this time, the smirk he gives me seems more genuine. “Aren’t you already ruining that by talking to me? We’re not supposed to see each other until the bike tour.”
“We don’t have to recreate the day exactly,” I retort. “I’m not sure we could even if we tried. But I figure the general gist should be good enough to spot any anomalies.” Hopefully.
“Wow, such experimental rigor.” Something warm and fuzzy unfurls within me at his teasing tone. “Give me fifteen, and I’ll meet you downstairs.”
I swallow and nod. My eyes catch again on his bicep as he flexes, his fingers reaching up to wrap around the edge of the door. I feel at war with myself, half of me wanting to rush to him and the other half begging me to flee for my own good.
Chris pauses, and I don’t think I imagine the way his eyes flare as he looks at me. Before my body can make up its mind, he steps back, his face an unreadable mask again, and slams the door in my face.
All right, then. Answer received, loud and clear.
As I make my way downstairs, my desire for Chris fizzles, leaving only a molten lump in my throat. Once upon a time, he’d been mine the same way I’d been his…but not anymore. Now, the only thing left between us is an ocean of regret I doubt we’ll ever be able to bridge.