Chapter 24
twenty-four
Percy
I’m eating a lemon poppyseed muffin at my usual table by the door when Chris slumps into the chair across from me. He grabs the cappuccino I’d purchased from a sullen Owen and takes a sip, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. I nibble on my muffin, watching him in silence.
“It didn’t work,” he grunts eventually, sitting up to take a deeper gulp of his drink.
“No,” I agree. “It didn’t.”
I hadn’t been that surprised when I’d woken up this morning back in the Royal Lilac to the obnoxious beeping of my usual alarm.
There’d been no real reason to think leaving Mackinac Island would change anything, and sure enough, the time loop doesn’t seem to care whether we’re here or on the mainland.
Chris frowns and casually flips his bangs out of his eyes, giving me a sheepish look. “Sorry for falling asleep last night. I should’ve grabbed some extra caffeine.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Or maybe sat up instead of burrowing under the covers?”
“Or that,” he replies with a grin.
“It’s fine. I stayed awake, and it didn’t make a difference.”
Chris perks up at that, peering at me over the rim of his coffee. “Did you figure out when the loop resets?”
It’s my turn to look sheepish. “I wasn’t watching my phone closely enough to get an exact measurement, but I think it was a little after one. One minute, Gordon Ramsey was eviscerating a chef for messing up an order. The next, I was blinking awake back here.”
His brow furrows. “Why one AM and not something more significant like midnight?”
“Dunno. But I mean, it’s not like much about this whole thing has made much sense. It could be random.”
“I suppose…” He doesn’t sound convinced. To be honest, neither am I.
“Or maybe there’s a hidden meaning to the time we haven’t figured out yet,” I suggest with a shrug. “After all, we still don’t know why the day keeps resetting in the first place.”
“You think something significant happens at one AM?”
“Possibly.” I fight down my growing frustration at our lack of answers. “Three loops in, and we’ve still determined practically nothing that can help us.”
Chris gives me a lopsided grin. “Hey, yesterday wasn’t a total loss. Disproving hypotheses and all that. Plus, you’ve got to admit, it was a lot of fun.”
Remembering the adventure course, I groan and cover my face with my hands. “God, I can’t believe you talked me into doing that. Only you could convince me to risk my life for an adrenaline rush.”
As soon as I say the words, I regret them.
There’s something a bit too vulnerable in them—too revealing of the way my heart had thudded at each shared touch or the heat his impromptu hug had sent searing through me.
I really hope he hadn’t noticed the way I’d sniffed him like a total creep.
Though, judging by how awkward things had gotten afterward, that’s probably a lost cause.
I’m worried my admission might make him pull away again now, but his grin merely widens. “Good. Glad there’s at least one person who can cajole Percy Wentworth into letting loose.”
Chris’ smile soothes away my growing tension, replacing it with a tenuous hope.
Not in getting back together—that ship sailed long ago.
Even if he ever forgave me for pushing him away, I don’t trust myself not to hurt him again…
or to end up hurt myself. We were wrong for each other back then, and we’re still wrong for each other now.
But friends? Friday, I would’ve said it was impossible, but now friendship doesn’t seem quite so far-fetched. If nothing else, we’ve proved we can collaborate on this time loop business without biting each other’s heads off. It had only taken several do-overs.
I notice Owen’s intense glare from the corner of my eye and realize Chris and I have been sitting here smiling at each other for an uncomfortably long amount of time. I blush and look away, clearing my throat.
“You said yesterday you had multiple plans you wanted to try. Does that mean you thought of other possibilities beyond attempting to leave the island?”
“Oh, yeah! Hang on.” Chris reaches down, and I notice he brought a backpack with him today. He rummages inside and pulls out a worn journal and a pen. He opens the journal, flipping through to the back.
I catch page after page filled with cramped handwriting and let out a low whistle. “Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you’d gotten back into writing.”
Chris’ ears redden. “It was something I loved doing as a kid,” he explains, pausing on a particular page.
I can’t make out the words from here, but it looks like a fragment of a story.
“I used to sit and make up all kinds of adventures. Sometimes, I’d spend an entire car trip writing my own tales instead of reading an actual book.
But after we started da—I mean, hanging out more, I kinda let it fall by the wayside. ”
I wince at the way he stops himself from saying dating.
Usually, I’m the one nervous about revealing any hint of my sexuality in public but hearing him censor what we’d had stings.
It makes me feel like we’d done something wrong—something we should be ashamed of—when that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Except…isn’t that what I suggest every time I cover up our relationship?
I think back to our discussion last night at dinner.
I’d meant what I’d said—if it hadn’t been for my mom’s diagnosis, I’d fully intended to come out no matter how much the potential consequences terrified me.
So, what had changed between then and now?
A tableau of beeping machines and my mom’s frail arms clutching at me from her hospital bed flickers before my eyes, and I suppress a shudder.
Chris had told me yesterday that he thought my parents would be proud of me, but how can he know that for certain?
How can I when my mom died wishing fervently for a future I can never live up to?
Even if my dad accepts my sexuality, my mom will never get that chance.
Chris peers closely at me, frowning. “You okay, Perce?”
I swallow and nod. I want to tell him the truth—to try to explain my jumbled emotions and assure him that I don’t regret what we had, that he was more to me than some dirty secret.
But I can’t find the words, so instead, I say, “I’m glad you’re getting back into writing.
You shouldn’t let something you’re passionate about go without a fight. ”
His answering smile is radiant. I watch, unable to tear my eyes away as he absently swipes his bangs back and resumes flipping through his journal until he finds the page he wants. “Here we go. I made a list of ideas this morning.”
I stare at the over two dozen items he’d scribbled down. “You know that’ll only last until the time loop resets, right?”
“Then I guess we’ll have to work through as much of it as possible, won’t we?” he counters. “Besides, writing shit down helps me organize my thoughts.”
I finish off the last few bites of my muffin, eyeing the open notebook. “Do I even want to know what crazy things you’ve got written there?”
He chuckles, his hazel eyes crinkling. “Probably not. But unless you’ve got any new suggestions you’d like to try…” I shake my head, and he smirks. “In that case, I hope you’re ready.”
I shrug, feigning nonchalance while suppressing my own grin. I can’t help it—Chris’ joy is infectious, his smile lighting me up…along with the thought of spending more time with him one-on-one.
Anything to help mend our friendship, I tell myself firmly. That’s all I’m feeling.
I almost believe it.
The next few days—repetitions, cycles, whatever—pass in a blur.
Chris hadn’t been kidding when he claimed to have concocted a whole host of schemes to try.
We fall into a sort of groove: wake up, meet each other downstairs at the cafe for breakfast, and sneak off to carry out the new plan of the day.
Unsurprisingly, hours of online research turn up zilch.
As weirdly satisfying as it is to compile every pop culture reference to time loops we can find, from the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode “Cause and Effect” (a personal favorite of mine) to the Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask video game, none offer a clear path forward.
Reddit and other internet message boards prove even less helpful with their overwhelming slew of crackpot theories. There’s simply too much noise to sort through no matter how many loops we have. If we’re going to solve this in a reasonable timeframe, it’ll be on our own.
Some days, we invite Quinn to tag along.
We might no longer need her as a buffer, but it’s still nice to have an extra pair of eyes and hands.
I stop being surprised at how readily she accepts our insane story.
I can see why Chris would’ve been drawn to her eternal optimism and easygoing nature when he was feeling at his lowest. But while Quinn’s great, I prefer the days where it’s just the two of us, even if I avoid thinking too closely about why exactly that might be.
We spend a loop hiking the interior paths cutting through Mackinac Island State Park and scout out the natural attractions we’d missed during our bike tour.
While I appreciate the calm serenity of the forest, our search doesn’t reveal anything relevant.
There’s nothing but trees, rocks, the occasional hiker, and a plethora of breathtaking views.
Another loop, we return to the medical center with Quinn in tow to sweet talk the staff as needed.
Online research beforehand had helped us compile a list of same-day tests to perform on everything from our cognitive abilities to our vision and hearing.
Apparently, I need a new prescription for my glasses, but besides that—zilch.
Of course, not all of Chris’ plans turn out to be quite so mundane.