Chapter 35
thirty-five
Chris
I have no idea where I’m going when I start my run.
After seeing Percy, I had to get away as quickly as I could.
I start on the road running along the shore, following it downtown.
I skirt around Main Street and Market Street—even this early in the morning, those are too crowded with tourists and horse-drawn carriages to maintain so much as a light jogging pace.
Instead, I keep to the back streets, weaving mostly at random.
With how much time Percy and I have spent exploring, I know this city like the back of my hand.
We’ve visited every shop. Dined in every restaurant—or at least, all the ones worth visiting.
Hell, I even recognize many of the people I pass.
Strange to think they have no recollection of me when these endless Saturdays remain so real and vivid in my head.
There’s Eddie, who works the counter at a local fudge shop. And Mrs. Cavishaw, who runs one of Quinn’s favorite art galleries. I even spy Frank, the carriage driver who’d managed to salvage my date with Percy.
I grit my teeth, pushing my legs to carry me faster until I’ve left the man in my wake. Unfortunately, it’s not so easy to outrun the memories he’d conjured.
A part of me wishes that night had never happened.
That we’d called it a bust after dinner and carried on as friends.
At least then, I wouldn’t have gotten a taste of something more.
I wouldn’t have this ache inside me, this festering sense of loss for something I should’ve known was doomed from the beginning.
But then I also wouldn’t have experienced the best weeks of my life. No matter how much it hurts now, if I could go back and wipe away my memories as completely as the others trapped in this time loop, I know I wouldn’t. Not for anything.
My feet carry me out of the city, and I consider where to go next.
I could follow the same bike trail Oshkoff and the others are probably on by now, but I don’t want to risk running into them.
Plus, mapping the island’s perimeter yet again and dealing with the plethora of tourists there doesn’t sound even remotely appealing.
Instead, I make a left up a hill and follow a narrow dirt path beneath the trees deeper into Mackinac Island’s interior.
It’s quieter here—more isolated. I pass a handful of dedicated bikers, along with a couple of runners craving either the lack of people or the challenge of a tougher trail.
But for the most part, it’s just me, my feet, and my churning thoughts.
I wind through the park, breathing in the crisp air and listening to the rustling leaves and chirping birds as I try to lose myself in nature.
The trail eventually circles back on itself, and I continue running loops until I can’t take another step.
I half-collapse by the side of the path, wheezing in breaths.
Once I’m recovered enough to hobble down the trail, I start back toward town at a slow walk.
My thighs and calves burn from overexertion, but I relish the sensation.
I’ll take this kind of physical pain any day over the dull sorrow that’s plagued me.
The trail opens into a clearing, and I bark a startled laugh when I spy a familiar looming stone.
Of all the places to end up, of course I somehow finish at Friendship’s Altar.
Not that there are many places on this damn island that don’t remind me of Percy, but this place feels imbued with special significance.
Without thinking about what I’m doing, I shuffle over to the rock. Dead leaves crackle underfoot as I press a hand against the stone. It’s cool to the touch, its surface rough beneath my fingers. It’s not until I stoop to examine the rock’s base that I realize what I intend to do.
This is stupid, I chide myself as I scour the base of the stone with both my eyes and fingertips.
My legs burn, the chill air on my sweaty clothes is making me shiver, and I still have a long walk back.
So, why the hell am I wasting time here on a fool’s errand?
It doesn’t make any sense. But none of that stops me from doing it anyway.
When I complete a full loop, my heart sinks.
No. I must’ve missed it. It has to be here.
It has to be. Twenty minutes later, however, I sink back into a pile of leaves and squeeze my eyes shut, forced to admit the truth.
Percy had been right to fear checking. His parents’ initials are gone—worn away by time or weather in the intervening years.
Like they’d never been here at all. Like their love had never even existed.
My hands clutch at the stone, fingers scrabbling at it as if for purchase.
I don’t notice the tears streaking my cheeks until my vision blurs, transforming the orange and yellow leaves on the trees into a fiery haze.
Somehow, this feels like a sign from the universe.
A symbol of futility—of how everything fades just like the events of this eternal cursed day.
No! My back trembles, and I squeeze my hands into fists.
Does the universe think it can screw with us?
That we’ll be its obedient little puppets, dancing on whatever strings of fate it wishes?
Well, fuck that! We can seize our own destinies, like we had the moment we’d decided to stop playing by its rules and start having fun.
I don’t have a knife or anything suitably sharp with me, but there’s an old post nearby with a commemorative plaque explaining the history of Friendship’s Altar.
Ignoring the plaque entirely, I search the post and find what I’m looking for.
It takes some effort to jangle it out, but eventually, I manage to pry a nail from the worn wood.
The rusty metal nicks my finger, and I stare at the pinprick of blood, a manic laugh threatening to bubble out of me when I realize I don’t need to worry about a tetanus shot—not when today’s going to reset anyway.
Of course, that means what I’m about to do is even more pointless than it already seems, but I ignore the small voice whispering doubts to me. So what if the world doesn’t remember me doing this? So what if nobody ever knows? I will.
I find a smooth spot near the base of the rock and scratch at it with the nail until I’ve carved out an R and an L for Percy’s parents.
Then, I envelop the initials in a crude heart.
When I’m done, I sit back to admire my handiwork.
It’s not going to win any art contests, and the heart sort of looks more like a butt, but it gets the message across.
This is for you, Percy. I might not be able to give you much, but I can give you this.
A tension I hadn’t realized I was holding uncoils within me. Such a small, meaningless act of defiance—and yet, it feels like I seized back control of my own life. Like I won.
That momentary high proves fleeting. By the time I’ve finished the long trek back to downtown, my entire body aches, I’m shivering from the cold, and my heart feels heavy again. I miss Percy more than I’d like to admit, even though I know he’s not mine to miss. He never was.
I don’t notice the figure stopped on the sidewalk ahead until he shoves me. I stumble and look up, eyes wide, to find Devon sneering at me. “Watch where you’re going, Rawley.”
Heat flares in my cheeks. I try to step around him, but he moves to block my path. “Get out of my way, Jackson. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today.”
“I can see that.” Devon smirks, eyeing me up and down. “What’s the matter Rawley? Out of shape? I guess that’s what happens when you give up.”
I tense at his laughter as I shove past and keep walking. I just need to ignore him until I’m free and clear. He’s not worth it.
“Though I’d think you’d be better at it,” Devon calls after me. “Especially with how much you like running away from your problems.”
Something within me snaps, and I whirl, stomping back toward him.
From the way his eyes widen, he’s surprised.
He expected me to keep walking? To run away?
Well, fuck that! For Devon, this whole taunting me thing might be fresh and new, but I’ve had to endure some variant of his crap across numerous time loops.
Neither Quinn nor Percy is here to hold me back, and I’ve got nothing left to lose. It’s past time we finished this.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I snarl, shoving Devon in the chest. I’m too tired to muster much force behind the blow. That only serves to stoke my rage hotter. “Seriously? Do you hate me that much?”
Devon gets over his shock enough to scowl at me. “I hate quitters. People who let down their friends and their team because they’re too selfish to put anyone else first.”
Despite everything else he’s said or done to me this trip, that one stings. Was that how he and the others saw my coming out—as some sort of betrayal? Like this was all my fault for not keeping quiet about my ‘unnatural urges?’
I force down the hurt, drawing on my anger instead. “Fine,” I spit, my eyes blazing. “I’m such a disappointment to you? You want to beat up the gay kid so badly?” I take a step back, splaying my arms out to either side. “Go on then. Take a hit. Get it all out of your system.”
Devon opens his mouth to retort, fists tightening at his sides. Then, what I said seems to register. He blinks, his brow furrowing. “What the fuck are you talking about, Rawley?”
I growl, impatient to get this confrontation over with now that it’s finally happening. “I’m talking about how you and the team all turned on me the second I came out. You made it perfectly clear how you felt then. So, don’t hold back now.”
Devon takes a hurried step away, raising his hands.
“Dude, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.
I don’t care who you want to fuck, and so far as I know, none of the other guys did either.
” He frowns. “Well, except maybe Brad. But he was always kind of a dick, and he’s not even on the team anymore. ”
Now it’s my turn to stare. “But…but then why did you all treat me the way you did? Like all of a sudden, no one wanted to be around me anymore.”
There’s no way I’d imagined the askance looks. The way everyone skirted around me in the locker room or made excuses to ditch me.
Devon barks an incredulous laugh. “Dude, you’re the one who made everything weird.”
His words leave me reeling. “What…?”
“After you came out, you were different. You started ditching practices and picking fights. It’s like you were always looking for an excuse to get pissed and go off on someone.
You can’t blame us for walking on eggshells around you, man.
” He frowns, a bit of his former attitude returning.
“But that doesn’t mean anyone wanted you to quit.
You were one of the fastest guys on the team.
We just wanted you to get your head out of your ass. ”
“But…Coach…”
“What about him?”
“He…he told me I was making everyone else uncomfortable. That no one wanted a gay guy changing with them in the locker rooms or ogling them in the showers.”
Devon’s face darkens. “That’s bullshit! If anyone was uncomfortable, it sounds like it was Coach. You should’ve told us. We would’ve had your back. This is the kind of shit that needs to be reported to somebody.”
I nod numbly, still struggling to process this abrupt shift in perspective. Devon and the others hadn’t cared about me being gay? Had everything Coach said just gotten to my head?
Devon rubs the back of his neck. “Look…I had no idea the sort of shit Coach said to you. I thought you’d given up on us, man. That you decided the team didn’t matter to you anymore.” He shrugs, the movement stiff and awkward. “It, uh…I guess it hurt, thinking you’d dropped us like that. You know?”
My throat constricts. “S-sorry,” I choke out, struggling to keep my emotions in check. Even after this heart-to-heart, Devon’s about the last person I want to cry in front of.
“Yeah. Me too.” His eyes dart around the street, and after a beat of silence, he turns and starts walking away. “I’ve gotta go meet up with my girl. But, uh, we should see if we can figure this out once we get back to campus.”
“Sounds good,” I manage. “I guess I’ll, um, see you later.”
With one last wave over his shoulder and a sheepish bob of his head, Devon hurries down the street, leaving me standing there staring after him as I try to process what the fuck just happened.
Holy shit.
I’d been wrong about Devon. About the entire team. And if I’d been so off-base with that, I can’t help but wonder what other things I’d gotten completely wrong as well.