Page 39 of A Thousand Second Chances

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. Isstillreal. 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 aboutusout of all the thousands of people on Mackinac Island? Why hadwebeen singled out?

Like everything else about our predicament, the answer eludes me. Nothing had seemed amiss in town yesterday. Medical testswere 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 islandhadcursed 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 thatmagicis 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 evenexists?

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 absolutelastchoice 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, knowinghe’sthe 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 myothersource 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 needsme?

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 trulyawfulidea.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 verythintowel 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.Anythingwould be better than standing here like an idiot.

It doesn’t help that I knowexactlywhat 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.