Players by Dixon Jayne

Author:Dixon, Jayne [Dixon, Jayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wooden Stake Press
Published: 2017-02-03T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

It was like the craziest case of déjà vu I’d ever had. My back ached from the uncomfortable mattress, my eyelids were heavy with sleep, and that goddamn Pearl Jam poster was staring back at me again. He hadn’t gotten rid of that thing yet?

I sat up, a little disoriented, and glanced around the room exactly as I had the first time I woke up here. Things didn’t look much different. The cheap wood dresser still sat in the corner and the picture of his mom still hung from the wall; the only difference was that my underwear wasn’t scattered across the room. Brec was gone, too, which explained how I ended up on his side of the bed. My mind wandered back to our cuddle session the night before. It had been comforting, like sleeping underneath an electric blanket during a snowstorm. But something felt off. Then I remembered the phone call the night before. Who was it? What had it meant?

I shook my head vigorously to try to get my thoughts back on track as Brec wandered in the door.

“You don’t have a hangover, do you?” he asked. “I didn’t think you had that much to drink.”

I tried to smile. “No, it’s not a hangover. Just…twilight zone moment, I guess.”

He looked confused at first, but then realization dawned on him as he glanced around the room. “Huh. I hadn’t thought about that. I believe last time your bra was hanging from that picture on the wall, though.”

I smirked. “Glad to know it was memorable for you, too.”

He smiled briefly before returning to his quiet, solemn demeanor. So unusual for him.

I scraped to understand what was going through his mind as we got ready for our shower, but from that moment on, he was distant with me. He’d offer a small smile when I made a joke, or nod his head when I tried to make conversation, but beyond that, he was lost to the devil in his mind, a devil I still had not yet identified.

The rest of that Saturday passed, as did Sunday. I got a number of errands done and made a few more attempts to pull Brec out of his shell, but he wasn’t biting. He was a closed book during both our showers, and I couldn’t wedge him back open during the day either. Whatever was eating at him – whoever had called Friday night – had him locked up tight and it seemed there was nothing to be done but wait.

Angelika, however, seemed more cheerful than usual Sunday evening. She danced around the kitchen cooking some kind of Indian dish that smelled amazeballs. I sat at the table with a glass of wine, hoping she might give me a distraction from Brec’s depression.

“Hey Gretel. I’m making Dal. You want some?” she asked.

I had to smile at her bounciness. I raised my glass. “Nope, I’ve got my dinner right here.”

She scrunched up her face. “I hate red wine. Too bitter.”

I leaned back in my chair.

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