Page 98 of A Thousand Second Chances

Except, as I’d told Chris, this wasOwen.No matter how much he’s hurting, I can’t believe he’d harm me with anything more than words.And if I’m wrong?I glance over to where Chris is searching a few feet away. Then, I guess we might get to put his theory about prematurely exiting the time loop to the test after all.

My gut is a tense ball of worry by the time we reach the road empty-handed. “No sign of him,” I say, sweeping my flashlight from side to side.

“You know him a lot better than I do,” Chris says. “Where else would he go?”

Fighting down my ratcheting panic, I try to think, to put myself in my former friend’s mindset.

I come out here to Sunset Rock once it’s empty, maybe sit for a while and watch the stars the way I used to.

I feel a twinge as I imagine Owen glancing at the empty spot on the ground beside him and wishing he wasn’t alone.

Eventually, I get up, go to my backpack, and grab what I need. But I don’t want to do it up here because…

Because it’s too visible? Or maybe because it’s too fraught a place, too full of memories?

I decide to go somewhere else—a nearby spot I find soothing, where I can prepare myself for the end in peace…

My eyes shoot open. “The water! Owen’s somewhere down along the shore.”

Chris covertly checks the time on his phone, and my stomach performs somersaults. “You’re sure?”

I hesitate, remembering how I’d seen him walking along the beach earlier today and likely during the iteration with the Northern Lights as well. How much he’d always loved listening to the waves. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

I lead the way off the road, shoving past some scraggly underbrush to the rocky beach. A quick sweep reveals no sign of Owen, and I frantically glance both directions before picking my way along the shore to the right, figuring Owen would’ve probably headed further away from home and downtown, not back toward it.

Fuck, had my intuition been wrong?

Or…oh God, did this mean we were already too late? The time loop hadn’t reset yet, but maybe we’d incorrectly guessed the end condition.Or, a tiny, terrible voice whispers in the back of my head,maybe Owen’s lying nearby right now, his blood soaking the stones as he gasps his last breath, and the loop won’t end until he finally—

“There!” Chris hisses.

I follow his finger, and relief explodes in me when I spy a figure a few dozen feet further along the shore. They appear to be huddled against a boulder, sitting with their knees drawn up to their chest. As we draw closer, I recognize Owen’s familiar lanky frame, his red hair a frizzy mess—or as much of a mess as it can be with how short he’s trimmed it.

Even with our flashlights, we’re almost on top of Owen before he notices us. He’d been lost in his own little world, staring at something gripped tightly in both hands. He starts, and I catch a glimpse of the object as he hurriedly tucks it away. It’s a photo—one his mom had taken of the two of us playing in the garden a few summers ago. Guilt coils heavily within me. How hadn’t I realized how much our friendship meant to him?

“Owen,” I begin, my voice trembling. Then, I hesitate. I’d been so focused on finding him that I hadn’t given much thought to what I’d do once we had.

He watches me with wide eyes, something like hope seeping into his face. Tear tracks run down his cheeks, and he’s shivering, not wearing nearly enough layers for how cold it is by the water.

“Here.” I fumble with my jacket, taking it off to hold out to him. “I think you need this more than I do.”

He stares at it for a long moment, barely seeming to register what it is. Then, his face hardens, his jaw clenching. He scrabbles to his feet and snatches up something sitting on the stones beside him. Metal glints in the moonlight, and suddenlyI’m staring down the barrel of a small pistol. Owen’s hand shakes as he steps back, stumbling on the uneven rocks.

“I don’t need anything from you!” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

I swallow, my eyes fixed on the wavering gun. I should probably be terrified, but instead, a fierce sense of protectiveness steals over me. Whatever it takes, I’ll make sure Owen comes out of this in one piece.

“I know I’ve let you down before, and for that, I’m sorry,” I say. “But when I stayed away from Mackinac Island, it wasn’t to stay away fromyou. I loved spending time here with you. You’re like a brother to me, Owen. I care about you.”

Owen snorts and shakes his head. “No, you don’t. You never did. Not like I wanted you to.” His voice breaks. He tries to take another step back but comes up against the boulder behind him.

I raise my hands helplessly. I want to rush to him, but I don’t dare so long as he’s holding the gun. While I still can’t bring myself to believe he’d shoot me, that doesn’t mean he won’t accidentally pull the trigger in a panic.

“Please, Owen,” I beg. “We can talk this through. You don’t have to do this.”

Owen gives a raspy chuckle. “And whyshouldn’tI? No one would miss me.”

Besides me, Chris visibly recoils, and I flash back to a similar comment he’d made when I questioned his insane plan to prematurely terminate a loop. But while he’d at least couched his self-deprecating remark as a joke, Owen’s grim expression remains dead serious.