Page 17 of Butterfly Effect

“Kwaaahhh,” Jaeg replies.

I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes before throwing on some socks and slides to jog down the hotel hallway for backup.

Landon Radek sleepily grumbles while opening the door. The left half of his hair swoops up and inward, unintentionally styled like A Flock of Seagulls.

“What the fuck, man?”

I take out an ear plug. “We gotta get Jaeg a sleep study or a CPAP or something. I can’t deal.”

He yawns. “Just roll him over.”

“I tried. He’s unmovable.”

Landon scratches the back of his ear and squints an eye. “Alright, let’s gather the troops.”

Eight of us circle the bed where Jaeger putters snore after snore at the most annoyingly consistent cadence.

“This is ridiculous.”

Landon keeps his hands on his hips.

“At least he’s got rhythm.”

My palm smacks my forehead.

“Check this out,” Szecze adds, standing across from our oafy d-man, Theron Olsen. They mime the push-and-pull of a saw cutting a huge log in time with the grating noises coming from Jaeg.

I snort.

“Wait, watch.” Landon giggles and pretends to start a faulty lawnmower.

The sleep deprivation is getting to me because by the time four of the guys sit down on the floor and form a rowing team oaring in tandem, tears prick at my eyes from stifling laughter.

They keep going while I record on my phone.

Eventually, the team stops, helps me roll the beast to his side, and the room quiets. We breathe a collective sigh of relief.

Ear plugs reinserted, I salvage the remaining hours of sleep before we move on to the next city and pray Gabe Finch isn’t there to ruin more of my nights.

Chapter 4

I’m Gonna Be Sick

Gabe

A lobotomy soundsgood right about now.

I squint through the eye that burns slightly less, which isn’t saying much, and groan at the source of incessant knocking on my hotel room door. The hallway light creates bright halos around my unexpected and unwelcome guests.

“Put some pants on, Finch.” Mel, my producer, circles a hand around my arm and pushes through the entryway. Jordan, the station’s PR rep, follows behind, shaking her head. “You’re a mess.”

Shit.

Goosebumps wake over my bare legs, an oversized tee barely covering my underwear. I swear I put on pants. Where did they go?

I seek them out while Mel pores through my suitcase.

“Looking for these?” Jordan points to a desk chair. It’s wearing my sweatpants.

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