Page 38 of Reclaim

“Oh, look it’s photo time,” Dakota squeals, snapping away ten to twenty photos of her mother and me sitting next to one another. “I like this look on you two.”

“Thanks smart arse,” Sasha calls out, rising to her feet. “Let's get ready to go home. You have netball in the morning.”

“Wait, Dad that solicitor lady messaged Uncle Drix about you.”

“What?”

“Didn’t I tell you it was rude to look at my phone?” Hendrix scolds her.

“So learn to switch your notifications off so the messages don’t show on the screen,” she bites back.

“Dakota, apologise, please,” Sasha reprimands.

“Sorryyyy Uncle Drix,” she drones.

Sorry, Sasha mouths in his direction. He tips his head in reply. The chorus of “bye” rings out as the close the door.

Walking back, I sink into the couch. I glance up at Hendrix, and he throws his phone at me in understanding. Catching it effortlessly, I stare at the text and wonder what she wants. I also know there’s only one way to find out.

13

Emerson

My phone rings, and an unknown number flashes across my screen. Thinking of the text I sent Hendrix over an hour ago, I decide to just deal with this in the morning.

The high from Taylah’s pep talk has died down, and now I’m just awkward and embarrassed at the possibility of Jagger calling me back. Or even worse… him not calling me back.

I’m the one that turned him away, and now suddenly I’m changing my mind? That’s enough to give anybody whiplash.

Switching my phone to silent, I set it face down on my bedside table. I just want to have one sleep where I don’t dream of russet brown eyes, stuck in limbo. Focused on the past and scared of the future.

Tossing and turning, my brain won’t switch off, and I’m fighting every single muscle not to grab my phone and check for messages.

Losing count of how many times my eyes open throughout the night, I give up on trying any further. Sliding my phone off the dresser, I turn it on to see it’s only five am. But that one red number still sits next to my phone icon, with a matching one sitting on the green text square. Taking a deep breath I open the text first, knowing it will tell me who the call is from.

Unknown Number: Did you get to the next life before I did?

I smile at how candid he is, foregoing awkward introductions or worrying I won’t know who he is. After saving his number, I type back, taking courage from his forwardness.

Me: No, I’m still in this one.

Jagger: What changed?

Me: Shit, you’re awake?

Jagger: I rarely sleep, but this is the time I leave the house for a run.

Me: You run?

Jagger: I do.

Sitting up in my almost pitch black room, I acknowledge sleep is futile. Instead, I press the call button and wait.

“Hello.” His voice sounds deeper over the phone. Rougher. Tighter.

“I’ll run with you,” I blurt out.

“I don’t know where you live, and I don’t imagine it’s close. So, how are we running together?”

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