Chapter 39: Courtney

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"Just the guy I was hoping to talk to," Damien said without missing a beat.

Exhaustion clouded Courtney's autonomic responses, destabilizing her emotional control. Rubber-banding between highs and lows. Shayne's presence had allowed her to ignore their instability, his protection tempering her nerves. Now crushed against the wall to avoid Alternate Shayne's heat, a rollercoaster whipped her constitution to shreds, and dissipating self-control promised its crash.

Sneaking a glance at the culprit in question, Courtney's heart tightened. The wobble of his Adam's apple betrayed the confidence sharpening his features. Higher up, anger-masked fear sparked Alternate Shayne's eyes. Misplaced and misguided hostility aimed straight at Damien.

"Your boy wears this, not me." Without looking away, Alternate Shayne unfastened the necklace, fat fingers fumbling with the metallic clasp. The cylinder quaked, shakiness pervading his every move, small tremors that took a keen eye to discern but obvious once noticed. Black leather draped across his palm, he rammed it into her hands.

Skin contact quieted her nerves, sudden, immediate, and reminiscent of Shayne. It overrode Courtney's reasoning, alerting to a new problem, the struggle of differentiating touch.

With Alternate Shayne wearing Shayne's hide, an unforeseen complication arose to create a juxtaposition between who her rationale identified and who her body perceived. Distinguishing touch and micromanaging her behavior to match added another task to wear her fatigued energy reserves thin. Matters made worse when the second his touch vanished, a rush of anxiety spurred Courtney into regaining his heat. For now, she neglected it.

You may look and feel like mine, but your soul doesn't belong to me.

"Thank you," Courtney whispered, coiling the band around her wrist. Metal soothed her spiraled pads spinning the clasp closed. The silver barrel wheeled in rapid rotations, threads lining up and fastening. Admiring the looped necklace directed her gaze to her purse, located behind it. The reflective sheen of her phone captured her eye.

Plucking the device from its pocket, Courtney held the cellphone beneath the table as she swiped the lock screen and navigated to a thread of texts between her and Damien.

'Be gentle, he's not in the best place right now.'

Tilting to the side, Damien retrieved his phone from his jeans. A scowl marred his features as he typed his response.

'And your boyfriend is? Fuck, I care about this Dickwad's feelings.'

Guilt punched her stomach, shriveling Courtney against the wall until the protruding trim jabbed her ribs. It counteracted the magnetic field pulsating beside her, inviting her to take solace in his embrace. Still, she stayed resolute, partitioning the last vestiges of her energy between maintaining appearances and gauging Alternate Shayne's emotional state.

Of the two of them, Courtney reckoned his breakdown was an inevitability. A race against the clock, with Alternate Shayne as the predicted winner. Another dilemma exacerbated by circumstance. With Shayne more-than-likely monitoring her behavior, and Damien likely to scrutinize her every move...

How am I supposed to keep him from blowing up without touching him?

"Really, and why is that?" Alternate Shayne spat back. Laced fingers, propped on the table, barricaded his battling thumbs as he pitched in. Feigned interest brightened his face, obvious to the naked eye. Raised eyebrows over-exaggerated and tense smile clearly fake.

Before Damien could respond, a pile of silverware clattered on the tabletop.

Faux-red leather squeaked as Alternate Shayne flew backwards, flattening against the booth. Panic washed his complexion of color, arms spread and palms fanned across tattered-red cloth. Chest heaving, his sights lifted to the offender, a smirking Charlie towering over the table. Her open hand hovered parallel to the table.

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