Chapter 1
Kira
Soft harp melodies fill the small space of the room as the subtle tones of lavender and eucalyptus dance and mingle in the air. It's the epitome of relaxation, and at this precise moment in time, it's the last thing I need. The soothing low level of light becomes slightly less visible as I feel my eyelids close slowly. It's like one of those old cartoons where some tired soul has to prop their eyes open with matchsticks to keep them from closing completely. Only, no matchsticks for me. My head lolls forward as I hear a loud cough echo through the room. My eyes snap open, and my body springs back to life to continue the job I'm trying to get done. Glancing at the clock mercifully, the hour was almost up. Only the slow, torturous ticking is mocking me now.
With a bit of luck, Meryl, the semi-naked elderly lady currently spread out on the therapy bed, won't have noticed her below-standard massage. Blinking furiously, I beg my treacherous eyes to behave.
Just a few more minutes, Kira. Come on, you can do it!
The internal pep talk seemed to do the trick, and I dug deep as the clock hand slowly creeps to 5 o'clock, I let out a quiet sigh in sweet relief.
"There we are, Mrs Carter," I say smoothly, as she rouses from the table.
"Thank you, dear," she says, kindly.
"I'll leave you to get dressed," I say softly, slink out of the room, and head to the reception desk down the hall.
Thankfully, I am locking up tonight, and my boss, Maddi, has already left for the day. I take the opportunity to rub my temples, sinking into the plush chairs of the waiting area, and a few minutes later, Meryl shuffles out of the treatment room, giving me a warm smile.
I hop around behind the front desk, my body weary and stiff.
"We have you booked in next week, Mrs Carter," I tell her, checking the online diary on the computer.
"Wonderful dear," she says, "See you next week." She beams a brilliant smile at me, and we say our goodbyes. I lock the front door and flip the closed sign, and an audible sigh escapes my lips.
The day seems to have gone on forever, and I can feel the exhaustion deep in my bones. But this exhaustion isn't from a busy day of back to back appointments. Tuesdays are my quietest days.
Lack of sleep is the elusive culprit.
Taking a deep breath, I checked each room, making sure the lights were out, I put the phones on divert and switched off the computers. The thought of going home and lying down propels my limbs to work efficiently enough and soon the doors are all locked up and I'm walking to my car, praying I make the drive home without falling asleep at the wheel.
This episode of insomnia has been particularly brutal, lasting almost a week. Thankfully, the drive home is short and uneventful, and I manage to stay awake.
The gods must be shining down on me as the traffic is practically non-existent, and I make it home in record time. I ease my car into my parking spot and drag my tired body out of the car and through the main door, which seems extra heavy right now. The stairs almost kill me, but I work hard to get up the two flights and am rewarded with a soft pillowy couch to face-plant as I get through the door.
The apartment is empty and quiet, and I take a moment to take a couple of deep breaths and relax as much as I can.
And that's part of the problem. It's not just insomnia. Relaxing is becoming a problem. It's like my brain just can't seem to switch off at all.
Mark is still at work, and I don't plan on moving for at least an hour. I shuck my shoes off and dump my bag, literally where I am standing, and take out both hearing aids. I don’t need any interruptions for this. Grabbing the nearest throw cushion and getting comfy with it, I close my eyes. Ohhhhh, yes. Relief, finally.
The vibration of my phone in my tunic pocket disturbs my nap. Reaching to grab it, I'm met with a face full of cat as I open my eyes and realise Bessie has made my head her base camp as I slept. She barely moves and stretches out further down my neck as I reach for my phone. This cat is shameless.
Looking at the caller ID, I see its Logan calling. I answer it before it rings out.
"Wait," I shout down the line, "I don't have my hearing aids in."
I searched for one on the coffee table, knowing I left them nearby, and found one, switched it on, and popped it in my ear.
"Hi," I croak, spitting out cat hair that has crept into my mouth.
"Hey, you OK?" He asks.
"Sure," I say without any real feeling, and smothering a yawn.
"Shit, were you sleeping?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say.
"I'm sorry, Kira," he says, sounding sheepish. He knows I haven't been sleeping very well the last few days.
"It's ok. How are you?" I asked.
"I'm good. Practice was pretty good," he recalls and then pauses.
"Don't you think you should see a doctor, Kira? It's been almost a week now since you slept properly, which isn’t healthy. Maybe you could get some sleeping tablets?"
He's my best friend. We've known each other since kindergarten and grew up living next door to one another. He knows me better than anyone. So he should already know that I will not take sleeping tablets or see a doctor unless there is literally no other option. I might be exhausted but I'm still as stubborn as fuck.
It doesn't stop him trying though. He's too sweet for his own good sometimes.
"I'm fine," I lie. "That nap really perked me up."
My phone vibrates in my hand and I take a quick peek before Logan can say anything else. Its a text from Mark. He's having to work late so won't be home for dinner. I feel a frown settle on my face.
"You still there?" Logan asks.
"Yeah, just got a message from Mark. He's working late," I tell him.
"Again?" he asks, grimly. He isn't Mark's biggest fan, and I can sense he's on the verge of voicing his feelings about it.
"He bailed on you twice last week," he said.
Ok, that wasn't so bad. It's not the usual lecture I get.
"He's just really busy at work. There's a big deal happening or something that's keeping him busy. I'm not great company at the moment anyway, so it doesn’t really matter," I tell him gently. Mark did tell me what was happening at the advertising agency he works for, but my sleep deprived brain refused to hold on to any of it. Some sort of big deal or project going down or something like that. It's keeping him pretty busy, whatever it is.
"I'm bringing over take-out, no arguments," he said.
"Don't you have a party to go to or something?" I say, not wanting to hear the same rant about Mark that I usually hear from him. He knows it, too.
"Some puck bunnies to chase, maybe?" I asked.
"On a Tuesday?" he asks, laughing.
I wouldn't put it past him.
"I honestly have no freaking idea what day it is," I say wearily.
I hear Logan chuckle down the phone.
"Come on," he urges, "I'll bring takeout, we'll watch a movie and chill. I will dedicate the evening to you and you only."
The idea of not cooking is too appealing to deny, and my stomach agrees with a long grumble as if on cue, which is the only reason I give in.
"Fine," I relent, "how kind of you."
"See you in twenty," he says confidently, ignoring my sarcasm. I'm pretty sure he knew I would cave at the mention of take-out. My cooking skills are medoocre at best, and right now, my motivation is rock bottom.
But as excited as I am that my best friend is bringing me dinner, it also means that I have to get up off the couch and make sure the apartment looks presentable and I should probably change out of my spa uniform. I lay sprawled out on the couch wondering if I can just stay here forever and not move and also seriously contemplate asking Logan to carry me to bed so I don't have to walk anywhere or move unnecessarily. But that was all just a touch too pathetic.
Heaving my body up and extracting Bessie from her position draped across my chest, I plod to the bathroom. I opt for a quick shower, which actually made me feel a little better, and dress in sweatpants and a tank top, piling my hair on the top of my head in a messy bun. I put my hearing aids back in and sit back on the couch to wait for Logan.
Logan arrives a few minutes later, and I buzz him into the building and unlock the door for him. He bowls in a few seconds later, carrying a bag of take-out and a pack of light beer.
"Hey," I say to him. He looks effortlessly beautiful today, which irritates me. Like, how can one man look so good all the freaking time?
His hair is slightly overdue for a cut and is curling on his collar, but the rest of him is complete perfection. His body is toned and muscular, and he's probably a whole foot taller than me.
When we were growing up, we were inseparable, and at one point, I thought we would end up together. I may have had a small crush on him in my teenage years, but witnessing him sleeping his way through the female population at our high school quickly taught me that it wasn't meant to be. He got accepted into UCLA on the ice hockey programme, and I got over it pretty well. A steady stream of women seems to be a prerequisite for a hockey player, and Logan seemed to rise to the challenge without any problems whatsoever.
Despite his man-whore ways, he is a sweetheart.
He got drafted to a local NFL team right out of college and somehow we are now closer than ever. He's pretty much my person.
