Page 42

Jump Cut

Marsh lands hard midrun, and the sticks and leaves slide beneath her feet as she scrambles, then trips. Trees loom in overhead, and the air is turning to white puffs in front of her lips in the chill.

She made it.

She puts her head to the ground and thanks Ezra silently.

He sent her exactly where she was trying to go.

“Are you okay? I told you not to wear those shoes!” Jo calls.

Marsh stands and brushes off her knees. Behind her at the car, Jo is holding a duffel bag and a big plastic cooler. Birds scream as they tear across the sky.

She smiles as she stares back at the woods.

She couldn’t find Dylan in the regular season episodes, but she’d forgotten about the recap—that all-important bonus footage that’s also in the Bubble with her, containing the most significant moments of her life, and their relationship. Places and times where she knows for certain that he was with her.

Marsh is finally going to find him here—at the camping trip from her sophomore year of college where they first met.

Jo bumps the door closed with her hip. “Come on, I want to get a good spot.”

“I’ll get it!” Marsh grabs the cooler from her. She rounds a tangled cluster of pine and bursts into the campsite clearing.

“Finally!” one of their classmates says. “If you’re the ones in charge of bringing the booze, you have to get here first, not last.”

“Those roads are snowy in some spots!” Jo shoots back, dragging their fold-out chairs into the circle of seats and blankets already there. “We should have done this spring semester, not fall.”

Marsh opens the cooler and passes the beers around. Someone tells her to take a can, but she waves them off absentmindedly.

Where is he?

“Marsh,” Jo says. “Help me with our tent before it gets dark.”

A sack of poles and folded fabric drops into Marsh’s arms, and Jo drags her to a spot of firm ground, just like she did the first time. Marsh is still scanning the crowd as she opens the sack, and everything slides out in a clanging tumble, which makes Jo laugh.

Where is Dylan?

Marsh and Jo did arrive last out of everyone, which means Dylan already has to be here somewhere, maybe trying to start the campfire, or maybe over by the cars, helping Mateo to get the food they’re going to grill for dinner ready.

Mateo, she realizes. Dylan’s roommate.

She just has to find Mateo.

Marsh sprints away from the almost-finished shelter back toward the group before Jo can even register what’s happening. Most of the other tents are already set up, and she darts between them, peeking inside each open flap, but Mateo is nowhere to be found. She goes faster and faster, until there are no more left, and her heart might hammer itself right out of her chest.

Then at last, she spots Mateo! He’s holding one side of the big inflatable raft a group of guys is carrying to the lake just past the trees.

“Mateo!” Marsh cries, so happily that it makes him laugh. She and Mateo knew each other, but they weren’t close enough friends to warrant the crushing hug she envelops him in now.

“Someone’s excited for camping!” He laughs awkwardly, straightening his flannel shirt once Marsh releases him.

“Mateo, let’s go!” someone shouts. “The lake waits for no one!”

“Quit your whining!” Mateo shouts back, hefting his yellow handle higher. “Want to come?”

“Yes,” Marsh says, even though she didn’t want to the first time.

Mateo gives Marsh his spot. “Stand here, I’ll go to the other side.” Then he stops to catch the attention of someone else who’s approaching.

Yes, Marsh prays. This is the moment!

“Oh, by the way, this is my roommate this semester,” Mateo says.

“Finally,” she sighs, and turns to practically collapse into Dylan’s arms.

Thank God.

“Uh, hi,” Ren says, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

No.

No, no, no .

Marsh doesn’t realize she’s tripped until her elbows hit the ground, the dried pine needles like hot pins against her skin.

“Marsh! Are you hurt?” Mateo asks.

“No,” she says, but that’s not what she means.

Dylan’s not here.

Ren has replaced him in her recap, too.

It can’t be. She refuses to believe it. There must be somewhere else...

“Here, take my hand,” Ren says.

“Get away from me,” Marsh says as he reaches out, lurching to her feet before he can help her up. “Get away.”

“What?” Ren asks, but she’s already running, as far and as fast as she can. Branches whip her face as she weaves between the trees. She doesn’t know what’s happening, but she does know that she has to get out of here. If Dylan isn’t in this moment, she’ll just have to find him in another.

But he’s not in the next jump. Or the next.

Or the next.

Family vacations, long car rides, Dylan’s proposal, their wedding, Harper’s birth, a vet appointment with Pickle, a surprise birthday party, watching the first episode of Talia’s magical season one together, a winter holiday in front of a campfire. Marsh flashes through more memories than she can count. No matter where she goes, Dylan is nowhere.

But Ren, in some form or another, is in all of them.

She spots him in one corner of one moment, and then walking toward Marsh waving in the next. There he is again in another, and another, every time waiting for her, ready to welcome her with open arms, until Marsh is moving so quickly, everything is just a blur.

To go to the moment that

She jumps before she can even read the rest of the choice, trying not to waste even a minute.

To go to

But then she’s gone again.

To g

And again.

Because Marsh refuses to believe that Dylan is just gone.

He has to be somewhere . She just has to find him.

And at last, she thinks she knows where to look.

The last place she’d ever want to.

As soon as she jumps, the light turns yellow, and Marsh slams on the brakes. The tires squeal frantically, searching for purchase—her car skids to a jolting stop just before the intersection.

Marsh relaxes her death grip on the steering wheel. It’s night, and the sleepy road is empty except for her. She waits impatiently as the red drags on and on, almost as if taunting her.

Come on, she urges the light as it glares back, refusing to change.

She doesn’t have time for this.

Marsh edges off the brake and creeps into the intersection, braced for another car to suddenly appear. Then she floors it and disappears across the double white lines and down the lane. She doesn’t let off until she whips into the parking lot and skids into the first spot.

Her hand shakes as she turns off the engine.

This time, it’s too dark to see if there are two cars huddled at the far end of the community college lot, glistening with rain, or not. In front of her, the familiar lobby doors loom.

No matter where she’s looked, Dylan’s nowhere to be found. But maybe it was because she was searching in the wrong places. In the wrong kind of memories.

Marsh regards the still, silent building for a long time, terrified. Because if he’s not here...

She doesn’t know where else he could be.

With a deep breath, she pops the door, and begins the long walk.

At last, at the top of the stairs, Marsh pauses just like she did last time. She takes out her compact of powder and looks at it, wondering if it matters or if she has to put it on to make the rest of the moment match.

She does, just in case.

She hurries down the seventh-floor corridor to Dylan’s office. There’s no reason she needs to hesitate—she already knows what’s in there—but she still does. Her hand still trembles on the cool metal doorknob, her fingers still refuse to close and turn it so that the room will open to her. Her stomach still feels slick with dread.

But she has to do this.

She has to find Dylan.

Marsh throws open the door and bursts into the room, ready to grab him and run.

Except Dylan isn’t there—again.

Only the woman is.

She’s sitting in his chair, legs crossed as she looks out the window, facing partially away from Marsh. Her dress is black and tight. A delicate jasmine perfume hangs in the air.

In person, and during the recap, this moment was too raw and awful for Marsh to watch. This really is the first time she’s really looked at Dylan’s mistress. Or the side of her, rather. Even so, she doesn’t know how she didn’t recognize her, even as shocked as she was.

But as Marsh stares at her now, at that familiar, famous face, that powerful outfit—and most of all, that slice of signature Sharp Purple dye down one side of her glossy dark bob—the resemblance is unmistakable.

“I was wondering when you’d finally show up,” Claire Sharp says.

Her voice is soft, sensual, as if she’s been expecting Marsh, or maybe she thinks Marsh is Dylan, by accident. Marsh stares, spellbound, struggling to understand.

None of it seems possible. How would Dylan even meet Claire? And even if he did, how could it have ever come to this? Why would a billionaire businesswoman like Claire give a complete stranger like Dylan the time of day—let alone an illicit night?

Something feels so off about this, even more off than an affair could feel, but she can’t put her finger on it. It’s wrapped up too neat, the bow tied too tight.

It’s too perfect, she can’t help but think.

As she stares in horrified awe, Claire slowly begins to turn in her chair.

Marsh wants to run, but she’s rooted to the spot. She watches Claire’s expression change from seductive to surprised as she completes her graceful spin and their eyes meet.

“You,” she says, and for a moment, Marsh thinks she means that she recognizes Marsh, too, even though that’s impossible. “You’re not Chris.”

“Chris,” Marsh repeats. “Who’s Chris?”

“We thought it would be sexier not to use each other’s real names.”

Of course, Marsh realizes.

Chrysalis.

She doesn’t know where Ren is, whether he’s not in this jump cut or still on his way, but it doesn’t matter. It’s clear that Dylan’s not here, either.

“I think Chris isn’t coming,” Claire says, growing more uncertain by the moment of what’s going on.

Marsh shakes her head sadly. She’s not even mad. Claire might not know what’s happening right now, just like the rest of the trapped season two crew.

“He’s not,” she says.

Because he’s not anywhere.

Did she miss him somehow, in an earlier jump when she went too fast? But she looked everywhere in those memories. She’s sure. She knew exactly where he’d be in each, and yet he wasn’t. Every significant moment, every important kernel of history, and he’s been erased from them all.

This moment was Marsh’s last chance, her best bet, and still nothing.

But if Dylan’s not here, in this last possible place—where can he be at all?

“Maybe I should go,” Claire adds, rising from her chair.

“No,” Marsh says. “I’m the one who should go.”

She doesn’t know what else to do, or where else to jump. She just knows she can’t stay.