Part 1100 Lives of Zero Love

Before I died for the hundredth time, I ducked into a flower shop to escape the rain.

The girl behind the counter offered me a chair and asked if I was hungry.

As the raindrops dripped from the awning, I suddenly broke down.

I spent a hundred lifetimes, desperate to get that sort of care from my family.

When I was reborn for the 101st time, the fake heir, Damian, was rehearsing his speech to celebrate his third year with the family.

I didn’t bother to correct Damian when he referred to us as a family of five. Instead, I picked up my phone and called a flower shop.

“Deliver a bouquet of white lilies to the Killington estate on the evening of the 16th.”

“What should we write on the card?”

I glanced at my mother, who was busy straightening Damian’s tie.

“Congratulations. You’re finally down to just one son.”

* * *

Silence settled over the living room.

My mother, Peyton Killington, looked up and asked me who I was talking to.

I hung up and put the phone away.

“Just ordering flowers.”

“For Eve? Sure, she’s your fiancée, but she already has plans with Damian today. Don’t show up out of nowhere and put her on the spot.”

“They’re not for her.”

“Who are they for then?”

As soon as the words left Peyton’s lips, Damian Killington piped up that his collar was digging into his throat.

She went straight back to fixing his tie, not even waiting for my response.

Staring at the top of her head, I heaved a sigh.

It was better this way.

I wouldn’t have to repeat myself, and she was spared the trouble of listening.

With Damian all sorted, Peyton finally turned her attention back to me.

“Oh, perfect. Oakleigh booked the photographer for tomorrow. Make sure to try on your suit.”

Peyton pointed at the gray suit draped over the arm of the couch.

Damian was set to wear white. In the promo video, he would take the position front and center.

The photographer had already marked the ground with tape where I was supposed to stand.

Off to the side, I was half-tucked behind my sister, Oakleigh Killington.

A hundred times before, I had always figured out a way to scoot even an inch to the center.

In the first lifetime, I protested that family shouldn’t be cast aside, and my father, Harlan, made me stand in a corner facing a wall.

On the 19th try, I secretly peeled off the tape. The whole family refused to speak to me for three whole days.

Eventually, I played it smart. I stayed up all night making gifts, keeping every family member’s birthday in mind.

They took the presents, but my spot in the family portrait didn’t change.

The 63rd time around, I took the hit for Oakleigh when the lighting fixture came crashing down.

Scooping a startled Damian into her arms, Oakleigh rushed out while calling her assistant to drop me off at the ER.

For the rest of that lifetime, I couldn’t hold a pen without shaking.

On the 88th time, Harlan Killington said he was proud of me for once.

Half an hour later, Damian locked himself in the bathroom crying, so Harlan made me apologize to him.

I’d lived through a hundred lives, some long, some short.

Each time my life ended, I’d be back to the morning of April 11th.

Peyton’s fingers settled against the same tie while Harlan turned the exact same page in the paper.

Only I carried the memory of what would happen next.

“Earth to Wesley. Hello?”

Oakleigh passed the over, tapping her finger on my page.

I was supposed to talk about the struggles my adoptive grandfather, Rufus Cooke, went through to raise me.

Then, I would express my gratitude to the Killingtons for giving me a normal life.

“Cut this section.”

I folded the .

Oakleigh figured I wasn’t happy with the little screen time I got.

“Damian gave up a whole minute for you. What more do you want?”

“Gramps worked as a repairman his whole life to put me through school. The life I had before was normal.”

Peyton took off the pearl accent on Damian’s lapel and frowned.

“You’re reading lines for the promo video. Who’s going to take it seriously?”

I would.

On the day the video aired in my first lifetime, I took my phone to Rufus’ grave to tell him that I finally belonged somewhere.

Yet hearing the person in the video say he’d finally escaped their misery filled me with an ache I couldn’t explain.

“I’m not doing it.”

At last, Harlan put down the paper.

“If you can’t play along, you can sit out of the family dinner this weekend.”

He knew how much the family dinner meant to me.

The family tree was kept rolled up in the mountain lodge’s storage room, only brought out twice a year. Three years after my return, my name still hadn't been formally added.

In every lifetime, all I'd wanted was to watch him write my name onto the tree himself.

Today, my eyes were glued to the date on the .

It was April 16th.

My 100th life ended on that exact day.

“In that case, I want Gramps’ toolbox back.”

Harlan scowled.

“It’s locked away in the storage at the lodge. You handed it over yourself.”

“I only asked you to keep it for me.”

When they brought me home, Peyton couldn’t stand the musty smell of the old leather case, so she had it stashed away in the storage room up the mountain.

From then on, all the Killingtons had to do was bring the toolbox up to keep me in line.

Damian huddled closer behind Peyton.

“Is Wesley upset with me? I can drop out of the shoot. I just don’t want to put Mom and Dad in a tough spot.”

I brushed past him and grabbed my driver’s license from behind the photo frame.

Damian reached out to grab my sleeve, but I shied away from his grasp.

“Wesley.”

Harlan called out to me.

“If you walk out that door, lunch goes on without you.”

As I changed my shoes by the front door, I noticed the large mirror beside the shoe cabinet for the first time.

The young man reflected in it was only twenty-four, yet he already had the habit of hunching his shoulders.

I slowly straightened my back.

When the call had ended ten minutes ago, the woman on the other end hadn’t even had a chance to tell me the name of her shop.

I called again.

The call was picked up almost immediately.

“Are you the gentleman who ordered the white lilies?”

With traffic humming past, I pressed the phone tight against my ear.

“Are you hiring at the moment?”

The lady shuffled a flyer posted on the door.

“Are you looking for temp work? We’re hiring help for the move, but it’s hard labor.”

“I’m up for it.”

“Why don’t you swing by and take a look? My name’s Willow Cox.”

Facing the morning sun, I let out a soft “okay.”

The call reached the right place. She was just right across town.

This time around, I would make it to her alive.