One Night Only (Season 1: Deni's Story)

Chapter Sixteen

Nothing about waking up the next morning seems normal. To start with, I'm in an unfamiliar bedroom being blasted with daylight and serenaded by unfamiliar birds. It's a world away from the city noise of helicopters, loud engines, emergency sirens, and music from souped-up car stereos, heard even on quiet streets in the Hollywood Hills.

I've stayed in enough hotel rooms that adjusting to the difference in my surroundings is easy enough, and isn't a surprise to me that I woke up here. It also isn't the first time I've been awake since going to bed last night, thanks to my persistent nightmares. What throws me off is the absence of my phone. I'm used to reaching for it, checking texts, and finding out what's going on in the world before I get out of bed, and not having it this morning is unnerving. I'm cut off from most of humanity.

At least I can still check the time. The clock beside my bed tells me it's a little after eight. I last woke up flailing my arms and gasping for breath at three in the morning, so I've had a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. It's progress. Sort of.

I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling for a few minutes, listening to the sounds around me. A coffee maker brews and there are soft squeaks and thuds of cupboards being opened and shut, which means Mom is in the kitchen and about to make breakfast. She'll probably check to see if I'm awake soon, so I may as well get up.

I take my time maneuvering myself out of bed, taming my hair, and finding my slippers. Alfie must hear me because his nails click against the hallway floor, and then he scratches at my closed bedroom door. I open it and he bounces all over me, his eyes bright. His tail wags a mile a minute as he walks with me to the kitchen.

My bedroom was bright, but I'm not prepared for the full-on blast of sunshine pouring through the windows out here. I squint and blink a couple of times before heading to the counter where the coffee maker is.

"Good morning," Mom greets me.

"Mmmmph." My words are muffled by a yawn. I open a cupboard and take out a mug, inspecting it first before setting it on the counter and reaching for the coffee pot. Mom has stopped giving me grief about the caffeine habit I developed during my last tour. There are worse things.

Once I've finished pouring and stirring oat milk into my coffee, I pick up the mug and shuffle over to the table. Mom sets a plate in front of me, filled with scrambled eggs, melon, and toast.

"I heard you wake up last night," she says, returning to the stove to fix a plate for herself.

"I did." I pick up my fork and spear a piece of egg with it.

"You didn't at the hotel." It's a factual statement, as if she's trying to reassure herself that my nightmare has started taking nights off.

"I took something to sleep at the hotel. I didn't last night. The dream doesn't stay away on its own." I busy myself with pushing a melon slice to one side of my plate. It occurs to me I'm not all that hungry.

"It will." Mom tries to sound encouraging. "Should I make an appointment with Dr. Delacruz? She said we could do video calls while we're away."

"We had a session a few days ago," I remind her. "I'm good for now."

Neither of us really knows what "good" means these days, but I don't feel like hashing it out with my therapist today. Or with Mom, for that matter.

"Okay." She doesn't sound convinced. "Let me know if you change your mind and I'll book something."

I attempt another bite of breakfast. The food tastes great, but my appetite isn't there. "I'm going for a run," I announce, putting my fork down.

Mom glances at my plate. "You've barely touched your food."