Chapter 1: Crash and Burn

Derek and I were the poster couple for disaster—trading insults, throwing punches, and finally daring each other with, "Whoever chickens out on this divorce is a total loser—like, leash-and-collar loser!"

Some people would’ve said we belonged on reality TV, the way we went at it—hurling curses across the living room until the neighbors cranked up their TVs to drown us out. Maybe we were just too stubborn or too proud to let go first. In any other suburb, we’d be the couple everyone gossiped about behind their blinds.

On the way to file for divorce, we outdid ourselves, slinging the nastiest words we could think of, cursing each other like there was no tomorrow.

I still remember the sticky smell of takeout wrappers littering the backseat, the old country song moaning on the radio, and the tension so thick you’d need a chainsaw to cut it. We spat venom at every stoplight, daring the universe to settle it once and for all.

But then, just as that tanker truck came barreling toward us on the highway, Derek jerked the steering wheel, taking the hit with his side—

Just so I could live 0.01 seconds longer.

Time warped. I saw his knuckles go bone-white on the wheel, jaw locked, eyes wild—fearful but soft in a way I’d never seen. The world flipped. Glass exploded. My own scream sounded far away, like it belonged to someone else. Metal shrieked, and then—nothing.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the summer after my sophomore year of high school.

I blinked at the dusty ceiling fan, the faded Green Day poster on the wall, and sunlight filtering through cheap blinds. The smell of fresh-cut grass drifted in, and the whir of distant lawnmowers buzzed outside. It felt like a fever dream, until I looked up and there was Derek—holding a lopsided bouquet, asking if I wanted to give it a try.

A second later, his expression froze, going deadpan and brooding.

He stood there, a shadow flickering across his face, posture stiff like he’d just been caught shoplifting. And I knew then—the way he looked at me wasn’t just awkward teenage nerves. He recognized me, too. This wasn’t déjà vu; this was a second chance neither of us asked for.

The moment our eyes met, I knew—he’d come back too.