Chapter 5: Heartbreak, Barbecue, and Broken Phones

Once in the car, I kept quiet. Anyone in my position would’ve been in a foul mood.

Derek didn’t say much either—maybe he wasn’t feeling great himself.

Soon, my phone rang. Caleb was calling.

I hesitated, but answered.

"Leaving?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

I swallowed. "Yeah."

"Natalie."

He called me by my first name, his tone lazy:

"Don’t start over again. If you’re not tired, I am.

I hope tonight’s the last time we meet. That’s all."

He hung up. No hesitation.

I sat in the passenger seat, my heart twisted into a knot. The pain was impossible to describe.

I didn’t know where I’d gone wrong. I’d chased Caleb Foster for eight years—five lives. From passionate, overwhelming love to anxious desperation. Changing identities, with no family, no friends. Like a ghost drifting through the world.

Somewhere along the way, weeds had grown in my heart—wild, lonely, empty.

Worst of all, this cycle seemed endless. No finish line in sight.

Outside, the night rolled past—billboards, gas stations, endless black. I pressed my forehead to the cool glass, wishing I could disappear into the hush of the highway.

Until a tissue appeared in front of me.

Only then did I realize a tear had slipped out. I felt embarrassed. Derek probably thought I was crazy.

So I quickly said:

"Once we get to the bottom, just drop me at the bus stop."

He didn’t comment.

As we neared the stop, Derek suddenly asked:

"Know any good late-night snack spots?"

I didn’t react at first. "What?"

"I’m starving."

So that’s it. But as the Collins heir, how did he not know where to eat?

He explained:

"I’ve got a craving for barbecue, but all my old places closed."

Makes sense.

I quickly gave him directions, and we ended up at a roadside barbecue joint. The parking lot was packed with pickup trucks, and the smoky scent of grilled meat filled the air. The neon sign flickered overhead—this wasn’t the kind of spot you’d expect a Collins to eat, but somehow it fit the mood.

Just as I was about to say goodbye, he stopped me:

"Want to eat together?"

I don’t really like barbecue—breakouts, you know? I smiled and shook my head. "Thanks, I’m not hungry."

He shot back right away:

"But sitting here alone is kinda weird."

Such a smooth operator.

I gave in and sat with him. He ordered a ton, but barely touched his food, frowning the whole time—guess spicy wasn’t his thing.

Finally, I couldn’t help it. "If you don’t want to eat, don’t force yourself. You’ll mess up your stomach."

Derek quietly sipped his water, then suddenly asked:

"Where are you headed after this?"

"Home, obviously."

He seemed awkward, then nodded.

"I’ll drive you."

It really wasn’t necessary, but he insisted. I gave in.

An hour later, we reached my apartment complex. I got out and said, "Thanks for the ride. Drive safe."

He nodded, saying nothing.

I walked a few steps, then realized—I never told him my address. Weird. How did he know where I lived?

I looked back. Derek’s car was still there; he was watching me from the driver’s seat. The scene reminded me of our second-life bookstore run-in. His gaze was the same—clouded with a sadness I couldn’t name. It made my chest ache.

I paused, waved, and turned to leave.

That was the last time I saw Derek in the fifth life.

Three days later, I died in a car accident—hit by a truck in the middle of the city. The screech of tires, the impact, the world spinning. My last thought: "Not again."

I decided to change my strategy target to Derek Collins.

The system asked if I was sure.

"Desperate times, desperate measures. Since Caleb can’t lose his memory, this is my only shot. I really don’t want to die violently again."

The system sighed:

[Sorry, for a quick restart, the safest way is a sudden accident. It hurts, but at least it’s quick.]

I knew it made sense. Death always hurts, unless I succeed at the mission.

I opened the Collins Group website and saw they were hiring. So I polished my resume and sent it in. Maybe because I was a recent grad, I got an interview a few days later.

I triple-checked my resume, changed my LinkedIn to match, even called up an old sorority sister for a mock interview. If I was going to die again, at least I’d die overqualified.