Chapter 2: Rewinding the Game

The only person who knew I liked the quarterback, Tyler Young, was my childhood friend, Jason Sinclair.

On the night of our college graduation party, Emily asked me to help her upstairs to rest. The party was at Tyler's family's place—one of those big suburban homes with a wraparound porch and enough bedrooms for everyone to get lost in.

I didn’t realize it was the quarterback’s room. I just figured Emily needed to lie down, and I was always the one people trusted to handle things—probably because I kept my nose in a book and my mouth shut.

And the prom queen’s acting was flawless. She wobbled a little, leaned in, whispered things that didn't quite make sense, and her mascara was perfectly smudged—just messy enough to seem real. The kind of performance you'd expect from someone who's used to being center stage at every pep rally.

As soon as we left everyone’s sight, she instantly sobered up, even glancing at me with mocking eyes. For a split second, I saw the real Emily—the one who always seemed three moves ahead, even when she was laughing with the crowd.

In my previous life, I hadn’t understood any of this. I was too lost in the haze of graduation and cheap beer and that bittersweet feeling of leaving something behind.

After all, in everyone’s eyes, I was the scheming, malicious bookworm. The girl nobody wanted to sit with at lunch unless they needed help with calculus.

It wasn’t until, right before I died, that I overheard Jason’s phone call. His voice was so raw, so matter-of-fact—it felt like someone ripped the last piece of safety net out from under me.

Only then did I finally wake up. All those years, I'd been so blind. The realization hit me harder than the car ever could.

It turned out he was willing to give up his whole life for Emily. And I was just... collateral. The person he was willing to settle for, as long as it kept Emily happy.

And I had foolishly believed that when he proposed to me and said he loved me, he meant it. Looking back, I should've known—love doesn't sound like obligation, doesn't taste like guilt.

Before I died, Jason and I both lay in a pool of blood. The pavement was cold beneath me, the air thick with the sound of distant sirens and the metallic tang of blood on my tongue.

When the speeding car came, he desperately shielded me in his arms, taking the full impact with his back. It was the first time in years he held me that tightly, and the last time I'd ever feel it.

But at a time like that, nothing could help. There was just pain—white-hot, blinding pain—and the strange sense that none of it mattered anymore.

The violent collision threw me more than thirty feet away. I remember the feeling of flying, weightless, just for a moment before gravity won.

As my consciousness faded, I vaguely saw—

Not far away, Jason, covered in blood, stubbornly crawling toward me. He looked smaller than I'd ever seen him, broken and desperate, dragging himself inch by inch across the cracked asphalt.

Even though the pain made his whole body shake, he still tried desperately to reach me. He called my name like it was the only word he remembered.

The wounds on his ten fingers were so deep you could see the bone, and his voice trembled uncontrollably. The sound cut through me like glass.

"Rachel, don’t scare me."

"Wake up and listen to my explanation."

"I was wrong, Rachel."

Jason’s heartbroken voice was so loud it made me want to puke, and I immediately coughed up a mouthful of blood. It was bitter, the taste of everything I'd never said.

In the last moment of my life, I made one final effort.

My fingers twitched, aching to reach for him. But I curled them into a fist instead, nails biting into my palm. My hand hovered, inches from his, and for a heartbeat, I thought about taking it. But I didn't.

Avoiding Jason’s desperately outstretched hand, refusing to let our fingers intertwine. The space between us felt wider than the street, wider than the whole damn world.

Now that you’re admitting your mistake, it’s too late.