Page 50 of Her Second Chance

It gets dark as I wait outside of the locker room for Brock to exit. Practice ended an hour ago, so he shouldn’t be much longer. With the fading sunlight, the temperature drops, and I second guess not wearing a coat. All I have on is a pair of leggings and the sweatshirt Brock lent me last night.

I shift back and forth on my feet as I wait, hoping it’s not too late. I’ve gone over what I want to say a million times. This experience, whatever it was, is about to end. I know I’m about to go back to my real timeline. All I can do is hope that when I wake up, somehow, Brock and I are magically together in the future.

As the guys filter out of the locker room, my pulse races. It’s do-or-die time, and I feel like I’m about to do the latter. When Brock steps out, I feel the tension drain from my body.

“Brock,” I call, standing on my tip toes, waving.

He looks right past me. It’s as if he can’t see or hear me.

“Brock,” I yell again louder.

He hesitates and looks around then keeps walking.

What the hell? Is he kidding me right now? I know he has to hear me.

He ducks his head and starts crossing the street toward the athletic dorm. I run after him, not caring how ridiculous I look, trailing after him, calling his name. I have to tell him I choose him, that I love him, before it’s too late.

“Brock,” I scream.

He’s just made it across the street when he turns. “Hannah?”

“I’m sorry,” I yell, stepping off the curb. Brock’s eyes widen in terror as he drops his bag, sprinting toward me. “I lo–” Someone honking makes me jerk my head up in time to see two headlights coming straight at me. When they get close enough, I make eye contact with the driver. Everything clicks into place just in time for–.

This is not the way things were supposed to end.

Fuck.