Page 163 of What Comes Around

This was not my first life.

When I woke up, nothing made sense. The last thing I remembered was the harsh glare of hospital lights. The room had smelled of antiseptic and decay, my body failing, shutting down piece by piece while doctors fumbled for answers.

Now, when I opened my eyes, the ceiling above me was unfamiliar. The room smelled clean. The sheets were soft, tangled around my waist.

And then there was the woman beside me.

Apple.

She was asleep, her face turned slightly toward me, her breathing slow and even. For a few seconds I just stared, my mind refusing to catch up with what my eyes were seeing.

She looked… young.

Not the woman I remembered. Not the one who had stood beside my deathbed, calm and cold, and confessed that she had poisoned me. How she had killed my dog.

I pushed myself out of bed, my pulse picking up as a strange unease crept in. My legs felt stronger. My body felt lighter. Something was wrong.

The mirror confirmed it.

I stared at my reflection, my breath catching in my throat. I was not the man who had died. Not in my fifties, worn down by years of stress and regret.

I was younger. Healthier. Back in my prime.

“What the hell…”

The words came out under my breath as I dragged a hand over my face. This was impossible.

I turned toward the window and walked over, pulling the curtain aside.

The New York skyline glowed against the morning light.

That was when things started to click into place.

Slowly, piece by piece.

I found my phone on the nightstand and scrolled through it. Messages, notifications, timestamps. After a few minutes, everything clicked into place.

Somehow, I had been reborn. Sent back in time.

I was in New York for a conference, and the night before I had run into Apple at a nightclub.

Apple wasn’t a stranger. Years earlier, we had met a few times and hooked up. Back then I had recently retired from the NFL because of an injury. Still famous. Still wealthy. Still very much a public figure. I was in my “what now” phase, drifting between cities, investing, partying, trying out ventures. Those hookups ended when I started building Sinclair Enterprises and moved to Chicago.

I hadn’t seen Apple in years, but last night we met again, one thing led to another, and we ended up in this hotel room.

And now this.

I looked back at her.

Knowing what I knew now, there was no way that meeting had been a coincidence.

A bitter thought surfaced.

Why couldn’t I have come back twelve hours earlier?

Before we slept together. Before I tangled myself with that viper again.

My jaw tightened as I moved quickly, scanning the room until I found the trash can. I dug through it without hesitation, ignoring the mess until I found what I was looking for.