Rachel paced back and forth across her bedroom floor, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if trying to hold her body together. Her mind was racing faster than her feet, thoughts colliding in a chaotic mess that made her dizzy.
"This can't be happening," she muttered to herself. "This is insane!"
She paused at her vanity, staring at her reflection. The same face looked back at her—the same Rachel Berry who had dreamed of Broadway since she was three, who had planned every detail of her future, who was engaged to Finn Hudson. Except, was she really engaged? She hadn't actually said yes yet.
Why haven't I said yes? she thought, staring at her reflection.
The answer had been staring her in the face for years, wearing a Cheerios uniform and a cold smirk that had somehow transformed into something else entirely. Quinn Fabray. The girl who had tormented her throughout high school. The girl who had tried to stop her from marrying Finn. The girl who had just bared her soul in the choir room.
The girl Rachel had been desperate to befriend since freshman year.
"Oh my God," Rachel whispered, sinking onto her vanity stool. "I didn't just want to be her friend..."
She closed her eyes, memories flooding back in vivid detail.
The way her heart had raced whenever Quinn approached her in the hallway, even when it was just to insult her. That first day of freshman year when Quinn had walked by in her Cheerios uniform, slushie in hand, and Rachel had been unable to look away.
The time Quinn had drawn pornographic pictures of her in the bathroom stall, and rather than being devastated, Rachel had been oddly fixated on the fact that Quinn had spent time thinking about her body.
The rush of elation she'd felt when Quinn had finally joined Glee club with Santana and Brittany. How she'd practically vibrated with excitement during "Don't Stop Believin'" when Quinn had finally sung alongside her.
The way her entire body had tingled when they'd performed "I Say A Little Prayer" during their audition, Rachel watching from the wings, mesmerized.
That brief moment they'd connected during "Keep Holding On," Quinn's fingers intertwined with hers, the blonde's hazel eyes locked on Rachel's through her tears.
Their "Pretty/Unpretty" duet, sitting side by side at the piano, voices blending in perfect harmony. How she'd felt something profound shift between them that day, their shared vulnerability creating a bridge neither had been brave enough to cross. How she'd caught herself staring at Quinn's profile, wondering how anyone so beautiful could feel unpretty.
The constant need for Quinn's approval, her acceptance, her attention. How she'd volunteered to help Quinn practice choreography just to be near her, how she'd offered to help with her vocals even though Quinn hardly needed it.
"I've had feelings for Quinn this entire time."
But that didn't make sense. She loved Finn. She did! He was sweet and kind and he loved her unconditionally. He wanted to marry her!
"Then why haven't I said yes?" she repeated, more forcefully this time.
Rachel rose to her feet and resumed pacing. This indecision was killing her. She needed to make a choice. She needed clarity.
What did she want?
Broadway. New York. Her dreams.
Who did she want?
Quinn's face flashed in her mind, followed immediately by Finn's.
"I can't do this," she groaned, flopping onto her bed. "I'm engaged to Finn! Well, almost engaged. And Quinn is—Quinn is a girl!"
But that didn't seem to matter as much as it probably should. What mattered was that Quinn Fabray, the most beautiful girl Rachel had ever known, had feelings for her. And somewhere deep inside, Rachel knew she had feelings for Quinn too.
"But I also have feelings for Finn," she whispered into her pillow. "Don't I?"
Rachel sat rigid at her vanity, staring at her reflection. Her lips were slightly swollen, her cheeks flushed. Not from Quinn's touch, but from the mere thought of Quinn's touch. It rattled her.
Her hands curled into fists on her lap, fingernails biting into her skin.
No. This is not who I am.
She was Rachel Berry. She had a plan. She had Finn. She was going to marry him, move to New York, and build a life with her leading man. That had always been the dream, right?
Then why did she feel like she was about to shatter?
Her phone vibrated. Finn. Checking in on her, just like he always did.
Her throat felt tight as she typed out a reply. Come over.
Maybe if she could just be with him, everything would fall back into place. Maybe if she could remind herself of what she had—what she was supposed to have—this gnawing doubt would disappear.
Her hands shook as she set the phone down. She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince anymore.
"Daddy, Papa, I'm so sorry, but can we reschedule movie night?" Rachel asked, catching her fathers as they were setting up the living room for their weekly tradition. "Something... important has come up."
Hiram and LeRoy exchanged a look. "Everything okay, sweetheart?" LeRoy asked.
"Yes, of course," Rachel said quickly. Too quickly. "I just... I need to talk to Finn. About, um, wedding plans."
Another look passed between her fathers, but they nodded. "Alright, honey. We'll head out for dinner instead," Hiram said, grabbing his keys. "Just remember—"
"I know, I know," Rachel interrupted, already dialing Finn. "No boys in my bedroom after eleven."
Twenty minutes later, as her fathers were heading out the door, Finn's truck pulled into the driveway.
"Rachel's upstairs," LeRoy told him. "She'll be down in a minute."
"Thanks, Mr. Berry," Finn said, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "Um, both Mr. Berrys."
Once her fathers had left, Finn made his way to the living room and sat on the edge of the couch, his knees bouncing nervously. Despite having been to Rachel's house numerous times, he never felt entirely comfortable there. Maybe it was the spotless white carpet or the collection of Broadway memorabilia that lined the walls. Or maybe it was just knowing that her dads were always going to look at him like he wasn't good enough for their little girl.
Which, if he was being honest, he probably wasn't.
"Finn?" Rachel called from upstairs. "Can you come up here for a minute?"
Finn frowned. Rachel never invited him to her bedroom unless her dads were home. And even then, it was usually just to show him some new sheet music or to practice a duet.
"Uh, sure," he called back, making his way up the stairs. "Everything okay, Rach?"
He pushed open her bedroom door and froze. Rachel was lying on her bed, wearing nothing but a pale pink bra and matching panties.
"Rachel," he breathed, his eyes wide. "What are you—"
"I need you," she said, her voice soft but determined. "I need to be sure."
Finn swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "Sure about what?"
"About us. About everything." Rachel sat up, her dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders. "I need to know if what we have is real."
Finn approached the bed slowly, like he was afraid she might change her mind. "Of course it's real, Rach. I love you. You know that."
Rachel nodded, reaching for him. "Then show me," she whispered. "Make love to me, Finn."
Alarm bells should have been going off in Finn's head. Rachel Berry, the girl who had steadfastly refused to have sex until she was 25, who had lectured him on the importance of waiting for the right moment, who had made him sign a celibacy contract, had just propositioned him out of nowhere. Something was clearly wrong. Unfortunately, the brain of the average teenage male doesn't have much say in these matters, and his own carnal desires quickly overrode any rational thought. As Rachel pulled him down onto her bed, all concerns about her sudden change of heart vanished.
Judy Fabray slipped her key into the lock, balancing grocery bags in her free arm. Starting her own catering business after the divorce had been a risk, but it was paying off. The idea had come from an unexpected source—the Berry men, of all people. Last year's Glee fundraiser had been a disaster until Judy had stepped in at the last minute, preparing an array of elegant hors d'oeuvres and desserts after the original caterer cancelled. Hiram and LeRoy Berry had been so impressed that they'd cornered her at the end of the night.
"You know," Hiram had said, sampling his third mini quiche, "Lima is desperately lacking in quality catering options."
"You could make a killing with these recipes," LeRoy had added. "We'd hire you for our next dinner party in a heartbeat."
At first, Judy had laughed it off. But as the divorce proceedings dragged on and Russell's financial manipulation became clear, the idea took root. She'd always loved entertaining, had been the perfect hostess at Russell's business functions. Why not turn that skill into a business of her own?
Six months later, "Fabray Fine Catering" was booked solid for the next three months, with the Berry men serving as her most enthusiastic promoters. For the first time in decades, Judy was making her own money, setting her own schedule, and discovering who she was outside of Russell Fabray's shadow. She finally felt like she was standing on her own two feet.
"Quinnie?" she called as she entered. "I picked up those strawberries you like."
No response. Judy frowned, setting the groceries on the kitchen counter. Quinn's car was in the driveway, so she had to be home.
"Quinn?" she called again, moving deeper into the house.
Judy Fabray wasn't used to the house being so quiet. It wasn't an unusual silence—not after Russell left—but tonight, something felt off.
She set the grocery bags down and turned toward the hallway, the dim light spilling from Russell's old office catching her attention. The door was cracked open, and the scent of something sharp and acrid drifted out.
Judy's stomach dropped.
"Quinn?"
She stepped inside and stopped short. Quinn was slouched in Russell's leather chair, a half-empty bottle of whiskey resting against her thigh. The glass in her other hand tilted dangerously, amber liquid sloshing over the rim onto her jeans.
Judy took a steadying breath. "Quinnie, what are you doing?"
Quinn lifted her gaze, unfocused and glossy. "Drinking," she said, voice hoarse.
Judy's heart clenched. "Why?"
Quinn let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Because I was an idiot. Because I put myself out there, and she ran."
Judy kneeled beside her daughter, gently taking the glass from her shaking fingers. "Rachel?"
Quinn gave a single, jerky nod, then scrubbed a hand over her face. "I told her," she whispered. "I told her, and she ran."
Judy exhaled slowly. She had missed so much over the years, but this? This moment—this pain—she wouldn't turn away from. Not again.
She reached out, brushing Quinn's hair from her damp cheek. "Oh, baby."
Quinn hiccupped, then let out a strangled, bitter laugh. "I ruined everything."
Judy squeezed her hand. "No, sweetie. You were brave."
Quinn didn't look convinced, but she let her mother hold her as the weight of the night finally pulled her under.
A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her—confusion, concern, and beneath it all, a painful awareness of her own failures. She had stood by silently when Russell kicked Quinn out during her pregnancy. She had chosen her husband over her daughter. She had failed Quinn when she needed her most.
Judy knew that her religious upbringing and years in Russell's shadow had shaped her views on homosexuality. Part of her wanted to recoil, to quote scripture, to fall back on the easy certainties she'd been taught. But looking at her broken daughter, hunched over a trash can and so clearly in pain, none of that mattered.
Not this time, she thought firmly. I will not fail her again.
Whether she understood Quinn's feelings or not, whether they aligned with her own morals or not, Judy was determined to stand by her daughter. She had already lost Quinn once to her own cowardice. She would not lose her again.
"It's okay, sweetie," she murmured, holding Quinn's hair back. "It's going to be okay."
The front door of the Berry household slammed open with such force that it rattled the windows. Finn Hudson stormed out, his face a mask of fury, his clothes in disarray. His fly was unzipped, his belt hanging loose from its loops, flapping against his legs as he strode toward his truck.
He fumbled with his keys, dropping them once before managing to unlock the door. As he climbed into the driver's seat, he looked back at the house, his expression a mixture of hurt and rage.
Finn slammed the door to his truck, gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.
Rachel. Rachel. She had begged him to come over. She had needed him. And now he knew why.
Not because she loved him. Not because she wanted him.
Because she was trying to erase her.
His breath came in harsh, uneven gasps as he grabbed the flask from the glove compartment, twisting the cap off with trembling fingers. The whiskey burned as it went down, but it wasn't enough to drown out the image of Rachel's lips forming another name. Quinn.
His hands clenched around the flask, his jaw tightening. He wanted to throw it, wanted to scream, wanted to hurt the way he was hurting.
With a growl, he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, tires screeching as he tore out of the driveway.
Rachel lay naked on her bed, sheets tangled around her legs but leaving the rest of her exposed. Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the ceiling, her body still trembling with the aftereffects of what had just happened.
Just a few hours ago, they had all seemed like adults—Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson, planning a wedding, getting ready to live the rest of their lives together. Talking about apartments in New York, discussing futures and dreams as if they knew exactly what they wanted. They had been so sure, so confident in their decisions.
Now the truth was painfully clear. They weren't adults at all. They were still children—scared, confused children fumbling in the dark, desperately seeking answers to questions they barely understood. Rachel had always prided herself on learning from the successes and failures of others, on being smarter than her peers. But some lessons couldn't be taught; they had to be lived. Some mistakes had to be made firsthand for the lesson to sink in. And this one, she feared, was likely to be costly.
Her bedroom looked like a hurricane had swept through it—pillows strewn across the floor, a lamp knocked over, and a fist-sized hole in her vanity mirror, surrounded by a spiderweb of cracks.
"Oh God," she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. "What have I done?"
The full weight of her actions suddenly crashed down on her. She hadn't just hurt Finn. She had left Quinn standing alone in that choir room. Quinn, who had finally found the courage to be honest, to lay her heart bare after years of hiding. Quinn, who had decorated an entire room with her artwork, who had sung to her, who had trusted her with her most vulnerable truth. And Rachel had simply run away. No response, no acknowledgment, nothing. Just silence and rejection.
The damage was even worse than she'd thought. She had carelessly shattered two lives today because she couldn't accept the answers to questions she'd been too afraid to even voice. Quinn had been brave enough to speak her truth, and Rachel had punished her for it. Then she'd used Finn in a desperate attempt to deny her own feelings, hurting him deeply in the process.
She reached for her phone on the nightstand, her fingers shaking as she typed out a message.
Quinn, I need to see you. Please. -Rachel
She hit send, then curled into a ball, pulling the sheets over her body as fresh tears fell.
Quinn lay on her side, facing away from her mother as silent tears continued to fall. Her head was pounding from the whiskey, her throat raw from crying and coughing. She felt utterly hollow, completely emptied out.
Judy sat on the edge of the bed, gently rubbing circles on Quinn's back. "Shh, it's okay, sweetie. Try to get some rest."
A phone chimed on the nightstand. Quinn didn't move.
Judy reached over to silence the ringer, glancing briefly at the screen. Rachel Berry. A flash of anger surged through her as she saw the name and accompanying photo of the petite brunette with the too-bright smile.
Of course it's her, Judy thought bitterly. The selfish little diva who broke my daughter's heart.
Though she didn't know exactly what had happened between Quinn and Rachel today, she knew enough. Her daughter had put herself out there, had made herself vulnerable, and this Berry girl had clearly rejected her. Now, hours later, after Quinn had drunk herself into oblivion and cried herself sick, Rachel suddenly wanted to talk?
Not tonight you don't, Judy thought fiercely. Not after what you've done to her.
The maternal protectiveness she felt surprised her with its intensity. Quinn was too fragile right now, too raw, too hurt for more drama. Whatever Rachel wanted, it could wait until Quinn was stronger.
She placed the phone face-down on the nightstand. "Don't worry about that now," she said softly. "Just close your eyes."
Quinn nodded weakly, letting her eyelids flutter shut as her mother continued to soothe her. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to be comforted by her mother's touch, grateful that at least one person hadn't turned away from her today.
Breadsticks was packed, the local restaurant bustling with Valentine's Day stragglers and the entirety of the McKinley High Glee Club. The annual "Night of Neglected Artists" fundraiser was in full swing, with various members taking turns performing on the small stage.
When Rachel had arrived with Kurt and Mercedes, she'd spotted Finn already seated with Puck and Artie. Their eyes had met briefly across the room, his hardening with hurt and anger, hers quickly dropping in shame. Neither had approached the other or spoken a word. The rest of the Glee Club had picked up on the tension immediately, quietly rearranging themselves to keep the two separated throughout the evening.
Rachel sat at a table with Kurt and Mercedes, picking at her salad and avoiding looking at the corner booth where Quinn sat with Brittany and Santana. They had successfully managed to avoid each other all day at school, but the tight confines of Breadsticks made it nearly impossible to maintain that distance.
The tension between her and Quinn was palpable, an invisible current running through the restaurant that seemed to crackle whenever they accidentally caught each other's eye. Neither had spoken to the other since Quinn's heartfelt confession in the choir room yesterday. Rachel had tried several times throughout the day to approach Quinn, but the blonde had slipped away each time, surrounded by a protective barrier of Cheerios.
Despite Quinn's oversized sunglasses (worn indoors, which had earned a raised eyebrow from Kurt) and carefully applied makeup, Rachel could tell she had spent most of the day crying. Her normally perfect posture was slightly slumped, her movements lacking their usual grace. Every so often, Santana would lean over and whisper something that made Quinn attempt a smile, but it never reached her eyes. The sight made Rachel's heart ache with guilt.
Finn, meanwhile, was at the bar, ordering his third soda and flirting aggressively with a waitress who looked thoroughly unimpressed.
"Okay, what is going on with you three?" Kurt finally asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied Rachel's face.
"Three?" Rachel echoed nervously.
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Yes, three. You've been avoiding looking at Finn all night, which I get since you're clearly in a fight. But you've also been stealing glances at Quinn every thirty seconds, and she looks like she's been crying for days. Not to mention the fact that Santana keeps glaring at you like she's planning your murder." He leaned forward. "I thought you'd be all lovey-dovey with Finn after your big Valentine's Day surprise, but instead there's enough drama in this restaurant to fill a season of Real Housewives."
Rachel winced. "Finn and I... we broke up."
Mercedes nearly choked on her breadstick. "What? When?"
"Yesterday," Rachel admitted, pushing her plate away. "And before you ask, no, I don't want to talk about it."
"And Quinn?" Kurt pressed, refusing to let it go. "What does she have to do with this?"
Rachel's eyes darted toward the blonde before she could stop herself. "Nothing. It's complicated."
Kurt's eyebrows shot up. "Rachel Berry, what did you do?"
"I said I don't want to talk about it," Rachel repeated, her voice rising slightly. She stood abruptly. "Excuse me," she said. "I need to use the restroom."
She made her way through the crowded restaurant, keeping her head down to avoid catching anyone's eye. As she pushed open the bathroom door, she collided with someone coming out.
"Sorry, I—" Rachel looked up and froze.
Quinn stared back at her, equally frozen.
"Quinn," Rachel breathed.
She tensed instinctively, half-expecting a slushie bath or one of Quinn's cutting remarks—a return to their old dynamic where Quinn lashed out when hurt. Part of Rachel thought she would almost deserve it after how she'd reacted yesterday.
"Rachel," Quinn replied stiffly, stepping back into the bathroom to let Rachel enter.
They stood there for a long moment, the silence between them thick with unspoken words.
Finally, Rachel broke it. "Did you get my text?"
Quinn frowned. "What text?"
"I sent you a message yesterday," Rachel said, her heart sinking. "You didn't see it?"
Quinn shook her head. "My mom took my phone. I was ... kind of a mess yesterday."
"I was kind of a mess too," Rachel continued when Quinn didn't immediately respond. "Still am, actually. I didn't handle any of this well."
Another pause, this one even more charged than the last.
"Well, you certainly know how to make Valentine's Day memorable, Berry," Quinn finally said, her voice taking on that familiar HBIC edge. "Most girls just send a card or chocolates. You went with emotional devastation and alcohol poisoning. Very original."
Rachel didn't flinch at the barb. She recognized it for what it was—Quinn's walls going up, her default defensive reaction when feeling vulnerable. Old Rachel might have stormed out or responded with equal venom. But not today.
Quinn's expression hardened as the silence stretched between them. "Anyway, if we're done with this little bathroom chat..." She moved to step around Rachel toward the door, clearly trying to escape.
Rachel's arm shot out, blocking Quinn's path. "We're not done," she said firmly, surprising them both with her boldness. "Not even close."
"Quinn, I need to tell you something," Rachel said, her voice barely above a whisper. "About what happened after I left you in the choir room."
Quinn tensed, as if preparing for a blow. "Go ahead."
"I went home and I tried to sort through my feelings. I was so confused," Rachel said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I've been with Finn for so long, I thought I knew what I wanted. But then you... with the drawings and the song and everything..."
"Rachel, you don't have to explain—"
"I slept with Finn," Rachel blurted out.
Quinn's face crumpled slightly, but she quickly composed herself. "Oh. Well, that's... that's your choice. I understand if you—"
"I called out your name," Rachel interrupted.
Quinn's eyes widened. "You what?"
"When I... when we..." Rachel flushed deeply. "I called your name. Not his."
Quinn stared at her, speechless.
After a long moment, she swallowed hard. "Rachel," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "I need you to actually say it. I need to hear the words." Her hazel eyes were vulnerable, pleading. "What exactly are you telling me?"
Rachel took a deep breath, her cheeks flushing. "I slept with Finn yesterday after I left you," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "And when I... when I climaxed... it was your name I called out. Not his." She met Quinn's gaze directly. "It was you I was thinking about, Quinn. Only you."
"That's why he left," Rachel continued, her voice trembling. "That's why he called off the engagement, even though I never actually said yes in the first place." She took a step closer to Quinn. "Because apparently, even when I was with him, I was thinking about you."
Quinn's breath hitched. "Rachel, I—"
"I don't know what this means," Rachel cut in. "I don't know if I'm gay or bisexual or whatever. All I know is that I have feelings for you, Quinn. Strong feelings. And I... I want to explore that. If you're willing."
Quinn's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Are you sure? Because I can't do this if you're just experimenting or—"
"I'm sure," Rachel said firmly. "I want to see where this goes. I want to see where we go."
A slow smile spread across Quinn's face, transforming her features like the sun breaking through clouds. "Okay," she whispered. "Let's see where we go."
Neither noticed the shadow that briefly darkened the space beneath the bathroom door, nor did they hear the heavy footsteps retreating hastily down the hallway. Finn Hudson stood frozen for a moment outside the bathroom, his face a mask of shock and betrayal, a half-empty flask of whiskey clutched in his trembling hand. He'd followed Rachel, hoping to talk things out, only to overhear a conversation that confirmed his worst suspicions.
He stumbled back toward the main dining room, taking another burning swig from the flask. The liquid courage wasn't helping anymore—it just made the pain sharper, more immediate. Without a word to anyone, he grabbed his jacket and keys from the booth and headed for the exit, the restaurant door slamming behind him with enough force to make nearby diners jump.
Minutes later, Rachel and Quinn emerged from the bathroom together, their cheeks flushed and eyes bright. Though they maintained a respectable distance, there was an undeniable new energy between them, a subtle shift in their body language that didn't go unnoticed by Kurt, whose eyebrows shot up as they approached the table.
"Where's Finn?" Rachel asked, noticing his empty seat.
Puck shrugged. "Dude just stormed out. Didn't say where he was going."
Rachel and Quinn exchanged a concerned glance, but neither connected his abrupt departure to their bathroom conversation. Instead, they settled in at their respective tables, occasionally catching each other's eye across the room, small private smiles playing at the corners of their lips.
The night progressed with performances from various Glee members. Mercedes brought the house down with her rendition of "Ain't No Way," while Artie and Brittany performed a surprisingly touching duet. Throughout it all, Rachel found herself stealing glances at Quinn, who always seemed to be looking back at the exact same moment.
As the evening wound down, the DJ's voice came over the speakers. "Alright, McKinley High, this is the last song of the night. Find someone special and make it count."
The opening notes of "At Last" by Etta James filled the restaurant as couples began to pair off. Santana pulled Brittany to her feet, while Tina and Mike were already swaying together. Kurt looked around hopefully before Sam offered his hand with a friendly smile.
Rachel sat fidgeting at her table, watching Quinn from across the room. Their eyes met again, and something unspoken passed between them. Quinn stood slowly, smoothing down her dress, and began making her way through the tables toward Rachel.
"Dance with me?" Quinn asked softly, extending her hand.
Rachel looked up at her, a lump forming in her throat. This was the dance they should have shared yesterday in the choir room if she hadn't panicked and run away.
"I'd love to," she whispered, taking Quinn's hand.
They moved to the edge of the dance floor, slightly apart from the others. Quinn hesitated for a moment before gently placing her hands on Rachel's waist. Rachel responded by looping her arms around Quinn's neck, their bodies drawing closer as they began to sway to the music.
"I should have stayed yesterday," Rachel murmured, her lips close to Quinn's ear. "We could have had this dance then."
Quinn's hold tightened slightly. "We're having it now," she replied. "That's what matters."
As they moved together, the rest of the restaurant seemed to fade away. There were no curious glances, no whispered comments, just the two of them finally in each other's arms after years of circling each other. Rachel leaned her head against Quinn's shoulder, breathing in her familiar scent of vanilla and something uniquely Quinn.
For the first time in a long time, both girls felt like they were exactly where they belonged.
The night air was crisp as Quinn and Rachel exited Breadsticks, a careful six inches of space between them as they walked to Quinn's car. They had agreed to take things slow, to figure out what they were to each other before making any public announcements.
"I still can't believe you got drunk on your father's whiskey," Rachel said as Quinn unlocked the yellow Volkswagen Beetle.
Quinn grinned sheepishly. "Not my finest moment. But at least my mom was cool about it. About everything, actually."
"Really?" Rachel asked, sliding into the passenger seat. "She was okay with... you know...?"
"With me being gay?" Quinn supplied, starting the engine. "I think she's still processing, but she didn't kick me out or anything. She was really supportive, actually. Said that all she wants is for me to be happy."
Rachel smiled. "That's amazing, Quinn. I'm so glad."
They pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward Rachel's neighborhood. The streets were quiet, most of Lima already tucked in for the night.
"What about your dads?" Quinn asked. "Do they know about... us?"
Rachel shook her head. "Not yet. But they'll be fine with it. They've always liked you, even when you were making my life miserable."
Quinn laughed. "I was such a bitch to you."
"Yes, you were," Rachel agreed with a smirk. "But apparently that was just your way of showing love."
Quinn was about to respond when she glanced in her rearview mirror and frowned. "Is this guy serious?"
Rachel turned to look out the back window. A large pickup truck was riding their bumper, its high beams blinding in the darkness.
"Can you get away from him?" Rachel asked, squinting against the glare.
"I'm trying," Quinn said, increasing her speed a little. "But he's staying right on me."
The truck edged even closer, its massive grille now mere feet from Quinn's back bumper.
"This isn't funny," Rachel said, a note of fear creeping into her voice. "Who is that?"
Quinn didn't answer, focused on maintaining control of her car as she navigated the winding road. The truck behind them revved its engine, the sound aggressive in the quiet night.
"Quinn," Rachel said urgently, "I think they're trying to—"
Quinn gripped the steering wheel, her breath coming fast and shallow. The truck behind them wasn't just tailgating—it was pushing them.
Rachel's fingers dug into the seatbelt. "Quinn, they're getting closer!"
The headlights flared, blinding in the rearview mirror. Quinn squinted, adjusting her grip. "I know."
Rachel fumbled for her phone. "I'm calling 911."
The truck revved its engine, then swerved sharply. Quinn barely had time to react before the impact sent them skidding sideways.
Rachel gasped. "Quinn—"
The truck pulled alongside them. For a brief second, through the tinted window, Quinn thought she saw—
The truck veered into them.
Tires screeched. Metal crunched.
And then they were airborne.
The little yellow car flipping once, twice, before coming to rest upside down in the ditch beside the road.
Rachel's world had turned upside down—literally. Blood dripped down her forehead as she blinked through the haze, her hands scrabbling for purchase.
"Quinn?"
Silence.
Panic surged through her as she twisted in her seat, reaching out. "Quinn, wake up!"
Quinn's head lolled against the airbag, her blonde hair streaked with red.
No. No, no, no.
Rachel fumbled for the seatbelt, hands shaking as she tried to unbuckle herself. "Somebody help us!" she screamed into the night.
Quinn's lips parted, a whisper of breath escaping.
Rachel barely caught it. "Rach…"
And then her eyes slid shut.
Rachel sobbed. "No. No! Stay with me, Quinn. Please."
But Quinn didn't respond.