Collide Into Ruin

Henry barely registered the voices around him as Jason and Beau sprang into action, methodically cleaning up the ruined red velvet cake. His mind was stuck, spinning in the haze of what had just happened.

The threat was no longer some distant, creeping possibility.

It was here.

Staring them in the face.

Leaving its twisted message in the form of razor blades hidden in something meant to be shared in joy.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. His breathing came shallow, uneven.

Zoey.

She had made him swerve the car that night. He remembered it now—the way his knuckles had turned white on the steering wheel, the sharp turn nearly sending them into oncoming traffic. The shrill of her scream. The sheer terror in her voice. And then—

Silence.

They told him she died on impact.

The memory crashed into him like a tidal wave. But it wasn't grief that twisted his gut—it was the bitter taste of betrayal.

Because before that night, he had caught her. Again. In some back alley, wrapped around the same guy he had found her with before, hands grasping, lips murmuring secrets meant for someone else. But that wasn't what had shattered him the most.

She was buying drugs.

"You really thought I wouldn't catch you this time?" His voice had been low, quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that preceded a storm.

Zoey had only laughed, her smirk cutting deeper than any blade ever could. "Please, Henry. You're just mad you're not the one I want."

That was the night he finally had enough.

After catching her cheating yet again, something inside him had snapped. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't keep pretending things would change, that she would change. If she wanted out, he would give her an out—but he wasn't heartless.

He wanted to help her, too.

So he had made a decision.

He was going to end the engagement.

And then, he was going to drive her to rehab.

He had planned it all in his head, trying to rationalize the heartbreak clawing at his chest, trying to tell himself it was the right thing to do. She needed help. Maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to fix herself if he showed her the path.

But Zoey had sensed it, had felt the shift in him that night. And she had lashed out.

"You're such a bastard!" she had screamed at him from the passenger seat. "You don't love me anymore, do you? You never fucking did!"

Henry had gritted his teeth, hands locked on the wheel. "I did, Zoey. But you threw it away. Over and over again."

She had let out a bitter, manic laugh. "Then why the hell are you still here?!"

She grabbed the wheel.

Everything had happened so fast.

The swerve.

The tires screeching.

The terror that had shot down his spine as he fought to regain control.

And then—