Broken Loop

Chapter Twenty: Loop #9- Car Crash

He winced. "I—yes."

She swung her legs. "Even if I didn't want saving."

He drew closer, voice soft but firm. "I'm here."

She tensed, climbed down, brushing gravel from her jeans. "Let's go."

He nodded, relief and concern mingling. "Yeah."

She slid behind the wheel. He buckled in. "Drive?" she asked, eyes bright.

He started the car. "You're up."

She turned the key and eased into traffic. The engine purred. He watched her face in the mirror: shadows of sadness under her eyes, set jaw, stiff shoulders.

They reached a red light where coastal lane met highway. Cars streamed in both directions. Jade tapped her fingers on the wheel. The light turned green—she accelerated without hesitation.

He leaned forward. "Slow down."

She glanced at him—look of defiance. "I'm fine."

He exhaled. "No, you're not."

She pressed harder on the gas. The needle jumped past forty, fifty. The world rushed behind her.

He put his hand over hers on the wheel. "Please."

She yanked it away. "I'm tired of being careful."

He grabbed the wheel, wresting control. Tires shrieked against asphalt. The car skidded into the intersection's cross–traffic. Horns blared.

He slammed his foot on the brake—but Jade's foot was already on the accelerator. To stop them from careening through the intersection and into oncoming cars, he slammed both feet down: his heel on the brake, disrupting the faulty balance. The car jolted in protest—front wheels locked, back wheels fishtailing.

They spun sideways, sliding through the intersection like a waltz of panic. Cars swerved, horns rattling the air. The drift threw them onto the curb—metal scraping, tires groaning a wounded cry. The engine stalled with a final shudder.

They teetered on the curb, half–hung between asphalt and gutter. Adrenaline hammered. His heart thudded in his throat.

Jade's eyes were wide and bright—tears pooling. She gripped the wheel, knuckles white.

He exhaled hard, voice shaking. "Are you okay?"

She sucked in a breath. "I... I wanted it to end."

His chest constricted. "I know."

She stared at him, tears streaking her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

He unbuckled and turned in his seat, crawling through the gap between seats. He wrapped arms around her, pressing his face to her cheek. His jacket smelled of brakesmoke and spring air.

She sobbed into his shirt. He held her tight, heartbeat steady. "I've got you."

She shook with each breath. "I'm so tired."

He stroked her hair. "Stay with me."

She raised her head. "I don't know how."

He took a deep breath. "Lean on me."

—

They sat there until the world stilled—cars rerouted around them, traffic lights cycling, gulls crying overhead. A uniformed officer approached, flipping on his cruiser lights.

Aiden released Jade enough to speak. "We're okay."

The officer nodded. "Call roadside assistance?"

Aiden exhaled. "Yes, please."

The officer stepped back as Jade unbuckled. She sank onto the asphalt beside the car, knees drawn to her chest. Aiden knelt beside her.

She wrapped her arms tight around her legs. "You shouldn't have done that."

He sealed his hands around hers. "I didn't. We did it."

She looked at him, wounded hope flickering. "That's exactly why I want it to end."

He met her gaze. "Then I'll show you life's worth living."

She stared for a long moment. Then she exhaled, voice raw. "How?"

He tightened his grip. "Day by day."

She shivered. He took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. She tucked her arms inside, burrowing close.

He climbed onto the curb, cupped his palm beside her ear. "Tell me how you feel."

She hesitated, then whispered, "Broken."

He blinked back his own tears. "Because you're human."

She sniffed. "Yeah."

He placed a finger over her wrist. "Feeling broken means you can heal."

She looked at him, shock and fear mingling. "Can I?"

He nodded. "I'll be here."

She nodded back. "Okay."

He pressed his watch-face–cold in his pocket: no more loops, no more near misses. Just this moment—two siblings bonded by scrapes and scars, by a crash that could have ended everything, but instead wrenched them into waking truth.

The roadside tow rolled up, engine rumbling. He rose and offered Jade his hand. She took it, and together they climbed into the car to wait, to breathe, to begin again.

Outside, the Pacific stretched silver beneath the noon sun. Inside, they sat—shaken yet safe—and as the tow truck hooked the bumper, Jade laid her head on his shoulder. He pressed his cheek to her hair.

No loops. No magic second chances. Only this: the hum of life's engine, skipping back to first gear, ready to drive forward.