Page 11 of Broken Trails
“What do you think?”
“No way.” His grin widens. “No bloody way. What did you say?”
I shrug. “Told him I’d think about it.”
“You’re kidding me.” Harrison leans forward, his excitement practically vibrating off him. “It’s been years, mate. You’ve got to do it. When’s the event?”
“Three months,” I reply, smirking at his enthusiasm.
“Plenty of time to get your shit together!” he says, slapping the table.
Imogen looks between us, frowning. “Wait, who’s Jax? Riding? What are you two on about?”
Harrison points his fork at me. “Go on, tell her.” I sigh, leaning back in my chair.
“Jax is an old mate from when I used to race motocross. The first event in three years is coming up, and he’s trying to rope me into it.”
“Motocross?” she echoes, her brow arching.
“Yeah,” Harrison jumps in, grinning. “This bloke here used to be a bloody legend on the track. Best teen rider Wattle Creek’s ever seen.”
I shake my head. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“Not that big a deal?” Harrison scoffs. “It was your whole life, mate. You need this. You’ve been too bloody serious lately. Well… apart from the fiery redhead the other day.”
Imogen freezes mid-scoop, spoon hovering over Joseph’s open mouth. Her eyes narrow. “Redhead?”
Harrison laughs nervously, waving his hand. “Nothing. Just some woman Michael ran into.”
“Pain in the ass, that’s what she was,” I mutter, but my mind betrays me, conjuring up her face, her fiery hair, her sharp tongue, the way she stormed off without a backward glance.
Imogen tilts her head. “Oh? Sounds like she left quite the impression.”
“Yeah, an annoying one,” I say, trying to sound indifferent. But I can’t help wondering what she’s doing now. Where she went. Why the hell she’s still in my head.
Imogen smirks knowingly. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
“Alright, enough,” I mutter, shoving another forkful of lasagne into my mouth to avoid further questioning.
Harrison is clearly enjoying the spectacle because he’s grinning from ear to ear. “I’m telling you. Racing, fiery redheads—this is exactly the kind of excitement you need in your life.”
I roll my eyes but don’t argue. Because maybe he’s got a point.
6
Remember (Acoustic) - Becky Hill
“You know, I never liked him.”
Jeff’s voice is bitter coming through the speaker. I lean back against the rickety kitchen table, staring at the hideous floral wallpaper.
Yesterday, after walking out of my parents’ house, I went straight into town and found the small real estate firm wedged between the post office and a bakery. A woman named Rose Reynolds, all warm smiles and clicking heels, had taken one look at me and found me a one-bedroom rental just shy of fifteen minutes from town. It’s small. Barely furnished. Five hundred a week. But it’s now mine.
“I think we’ve established that, Jeff.” I sigh. “And you’ll never let me forget it.”
“Damn straight. And yet, you still married him.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, letting the sting of his words settle. “Because at the time, he was the only one who made me feel seen. He said all the right things, did all the right things.”
