Page 132 of Broken Trails
“Zoe…” Mum’s voice breaks. I blink quickly, but the tears come anyway.
I look at Dad, and the betrayal curls deep in my chest. “You were the last person I expected judgement from. Mum, maybe. But not you. Never you.”
His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I check the time, and my stomach drops.Fuck.I’m late. The race has already started.
“I have to go.”
Mum steps forward. “Zoe, just stay.”
“For what?” I ask. “So we can pretend this conversation didn’t happen? So I can shrink myself back down to make you comfortable?”
I sling my bag over my shoulder, my movements stiff. “If you won’t try to understand, then don’t expect to see much of me.” I turn to the door. My voice steadies as I look over my shoulder. “But just know, I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying. Right here. In this small town. And if this doesn’t get resolved, if you can’t accept who I am now? Then the ghost of your daughter is all you’ll ever get.”
I leave before they can answer. The screen door bangs shut behind me. But I keep walking. Down the driveway. Into the sunlight. Toward something—someone—that feels a hell of a lot more like home than this ever has.
38
How Dare You – Alexander Stewart
The crowd is electric. Deafening. Every cheer vibrates through the soles of my boots, rattling up my spine until it settles somewhere in the hollow space beneath my ribs. Smoke and petrol linger thick in the air—metallic, sharp, alive. The track stretches before me in a sun-drenched blur, broken only by the screaming roar of engines and the crowd’s frenzied waves of sound.
I weave past the pit fence, heart galloping with something I can’t name. Adrenaline, yes, but not mine. His.
It crackles in the air like static, pulsing louder each time a flash of his bike slices past the curve. He’s currently on lap three, placingsecond.
I spot his red Ducati, how he leans into the corner—body tight, controlled. His helmet glints under the sun. He’s beautiful like this. Untouchable. Dangerous.
And all I can think is,please be safe.
I move through the grandstand crowd, barely registering the elbows or apologies. I find them in the third row: Harrison with Hope strapped to his chest, Xavier with Gracie pressed against his torso like some adorable little joey in pink ear muffs. Both girls are giggling, wide-eyed, completely overwhelmed, and I feel it too. This blend of chaos and awe. This pressure in my chest that has nothing and everything to do with the man on that track.
“You’re gonna look back at this and forget how loud it was,” Imogen says beside me, shouting just enough to be heard over the thunder of the crowd. She reaches for my arm, her grip instinctive. I nod, but it’s tight.
She watches me, her brow pulling slightly. “You okay?”
I try to answer. Really try.
But I can’t lie well enough today. Not with the taste of dread already rising in my throat. I force a smile instead and glance at the girls. Hope waves wildly when Harrison points toward the track. Gracie spots me and flaps both arms, mouth moving beneath her too-big earmuffs. The tension in my chest loosens for a split second. Just a breath.
My phone vibrates in my hand, screen lighting up with a missed call from Jeff.
1 Missed Call — Jeff Stanton.
Jeff:Check your email. Don’t freak out. Call me as soon as you’ve read it.
My stomach drops. A chill races down my spine, even in the heat of the trackside sun. Jeff doesn’t do cryptic. And he never tells me not to freak out unless there’s something very real to freak out about. With shaking fingers, I open the Mail app.
The email subject hits first:Notice of Intent to Litigate.
Everything and everyone else blurs around me as my eyes scan through the email.
To: Mrs. Zoe De Luca
From: Smith & Lowe Legal, on behalf of Mr. Liam De Luca
Dear Mrs. De Luca,
We act on behalf of Mr. Liam De Luca in relation to the recent breakdown in communication between you and our client, and the alleged incident that took place at your Wattle Creek residence.
