Page 137 of Broken Trails
Before it breaks me.
39
Minefields – Faouzia & John Legend
Writing’s On the Wall – Sam Smith
Iwake slowly, blinking against the harsh morning light.
For a moment, everything feels still and warm, the kind of lazy, easy quiet that only comes after a night like last. My arm stretches across the bed, reaching for Zoe, expecting soft skin and tangled hair, maybe even a sleepy groan of protest if I pull her too close too soon, but there’s nothing there.
Just cold sheets and the faint trace of her shampoo on the pillow.
I lie there for another few seconds, waiting, listening, expecting to hear her in the bathroom or rustling around in thekitchen, but all I get is silence, that thick kind of quiet that doesn’t feel right.
“Zoe?” I call, voice still hoarse, dry with sleep.
No answer.
I push up, running a hand over my face as I glance around the room, half expecting to see her standing by the window or pulling on her jeans in the doorway, but the room is empty.
I drag on a shirt as I move through the flat, checking the bathroom, the kitchen, the front verandah. She’s nowhere. Her boots are gone, her bag too, and I rub a hand across my jaw, trying to shrug it off. I tell myself she probably ducked home to feed that fluffy menace or grab something from her place without waking me, which, knowing her, she’d take weird pride in managing.
Still, I grab my phone off the bench and send her a quick message.
Me:Where’d you sneak off to, Freckles?
And I wait. But there’s nothing. No little bubbles, no reply. I call her next, listening to the ring once before it cuts to voicemail, her voice chirping through the speaker like nothing’s wrong, like we didn’t fall asleep wrapped around each other not twelve hours ago. I text Imogen.
Me:You seen Zoe this morning?
And as I wait, I try to convince myself I’m being dramatic, that she’s fine, that she just forgot her phone or doesn’t feel like answering, but my chest keeps tightening with every second that ticks by without an answer.
When a text message finally comes through, I snatch my phone off the bench like an idiot, hoping it’s from Zoe, but it’sfrom Imogen:Come over for brekkie. Joseph wants you to make pancakes.
No mention of Zoe. No answer to the question. Just casual, normal fucking pancakes. I throw my keys into my hand, barely remembering to lock the door behind me.
The gravel crunches beneath my tyres as I pull into Harrison and Imogen’s driveway. The early morning sun cuts through the gum trees, the edges of everything too bright, too loud for the way my chest feels. I park my ute beside Harrison’s Subaru. My legs feel heavier than they should as I make my way up the front path, and before I’ve even knocked, the door swings open.
Joseph grins up at me from the doorway, his little hands clutching the edge like he’s been waiting.
“Uncle Mikey!” he yells before launching himself at my legs. I crouch down automatically, catching him and giving his hair a playful ruffle.
“Hey, little man,” I say, forcing a smile. “What’s the plan this morning? You making me breakfast?”
Before he can answer, Taco barrels in from the lounge, skidding across the tiles before slamming into my shins. I laugh despite myself, bending down to scratch behind his ears.
“Alright, mate, relax. I missed you, too.”
It’s not until I stand up again that I notice the small pet carrier sitting on the dining table. I stop mid-step, frowning, because Taco’s already abandoned me, trotting over to the table and jumping up on a chair to sniff at the mesh front.
I raise an eyebrow. “Did y’all get a new pet or something?”
Harrison looks up from where he’s standing in the kitchen, then looks at Imogen, and that’s all it takes.
The look between them is too quick, too knowing, and it makes my stomach clench.
“What?” I ask, my voice dropping.
