Page 140 of Broken Trails
I spoke to Imogen before I left. Ihadto tell her. She warned me straight up that Michael wouldn’t be okay with this, that he’d be fucking pissed. But she’d still promised she’d do what I asked, to keep him from following me, and I’d clung to that as if it would make walking away any easier.
The lawyer, a grey-suited man with deep creases between his brows, gestures for us to sit. Jeff pulls out my chair, and Dani sits close enough that I feel her elbow brush mine under the table.
“We’re here today,” Liam’s lawyer begins, “to address the claims your client is facing and determine whether this can be resolved without escalating to court.”
Jeff leans forward, folding his hands on the table. “Then you’ll understand why we need full transparency. That means proof of these so-called events. My client has been accused of harassment and misconduct—serious claims that require serious evidence.”
“We are retrieving the dash cam footage from the alleged altercation. It’s currently with a technician.”
I let his words sink in. Dash cam footage. I think hard—really hard—and I’m almost certain Liam has never owned a dash cam in his life. Not in the years we were married. Not after. He’s the kind of man who would complain about the expense.
I lean toward Jeff, my voice low. “He never had one. I’m certain.”
Jeff’s pen doesn’t pause as he scribbles it down. “Noted.” He then sits back, his voice sharp as he turns to Liam’s lawyer. “My client has also received direct threats from Mr. De Luca. I’ll read them verbatim.” He slides a sheet of paper across the table and reads aloud. As he does, hearing them out loud sends a chill down my spine. They hang heavy in the air, and I notice Liam shifts uncomfortably but keeps his jaw set.
His lawyer raises a brow. “And you have proof that the messages came from my client?”
Jeff doesn’t flinch. “The message was sent from a number registered in his name. My client recognises the language, the threats, and the circumstances. We’re prepared to have the phone records subpoenaed if necessary.”
I should feel vindicated hearing him lay it out so cleanly. Instead, my gaze snags on Liam. For a second, I let the what-ifs creep in. Not because I want him back, not because there’s some part of me still wishing we worked out. No. It’s more like staring at a stranger and trying to reconcile that, once, I thought he was my person. That we were in it for life. How the fuck did I end up here—sitting across from a man who weaponised my loyalty, who turned my belief in him into nothing but collateral damage?
The lawyer leans back slightly, his expression flattening, but Jeff stays steady, his voice level, his gaze fixed. “Zoe is not here under duress. She’s here because she’s ready to settle this the right way. But we will not allow intimidation tactics or fabricated evidence to dictate the outcome.”
Their voices continue, volleying arguments and counterarguments, but my attention drifts. My fingers curl loosely around the pen Jeff slid in front of me, but I’m not writing anything.
Instead, my mind slips back to Michael. The feel of his hands on me last night. The way he’d looked at me, like I wassomething worth holding onto. The quiet steadiness he carried without even trying.
And now… nothing.
The uneasy feeling in my stomach has been there since I left Wattle Creek, a dull, nauseating weight that makes it hard to breathe if I think about it too long.
It’s not just guilt.
It’s knowing he’ll be angry. Hurt. Confused. And I have no way of making him understand without doing everything I came here to do.
I press the pen harder into the paper, forcing my focus back to the table, back to Jeff’s voice as he dismantles another weak excuse from Liam’s lawyer. But the weight in my chest doesn’t shift, and I know it won’t. Not until this is over.
If it’s ever really over.
41
Hold On – Chord Overstreet
Break My Heart – Matt Hansen
Joseph practically force-fed me pancakes, shoving the plate in my face until I gave in.
I ate, begrudgingly, and I’ll admit, they weren’t half bad. Kid’s got potential. Even if Harrison did all the work.
It’s midday, the kids are down for their nap, and I’m slouched on the couch with Imogen and Harrison, a mug of coffee cooling in my hands. We’ve been going back over everything Imogen told me earlier—about the threats, the supposed footage, and the message demanding she come back or I’ll be the one facing jailtime. I can feel the anger burning deep in my chest, and it’s not just at Zoe.
“She could have told me,” I say again, because that’s the part that won’t leave me alone. My jaw flexes. “And now she’s there on her own. With that fucking piece of shit.”
“She isn’t alone,” Imogen says, leaning forward a little. “She has her best friend, her lawyer. She’s in safe hands.”
“That doesn’t fucking matter. She shouldn’t have gone. She should have told me.” The words are sharper this time, through gritted teeth.
“And what would you have done?” she asks, her head tilting. “Talked her out of going? Gone with her?”
