Page 141 of Broken Trails
I think about it, and yeah, probably.
Imogen huffs a small laugh. “That’s exactly why she didn’t. And that’s exactly what she wrote, isn’t it? You Price brothers are too stubborn for your own good. It’s both a blessing and incredibly annoying.” She rolls her eyes, but it doesn’t cut through the weight in my chest. I can’t find it in me to laugh, but she’s right. I let out a slow breath, my voice rough.
“I just need… to know she’s safe.” My throat tightens, and I hate how it sounds.
“She’s a strong woman. You know this, Mikey. Just give her time.”
“How much time?” I smack my hands against my knees. “This is so fucked. My fucking chest hurts.” I rub the spot, trying to knead out the ache. “I can’t get rid of it. I’ve been feeling it all morning. Last night—” I shake my head, embarrassed to even be saying it out loud. “Last night it felt… different. I don’t know how to explain it. And now it fucking hurts.”
I bow my head forward, pinching the bridge of my nose, willing the burn in my eyes to back off.
Imogen’s voice is quiet but steady when she says, “That’s love.” And it truly fucking rocks me. “You love her,” she adds, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.
Before I can say anything, Harrison leans forward, clapping a hand against my shoulder. “Mate, you’ve got it bad,” he says with a grin that’s softer than usual. “I mean, I’m proud, but also, this is hilarious. Didn’t think I’d see the day my little brother turned into a lovesick idiot.”
I shake my head, but the corner of my mouth twitches despite everything. “She better fucking come home,” I mutter.
“Then tell her that,” Harrison says simply.
I pull my phone out and type a message—short, blunt, all I can manage without letting more spill out.
Me:You better be safe.
Me:We need to talk when you come home.
Even if she doesn’t reply, at least I’ve said it.
“Pass the mint sauce, will you?” Mum’s voice carries over the clink of cutlery and the low hum of the oven fan.
It’s just after seven, and I’m having dinner with her and Joe. The table’s already set, roast lamb taking pride of place in the centre, the smell of it filling every corner of the house. I keep the conversation easy, steering it away from anything heavy. I tellher work’s been steady, the shop’s ticking over fine, the race is still on my radar, and that we’re all good.
She gives me a pointed look, the kind that makes it clear she’s not just talking about the job. I know exactly what Harrison’s been saying to her—how I’ve been “distracted,” maybe “too wrapped up” in someone.
So I reach across, cover her hand with mine, and say, “We’re good, Mum. Don’t listen to everything Harrison tells you. He worries too much.”
The lines around her eyes ease. “That’s all I need to hear.”
When dinner’s over, I get up to take my plate to the kitchen, and before I go, I lean down, kiss the top of Mum’s head, and wrap her in a quick hug. She smells like rosemary and laundry powder, a scent that hits differently now than it did when I was younger. Now it’s a comfort I didn’t realise I’d been missing.
Halfway through clearing the table, she catches me with that knowing stare. “You gonna tell us about this girl you’ve been spending all your time with?”
I narrow my eyes. “How do you know about her?”
“Oh, your brother told me.” She crosses her arms. “Well, Imogen did.”
Of course she did.
“She’s not a girl,” I correct her, shaking my head with a small smile. “She’s all woman.”
Her eyebrows lift, the smile tugging wider at her mouth. “Sounds serious.”
I smirk. “Something like that.” And what an understatement that is. It’s more than that. So much more. I just wish she were here, because I don’t know how much longer I can take not seeing her.
“You like her.” It’s not a question.
I huff a quiet laugh, but the truth lodges heavy in my chest. I don’t just like her.
Iloveher.
