Page 142 of Broken Trails
I fucking loveher.
We finish up, and I’m about to head back to my flat when my phone buzzes on the counter. It’s Jono from work.
Jono:You keen for a hang?
I don’t even have to guess—it means a couple of beers and a joint or two, the same routine we’ve had for a while now. But I haven’t touched that shit in months. Not since Zoe. And now cigarettes.
Me:I’ll come for a hang. Maybe a beer. No doob for me.
I pocket the phone, throw my jacket on, and tell Mum I’ll see her soon. I grab my helmet and keys, the cool night air cutting through my leather jacket as I step outside. The Ducati growls to life under me, that familiar vibration settling in my bones.
Before I take off, I hover over Zoe’s name on my phone, staring at a photo of the two of us in bed—a selfie she took one night—her hair messy, my arm thrown around her.
It makes me smile, and I press the call button, holding the phone to my ear. It rings once, twice, before going straight to voicemail.
Figures.
I slip the phone back into my pocket, shake my head, and roll out onto the street, the cool night air biting against my skin.
The streets are dead, just me and the low hum of the engine. My head drifts whether I want it to or not. I wonder where she is, if she’s truly safe, if she’s even thinking about me. Usually, there are a hundred things running through my mind when I ride, but not tonight. Tonight, it’s just her. That stubborn smirk. Thatlaugh that gets under my skin and sits there, like it doesn’t plan on leaving anytime soon. I make a turn onto a main road.
They say when your life flashes before your eyes, it happens in an instant. I’ve never really thought about it before, never believed in the cliché. But as I lean into the next bend, I swear it happens—even if it’s just for a second.
Her face.
Clear as day.
42
Bless The Broken Road - Rascal Flats
Do It All Again - Lauren Spencer Smith
I’ve got nothing clever in me this morning. No sarcastic jabs. No bite.
Just exhaustion.
I didn’t sleep a second last night. I stayed curled up on Dani’s couch, replaying the shit-show with Liam in my head until the sun came up.
Jeff and the other lawyers handled it exactly how I needed them to—professionally, unshakably, and entirely on my side. Turns out my gut was right all along.
The dash cam? Complete bluff.
He had nothing on Michael. Nothing on me. Just smoke and intimidation.
When Jeff called him out, his own embarrassment forced his hand, and he agreed to settle the divorce—seventy per cent to me, thirty to him. I should feel triumphant, and I do, but it’s bittersweet. I shouldn’t have had to bleed for this win. The meeting wrapped quickly. Liam stormed out without a word, his jaw locked, his pride in tatters.
Dani’s laugh burst across the room. “You should’ve seen the look on his face.”
Jeff smirked, shaking his head. “Good fucking riddance.”
Yeah, I am happy. But I’ve been here too long. My skin itches with the need to get back.
I’d kept my phone off the entire time—no distractions, no chance of caving and calling Michael. But the moment I switch it back on, it jolts to life in my hand, buzzing so hard it feels like it might leap free. Three missed calls from Imogen. One from Isla. One from Michael.
My stomach knots instantly.
A text thread from our group chat lights up the screen:
