Page 39 of Broken Trails
Not bad. Not great either. I pull off to the side, lifting my visor. The crowd’s on their feet, cheers echoing across the track. I take a breath, let it out slowly, and run a hand over my jaw as I make my way over to the group.
The Esky lid thuds shut behind me. I grab a beer, crack it open with more force than necessary, and take a long pull. The rim of the bottle has barely grazed my lips when Xavier’s arm hooks around my neck, locking me in a sudden chokehold. “Second place, mate! Fucking weapon.”
Harrison’s slap to my back is next, though it feels more like a shove. “That corner on lap four? Christ. You practically kissed the ground.”
I shrug. “Meh. Still came second.”
“Don’t start,” Harrison mutters. “You rode hard. Top shelf shit.”
I nod, but my eyes are already scanning the crowd. Caps. Sunglasses. Dust kicked up from boots, and kids tearing past, chips in hand.
But not her.
And I don’t know why I’m even looking. It doesn’t make sense.
She’s not easy. Not warm. Half the time, she looks like she’d rather throttle me than talk. She keeps her walls so high, I’m not sure if there even is a door. I’ve met women like that before—beautiful, brittle, with something behind their eyes they don’t let anyone see. And I never stuck around long enough to try. But Zoe? She’s different.
Or maybe I’m the one who is different around her.
Of course, Harrison picks up on it and tips his chin toward the food stalls. “C’mon. Girls are over by the trucks. I could use a feed.”
He’s already walking before I can blink, and Xavier falls into stride beside him, talking about something I don’t catch. I follow them because I’m in no mood to just stand around. The sun is setting low now, coating everything in that late arvo glow. Kids race between legs with melted snow cones, someone’s old ute plays country tunes, and the smell of onions, hot chips, and burnt oil hangs heavy in the air. Everyone’s laughing. Easy. Relaxed. But I can’t shake the restlessness sitting under my skin.
I’m only halfway to the food stalls when I get sidetracked. A group of women veers into my path—heels clacking, laughter loud, eyes already locked on me. One of the women steps forward, and my eyes scan her face before recognition sets in.
Dark curls, tanned skin, mouth painted in something glossy and red. She’s shorter than I remember, but it clicks—The Loose Lasso, about a month back. Her name escapes me. I’m usually decent at remembering that sort of thing, but apparently not anymore.
She must catch the flicker of recognition—or lack of it—because she lets out a light laugh and holds out her hand, confidently. “Sophia. We’ve met before.”
“We have, indeed,” I reply with a quick nod, trying to smooth over the lag in memory. One of her friends slides up beside her and taps my arm.
“You were insane out there,” she says, all lashes and perfume. “Looked real good on that bike.”
“Thank you,” I offer, polite but flat, pairing it with a smile that probably doesn’t hit my eyes. The others echo her. More compliments. Flirting. Questions I don’t really have answers for. Because I’m already drifting—my mind elsewhere. Eyes scanning for someone who’s not here for the show. That’s when I spot her.
Zoe.
She’s standing beneath a string of fairy lights, arms folded, chin lifted just enough to make a point. That red hair of hers catches the glow, and for a split second, it stops me cold. But it’s her eyes that land the real blow. Sharp. Piercing. Focused on me with just enough bite to let me know she’s not impressed in the slightest.
She’s surrounded by the others—Imogen, Isla, my brother—people who know each other inside out. She should look out of place. But she doesn’t. Not even a little. There’s something about the way she stands there, watching it all like she’s already decided how long she’ll let herself stay.
And I get the feeling she won’t be here long. Maybe she’s already planning her exit. Someone beside me says something.Another comment, but I don’t hear it. Because Zoe rolls her eyes. A slow, deliberate roll that slices through the noise around me and lands like a punch straight to the chest.
There she is. The woman who’s somehow managed to take up space in my thoughts without even trying. I don’t stop to think. Don’t bother making excuses.
“Sorry, I’ve gotta go. Nice seeing ya.”
I drop my beer into the rubbish bin and turn on my heel. As I close the distance, heads turn. Isla’s grin widens, and Imogen lifts a hand in a wave. Before I can say a word, I’m swallowed up in a rush of hugs and claps on the back.
“You killed it!” Isla beams, eyes bright under the brim of her black cowboy hat.
“Proud of you, Mikey boy,” Imogen adds, looping an arm around my shoulder before stepping back. She’s the only other person I’ll let call me that, Harrison being the first. It’s just our thing.
“Second never looked so good,” Olivia teases.
“Yeah, yeah,” I murmur, shaking a few more hands. “Thanks.”
But my eyes are already on her. Zoe watches me approach with a single brow raised, arms still folded. “You came,” I say, stopping just short of her.
