Page 4 of Broken Trails
I didn’t answer him. Talk? Now he wanted to talk? As I continued my pursuit, he shoved the clothes out of my hands, backing me against the wardrobe door. His arm pressed into my chest, pinning me, and for a second, I saw red.
“I told you to stop. You’re not going anywhere,” he hissed, his face all twisted in anger.
“Get off me,” I gritted out.
“No. You’re going to let me explain,” he barked, inches from my face.
“Explain what?” I snarled. “That you’re a lying, cheating asshole? That you’ve been screwing your assistant while I’ve been busting my ass trying to keep this sham of a marriage alive? Save it, Liam. I’m done.”
His laugh was cold, bitter. “Done? You’re done? Do you know what it’s been like living with you? You’re never in the mood, never around. What was I supposed to do? Just wait around while you ignore me?” His words hit like a slap, but I didn’t letit show. Instead, I shoved past him, grabbing another handful of clothes.
“You think this is my fault?” I said, spinning to face him. “You think your pathetic excuses justify this? You’ve given me nothing, Liam. Nothing but neglect, control, and bruises I had to explain away to myself. You’re disgusting.”
“You’re not leaving,” he growled, gripping my arm again, so tight it bordered on pain. That time, I yanked it free with every ounce of strength I had left.
“Watch me,” I spat, venom dripping from every word. And I did. I walked out that door with my suitcase in hand, his voice roaring behind me like a desperate animal. The sound grated against my nerves, but I didn’t look back. Not once.
My gut twisted, anxiety clawing at me like a rabid beast. Liam wouldn’t just let this go. He wasn’t built for that. If he had any sense at all—which he clearly didn’t, given his inability to think beyond his dick—he’d know better.
But no. He’s too arrogant, too stupid, too predictable. He won’t let me walk away quietly, not without trying to pull me back into his web. I’d left without telling anyone, knowing they’d find out soon enough. I knew I’d have to tell my best friends, Jeff and Dani, eventually—but what would I even say?
How do you casually explain that the life you’ve carefully built is burning to the ground?
That night, something inside me shattered. Not a crack. Not a chip. A complete and utter break. But it wasn’t the kind of break that leaves you in pieces on the floor. It was the kind that lets you see clearly for the first time. It was the kind that sets you free.
For the first time in years, I was done pretending. Done surviving. Done making excuses for a man who never deserved me. It was over. And I wasn’t just leaving Liam behind. I was leaving the version of myself I’d become—the woman who let him take everything until there was nothing left to give.
I’d jumped on the freeway and driven all night.
Eight hours straight. Pitch-black darkness, white lines blurring into a rhythm that barely kept me sane. How I managed it, I’ll never know. But the adrenaline—the raw, clawing need to escape—kept my foot on the pedal. At one point, I passed a rundown motel, but I kept going. Sleep-deprived or not, I couldn’t shake the thought that if I stopped, Liam might be right behind me. Irrational, maybe, but the worry gnawed at me all the same.
By the time morning broke, I was about thirty minutes out from Wattle Creek, running on fumes in every possible way. I pulled into a petrol station, dragged myself into the grimy bathroom, and stared at the stranger looking back at me in the mirror.
Eyes bloodshot, hair a mess. I didn’t have time to change before bolting—still in my dress and heels from dinner. The heels that were supposed to make me feel powerful now just pinched my feet like a cruel reminder of the life I was running from. I’d splashed cold water on my face and grabbed bottles of water at the counter. No food. No appetite. Just enough to keep me moving.
The cashier didn’t even bother to hide her judgement, giving me that up-and-down glance.
A couple of truckies nearby paused mid-conversation, openly staring at the overdressed woman who looked like she’d been dragged through hell and back.
I didn’t flinch. Shoulders back, chin high, I walked out of there with as much dignity as my blistered feet could manage, heels clicking on the cracked tiles. Let them wonder.
They didn’t know me, and I didn’t owe them shit.
3
Electric Love - BØRNS
The shop’s a bloody oven, and my head’s pounding like a sledgehammer on metal.
Sweat clings to my back under the T-shirt I barely managed to throw on this morning. First mistake? Drinking last night. Second mistake? Showing up to work today.
This place—these four grease-stained walls—belongs to me and Harrison. Officially. A couple of months back, Joe signed the papers over, said it had been a long time coming. That it was always meant to be ours. He’d owned the place since before he got with Mum, kept it running through good years and rough ones, and never once made us feel like we didn’t belong here.
He’ll never know what that meant to me.
Joe came into our lives when I was a scrawny teenager who didn’t talk much, didn’t trust much either. I’d already learnt that fathers were temporary things. That they left damage in their wake and called it love. Joe never asked for our trust, just showed up every day and earned it in quiet ways—showing Harrison how to pull apart an engine, slipping me a set of keys to my first bike, teaching us how to stand our ground without swinging first.
He’s not perfect, but he’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real dad. And this shop… this is more than a business now. It’s proof we made it through. Proof we built something worth keeping.
