Page 71 of Broken Trails
The silence that stretches between us is thick and self-satisfied on Harrison’s part. He knows me too well. That’s the problem with brothers. They don’t need answers to know the truth. The front roller door rattles, and Xavier strolls in, coffee tray in hand, sunnies still on despite being inside.
“Morning, grease monkeys. You’re welcome.”
I reach for the iced long black without looking up. “What broke this time?”
“Battery keeps dying. Pretty sure it’s the alternator, but I figured I’d let the professionals confirm before I made it worse,” Xavier grumbles, dropping onto the old barstool near the bench.
I grunt. “You want it fixed or just made worse with flair?”
He points at me. “You say that like they’re not the same outcome.”
Harrison snorts. “He’s just bitter because he’s got a crush.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but they both catch the twitch in my jaw. The way I don’t argue. Because they’re not wrong. Not entirely. And it’s easier to let them tease, easier to roll my eyes and act unaffected, than admit what’s actually got me fucked up today.
I’ve been checking my phone like a goddamn idiot. I even drafted a text about Sprinkles three times before I finally settled on:
I hope Sprinkles hasn’t destroyed anything today.
Maybe I should get her a jungle gym?
Still no reply. Not that I’m checking.
I force myself into work. Hands to metal. Head down. Strip a bolt. Replace a radiator seal. Anything that keeps me moving.Busy. Distracted. But the quiet moments sneak in anyway. And in those moments? It’s always her.
And fuck me, if that doesn’t sit heavy in my chest. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I know I’m not done thinking about her. Not even close.
The door creaks as I push into the granny flat, the stale scent of silence greeting me like an old friend. There’s nothing but the soft buzz of the fridge and the faint echo of my footsteps as I step inside and kick off my shoes.
Three-seater lounge, one TV, no coffee table. Just an empty bedroom that I sleep in, not live in. I never bothered to fill the place out, because what for? Visits from my friends and family are rare. Everyone has their own thing going on now. I eat standing up. Watch the footy from the floor. I’ve got what I need. Except tonight, it feels… hollow. I grab a beer from the fridge, the cold glass sweating in my palm. I don’t even take a sip before I sit on the edge of the lounge and pull my phone from my pocket. My pulse kicks.
Because there’s a text notification. Not just one, but two texts from Zoe.
Zoe: A jungle gym? Do I even want to look it up?
Zoe: But no. She’s actually been pretty good today.
A smile tugs at the edge of my mouth before I can stop it. I type back quickly.
Me: I’d say progress. Might need to call Isla and let her know she’s officially reformed.
Zoe: Don’t jinx it. I’ve still got the rest of the night to survive. That’s usually when she goes feral.
Me: Ah, the good ol’ zoomies.
Zoe: Zoomies? Is that a Gen Z term?
Me: Yeah, probs. It’s what you call it when animals get random bursts of energy. For cats it’s usually at night because they nap most of the day. Plus hunting instincts n all that.
Zoe: And you know this because?
Me: I googled it. Your age is showing, Freckles.
Zoe: You don’t know my age.
I stare at the screen, lips twitching. My thumb hovers like I’ve got something else to say, but I don’t. Not anything I should, anyway. That was… normal, right? No dryness, no avoidance. Which brings me to the part that’s now eating at my brain. I have no idea how old she actually is.
It’s not exactly something I’d thought about until now. But her reaction when I’d told her I was twenty-seven? Yeah. That look wasn’t “oh, same,” it was more like “oh… yikes.”
