Page 75 of Broken Trails
“Zoe, we need to talk. You don’t get to fucking disappear and pretend none of this happened. I don’t care where you are, or who you think you’re hiding behind. Don’t think I won’t come find you. Like I can’t easily find where Wattle Creek is.”
The voicemail was deleted from my text thread in an instant. So tell me why I am navigating through the Phone app, clicking on voicemail, and replaying it again.
And again.
I sit here, still as stone, the morning silence pressing against me while Liam’s voice slithers through my speaker. There’s no rage. No raised tone. Just that cold, steady composure he always used when he wanted me scared without raising a hand. A calm kind of threat. The worst kind.
Finally, I swipe to delete it, ridding it from my history log. I stare down at the phone like it might burn a hole through my leg. The message might be gone now, but the feeling it left behind lingers like smoke after a fire.
Sprinkles curls tighter beside me on the couch, her small body pressing into my hip. Her fur is soft, warm, against my skin. It should be enough to anchor me, to slow the unease rattling beneath my skin. But it doesn’t. My breath is shallow, and my pulse thrums like it’s trying to outrun the thoughts clawing their way to the surface.
I can’t sit still.
I get up, needing to do something, anything. The silence feels too loud now. The bathroom tiles are cold under my feet as I step inside and twist the tap. The spray hits my shoulders before I’m fully ready, scalding hot. Steam floods the space almost instantly, brushing the mirror, fogging up the glass, wrapping the air in thick, damp silence. I lean my head back and close my eyes. The water stings, but I don’t turn it down. I lather my hair until it squeaks between my fingers, and the scent of rosemary fills my nose. Then again, harder this time. Fingertips dragging through my scalp like I can scrub away the echo of his voice.
I wash my skin the same way. My arms. My neck. The inside of my wrists. As if I can rinse away the weight he still manages to leave behind. But it doesn’t work. It never does.
By the time I’m out of the shower, towel wrapped tight around me, steam still clinging to my skin, my phone buzzes across the counter.
Jeff:Call me. Dani says hi. Miss your face.
A breath catches somewhere between my ribs and comes out as a soft, surprised laugh. Not the graceful kind. The kind that scrapes a little on the way up because I wasn’t expecting it. Because relief always feels like a betrayal after panic. I swipe to FaceTime. It rings twice before Jeff’s face fills the screen, already grinning. Moments later, Dani joins the call.
“There she is. Our runaway bride.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face.
Dani leans into frame, already mid-eye roll. “Are you in a towel? Damn. Didn’t know we were invited to a spa day.”
“Shut up,” I mumble, but my mouth curves despite myself.
Suddenly and with impeccable timing, apparently, Sprinkles hops up into my lap, her tail flicks across the screen, and Dani lets out a yelp.
“What the actual fuck is that?!”
Jeff leans forward, squinting. “Hold on. Is that a cat? No way. You have an animal?”
“She’s not mine,” I start, even though the purring lump in my lap says otherwise.
Jeff shakes his head. “You? With a cat? Are you feeling alright?”
“I knew it,” Dani cuts in, voice smug. “You’re fully in your country-girl era. Next, you’ll be knitting booties and entering pie contests.”
Jeff grins. “Nah. Not pies. She’s more of a passive-aggressive lemon tart type.”
I snort. “Oh, shut up. I found her on the side of the road, so I took her to the vet. Someone adopted her, then dropped her back off at my doorstep.”
Dani raises a brow. “And this someone…?”
“Just a local,” I say too quickly, brushing imaginary lint off my knee. Jeff tilts his head, the way he does when he’s smelling bullshit from a mile away. I meet his stare, daring him to push. He doesn’t. Because he knows me. Knows the boundaries I don’t always say aloud. The banter softens. That easy silence falls into place—the kind you only get with the people who’ve seen all your ugly and never walked away.
Jeff exhales. “Zoe… someone spotted Liam at a party Jordan hosted in Potts Point. Said he’s been telling people you left him without a word.”
“What?”
“He’s spinning stories. Making himself the victim,” Jeff says, his jaw set. “Said you cleaned him out and ghosted.”
The ache starts deep. A heavy, slow bloom behind my ribs. I try to swallow it down, but it tastes bitter in my mouth. Dani’s voice lowers.
