Page 80 of Broken Trails
“I’m not gonna sugarcoat this,” he says. “You need to come to Sydney next week.”
The words hit before I have time to prepare. My spine stiffens. “What?”
“Liam’s lawyer filed an intent to claim his share of the apartment,” he says carefully. “He’s going after everything he thinks he can take.”
My stomach sinks, the wine suddenly bitter on my tongue. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were. I’ll let you know a day and time. We’re already drafting a response, but we need you to show up. Sign things. Be present. Show that you’re fighting this, not disappearing into the countryside hoping it’ll go away.”
“Right.” I swallow down the lump lodged in my throat.
“I told you to get a prenup.”
“You tell me a lot of things.” I level him with a look.
“He also told you not to marry him,” Dani says, picking at a piece of lint on her blazer jacket.
“And I was right on both counts,” Jeff says, straightening again, his chin tilted in mock pride. “Which officially makes me the best and wisest gay man you know.”
“You’re the only gay man I know.”
He winks. “Exactly.”
The tension in the room cracks just slightly, and I hear Dani’s voice cut in behind me as she shuffles back into the cushions of my too-small couch, feet tucked up beneath her.
“By the way,” she says casually, “I checked in with Elizabeth last week. She’s doing a brilliant job with your team. Nailed the client pitches, keeping everyone in line.
“She should be doing well. I trained her.”
Dani smiles. “Then you should check in. They’d love to hear from you. You’re still their person, Zo. Even from here.”
“I will,” I murmur, though my throat tightens around the words. “Soon.”
There’s a pause. A shared moment of comfortable silence. Then the inevitable comes.
“So… what have you actually been doing?” Jeff asks, dragging the question out slowly, eyebrows lifted.
I lift my shoulders, suddenly hyper-aware of how little I have to offer. “Honestly? Not much. Trying to settle. I didn’t want to come back, but it’s… been okay.”
“Okay?” Dani repeats, already suspicious.
“I met some people. There’s this woman, Imogen. Her friends have been welcoming.”
“Wow,” Jeff says, with a hand over his heart. “Replaced us already.”
“You traitor,” Dani adds, gasping theatrically. But I have been trying. Not to replace them, but to survive. So I give them a rundown of my time here in Wattle Creek, keeping it light, brief. Just enough to paint the picture without inviting questions I’m not ready to answer. I tell them about the town—the café that overcharges for burnt coffee, the bakery where the owner gossips more than she bakes, the stares I still get when I walk into a room like I don’t belong here. Which, maybe I don’t. But I’m pretending I do.
What I don’t mention is everything else.
I don’t tell them about the night I rode a motorbike for the first time and felt an adrenaline pulse through my chest in a way I hadn’t since my early twenties. I don’t tell them how that rush felt like breathing for the first time in years. Or how Liam hated anything with an engine louder than a luxury sedan, so I’d dulled that part of me to keep the peace. How I’m starting to wonder if I’ve dulled other parts, too.
And I definitely don’t mention Michael.
Talking to Jeff and Dani has always been easy. Natural. But that’s the thing about knowing someone for years—they see the shifts. The weight behind what you don’t say. And I’m not ready to hand them that.
Jeff interrupts just as I’m finishing my summary, tilting his head. “Hold on,” he says, eyes narrowing in mock accusation. “Didn’t you say you hated this town?”
I cross my arms. “I do.”
