Page 86 of Broken Trails
His voice is lower now. Firm. “I understand enough. Enough to know he doesn’t deserve another minute of your time, let alone a legal meeting.”
“I’m not defending him.” The words snap out quicker than I mean them to. “I’m not defending any of it. I just want it over with. I want him out of my life in every possible way.”
Michael leans against the kitchen counter, arms folded, jaw ticking. He’s not pacing. Not raising his voice. But I feel the tension in every inch of him. A coil waiting to snap. He drags a hand through his hair. “So, you’re just gonna drive there, sign your name, and pretend it doesn’t open up those wounds?”
I meet his eyes. “That’s the plan.”
A long pause stretches between us.
“And you’re going alone?”
There’s something different in his voice now. Not quite a question. Not quite approval, either.
I nod. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t plan on staying.”
His features soften for a moment. Just enough to knock the breath from my chest. I don’t know what to do with the way he looks at me. I don’t understand why he keeps showing up. Why he always seems to know when I’m about to come undone. Why the other day, on my doorstep, he looked at me with the kind of quiet intensity that’s been echoing in my head ever since. Like he wantedme.
The moment seared itself into my memory—his hand in my hair, eyes flicking to my mouth, breath caught between us—and I’ve been haunted by it since.
He swipes his iced coffee from the counter, sips, then sets it down without a word. His gaze drags across the room before returning to me. “You shouldn’t have to go alone.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know you can,” he mutters. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
He exhales through his nose. “The car. I don’t trust it.”
“You gave me the car.”
“Yeah.”
“You said it could get me from A to B.”
He shrugs. “To an extent. Or a certain number of kilometres. It’ll probably shit itself if you breathe wrong.”
My head tips back on a groan. “Are you serious?”
He straightens, steps closer, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips now. “Completely.”
My stomach churns. Not because of the car, but because he’s offering. He’s inserting himself into something that feels too messy. Too heavy. Because deep down, I don’t want to go through this alone. He watches me carefully, and when I don’t argue again, his voice drops, steadier now.
“Come on. I’ll drive.”
“Absolutely not. I’m driving.” I stand, brushing my hands down the front of my shorts like it’ll do something to steady me. It doesn’t. I glance toward the half-zipped suitcase, to the emptiness that feels way too familiar. My heart’s not packed. My courage, even less so.
Still, with a dramatic sigh, I jab a finger toward him. “You either sit in the passenger seat, or you stay here.”
His grin spreads, slow and dangerous. “Would it be a bad time to tell you that just turned me on?”
My eyes roll so hard they nearly get stuck. “That’s it. No. Absolutely not.”
His response comes fast. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I had to.” Our eyes meet. That roguish grin reappears, brighter this time, a flash of perfect white teeth behind it. “I like you being bossy.”
He’s testing me. I can feel it. Pushing to see how far he can go, how close he can get before I snap or retreat. But I’m too tired to retreat today. So I don’t say a word. I just plant a hand on my hip and give him a look that would make anyone flinch.
Michael doesn’t flinch.
