Page 89 of Broken Trails
Liam’s mouth opens, but I don’t give him the space to speak.
“You gaslit me for years. Bent the truth until I couldn’t recognise myself. Made me feel like I was going insane while you played house with anyone who’d look your way. And now you want answers?”
“I want to know why you’re throwing all of this away,” he snaps.
I laugh. It’s cold and bitter. A sound that doesn’t belong to the girl who once cried over him. “Fuck you. Throwing it away? I’m having a do-over. Throwing away rubbish is more like it. There’s a difference.”
His jaw tics. His lawyer glances down at his notes, suddenly very interested in anything but this conversation. I push out ofmy chair, stepping right into Liam’s space. I don’t care if it’s unprofessional. I don’t care if the lawyers think I’m unhinged.
“You don’t fucking own me,” I growl, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You never fucking did.”
He moves to grab my wrist, an action I wouldn’t always see coming. But I see it now. I dodge him, stepping back like my body knew the move before I did. Rage blazes in my chest, all-consuming. “Don’t you fucking touch me. Ever again.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. They rise, hot and fast, but I blink them away. Force them back down into the pit he carved out in me. Because he doesn’t get to see me cry.
Jeff stands abruptly, palm hitting the table with a thud that startles the silence.
“I think we end this here,” he says, voice clipped but calm, laced with steel. “My client needs time away from this environment. As you can clearly see, Mr. De Luca’s presence is triggering and inappropriate at this stage of negotiation.”
Liam leans back, all smug and infuriating. But I’m already turning. Done. I let him sit with it. Let him rot in the silence I leave behind. Because I’m not the girl he broke. I’m the woman who got back up. And this is me walking out on my own damn terms.
My heels click against the tiled floor as I walk out. My chest tightens, and my breathing becomes shallow. The fire in my veins from moments ago now flickers into exhaustion. I swing the door open, and as soon as I step into the long hallway, I spot Michael.
Already standing. Waiting for me.
He pushes off the wall the second our eyes meet. His steps are fast but measured, closing the distance in a heartbeat. One hand lifts, fingers brushing lightly against my cheekbone, tracing the edge of my jaw as his gentle eyes search mine.
“Did he touch you?” His voice is low, rougher than usual. “Your eyes are red.”
I force a shallow breath. My throat aches. “No. I’m fine. Just… please. I need to go.”
Something shifts in his expression, but he doesn’t press. He nods once, jaw tight, and turns without another word. We walk to the car, his stride easy, mine slower, heavier. He reaches it first and swings the passenger door open for me. It’s such a simple thing, barely a second of effort, but it hits me in the chest so hard I almost want to cry. I slide in, limbs rigid, lungs still burning with everything I didn’t say. Michael doesn’t ask again. Doesn’t speak.
Just gets behind the wheel, starts the car, and drives. And this time, I don’t argue.
28
Hesitate – Jonas Brothers
“Sky’s turning,” I mutter, glancing up at the clouds stretched thick across the sky. “Storm’ll hit soon.”
I get no response. Zoe’s still glued to her phone, thumb tapping steadily. Hasn’t looked up once in the past hour. Not since we pulled out of the city. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s just… loaded. Like her whole body’s wired tight, and if she speaks, it’ll all unravel. I check the rearview, then glance sideways at her again. Her brows pinch slightly as she types, focused on whatever message she’s writing.
The sky darkens. Fast.
She finally looks up and squints through the windscreen. “Oh shit. Where did all that come from?”
“Dunno, might’ve been building for the last hundred Ks while you’ve been texting the entire population of New South Wales.”
She huffs a small laugh, low and tired, but it’s something. After we left the city, we stopped at a café just off the highway. She refused food. Claimed she wasn’t hungry. Said it with that same polite distance she’s been wrapping herself in all day. So I ordered her that green grass drink thing she swears by, and she accepted it with a soft thank you.
What she doesn’t know is that I threw in a blueberry muffin and a chicken sandwich before we left. Both still warm, tucked in the bottom of the takeaway bag between us. Just in case.
She said she wanted to head back to Wattle Creek. No point staying overnight anymore, and I didn’t argue with her. Time crawled as I waited outside that office, pacing footpaths and watching strangers walk by. But now it’s slipped past without me realising. It’s already four. We’ve been driving half the day, halfway home, and the weather’s turning to shit.
The windshield wipers start working harder now, and I squint through the blur.
If the parts had arrived earlier this week, this wouldn’t be a problem. I should’ve driven my ute. Hell, I should’ve insisted. The car rattles slightly beneath my grip.
