Page 115 of Broken Trails
“Sign the papers, Liam,” I say, my voice turning ice-cold. “And get the hell out of my life.”
He spits more blood onto the ground near my feet. “You won’t last here.”
I meet his gaze, calm and determined. “Yeah? Just watch me.”
He lingers. And for a second, I think he might try again, that maybe his ego is still too inflated to accept the blow. But then, slowly, he turns. He walks toward the Audi without another word. But just before he reaches the door, he glances back one final time.
“You were always such a good liar, Zoe,” he mutters. “Pretending you were something more than what you are.” His eyes flick to Michael. “But you’re nothing.”
Michael lunges forward again, fury flashing in his eyes, but Harrison holds him tight.
“Don’t,” Harrison snaps. “He’s not worth it.”
And he’s not. He never was.
“You can have her now, mate,” Liam calls out to Michael, and I scrunch my nose in disgust. At his words.
Michael doesn’t flinch. “Already have,” he bites out. “No need to tell me.”
At that, Liam climbs into his car and slams the door shut. Tyres squeal against the concrete as he drives off, leaving nothing but the stench of whisky and bitterness behind. The second Liam’s taillights vanish into the black, Harrison exhales hard and mutters under his breath.
“Fuck. Feels like déjà vu.”
I turn slightly, catching the tight pull of emotion across Harrison’s face as he looks at Michael—like he’s seeing a version of himself. Or maybe the version of his brother he always hoped would show up when it mattered most. “I’m proud of you, mate.”
Michael doesn’t respond, not with words. He just nods, jaw tight, body still coiled. And then he strides straight for me.
His hand reaches for my thigh, for the spot where Liam’s spit still lingers, and does the last thing I thought he would do.
He wipes it away.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice quieter now.
“I’m fine.” It comes out too sharp, too fast.
His brows twitch. “You don’t look fine.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I add, stepping back. “You’re hurt.”
He shrugs. “Don’t give a fuck.”
“Michael—”
“He doesn’t get to run his mouth like that. Not about you.”
The wall comes up so fast I barely notice it clicking into place. One blink and I’m retreating, stone-faced and stiff. My body knows how to protect itself. After years of trauma, it’s been trained to flinch when someone cares too much. He shouldn’t care this much.
“You should go.”
His whole body jerks, like I’ve slapped him. “Fuck no. I’m not going anywhere. Not after that.” He’s sobered up completely. His eyes are alert now. No longer glassy. Anger still burns behind them, but it’s grounded in something else.
Harrison glances between us, like he already knows this isn’t his place. He gives a short nod. “You sure you don’t need anything?”
“We’re good,” Michael replies, gaze locked on mine.
Xavier calls out from the drive. “We’ll call tomorrow.”
“Text us,” Isla adds. “You better.”
