Page 123 of Broken Trails
I almost say no. But I nod instead. Not because I’m hungry. Just because maybe I need something familiar to grab onto before my head explodes.
Their house smells like toasted cheese and warm baby wipes—somehow comforting and chaotic all at once. Hope’s squawking in the bouncer, Joseph’s on the rug with a truck in each hand,and Imogen’s in the kitchen holding a baby bottle like it’s a wine glass. When she sees me, her eyes narrow. “You look like shit.”
“Cheers,” I mutter, dropping into the armchair.
Harrison chuckles and throws a rolled-up tea towel at my head. “Don’t mind her. She’s been waiting all morning to say that.”
I smirk, barely. “Well, she’s not wrong.”
Joseph beelines toward me and plants himself at my feet. “You look sad, Uncle Mike.”
I smirk at him, taken aback by his abruptness. “Do I?”
He nods, all serious. “You need a hug.”
I reach down and pull him into my lap, his arms wrapping tight around my neck. My chest clenches like he’s rewired something. Imogen watches, her expression softening. “You’ve got that look again. The one you used to get when you didn’t want to admit anything was wrong.”
I don’t respond.
She hands Hope to Harrison and sits on the edge of the coffee table, facing me. “She means something to you.” It’s not a question.
I shrug.
Imogen raises a brow. “Michael.”
I rub a hand down my face, sighing. “She’s dealing with shit. And I get it. I do. I know what it’s like to shut people out when it feels easier than letting them help.”
Harrison speaks up quietly. “Exactly. That’s what you’re doing too.”
I glance at him. “What?”
“You’re shuttingusout.”
Imogen leans in. “You’ve distanced yourself. From us. From your mum. And I get it—Zoe’s… intense. What you feel for her is intense. But it’s like nothing else exists when she’s in the room.”
I shift uncomfortably. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”
“No one ever does,” she says gently. “But Michael, we’ve seen this before.”
She glances at Harrison, and he nods slowly, voice quieter now. “Dr. Lowes said people like us—the ones with heavy childhood trauma—we’re drawn to mess. To chaos. Not because we like it, but because weunderstandit.”
My throat tightens.
“She said we gravitate to people who reflect what we felt as kids,” Harrison goes on. “Because it’s familiar. Even when it’s hard. Even when it hurts.”
Imogen’s voice softens. “And I worry.Weworry.” She nods toward Harrison.
He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “Mum asked me yesterday if she did something wrong. Said you’ve been… off with her. And she’s right. You have.”
That hits. Because I hadn’t noticed. Not really. But now that he’s said it, I think back—and fuck. He’s right.
Every time she’s reached for me lately, I’ve pulled away. Brushed it off. Because I’ve been so wrapped up in Zoe. In all of it.
“She didn’t deserve that,” I murmur.
“No, she didn’t,” Harrison says quietly. “But I get it. Someone new comes into your orbit, and suddenly, it’s the only thing your mind wants. And you forget. Not because you’re selfish, but because you finally feelsomethingagain. And that feeling’s addictive.”
I look down at Joseph in my lap, his head resting on my chest now. “I’m not good at this.”
