Page 31 of Broken Trails
Harrison smirks. “Right. So you just go around buying random women cats?”
“It wasn’t just a cat—it was temporary companionship. For her. She looked like she needed it.”
Harrison snorts. “And you just decided to play Good Samaritan out of the kindness of your heart?” His face stays neutral, but his eyes—that resemble mine—are lit with that familiar, smug amusement he never bothers to hide.
“Isla reckons there’s something going on between you two. Care to explain?” Xavier adds.
“There’s literally nothing going on.”
“Really?” He laughs, pushing off the bonnet. “Because from what I heard, the day you two met? Sparks were flying.”
I scoff and shake my head, dust clinging to the sweat on my neck. “Where the fuck are you hearing this?”
Xavier shoots a knowing grin toward Harrison and nudges him in the ribs. Harrison doesn't flinch, just lifts a brow like he’s waiting for me to trip over myself. I sigh and pull a cigarette from the pack in my pocket, lighting it with a flick of my thumb. The first drag hits my lungs like relief. I don’t need their shit today, not when I’ve already got too much of my own rattling around in my head.
“She came into the shop,” Harrison says as he settles beside Xavier. “What? A couple weeks ago? You were all stiff shoulders and tight jaw, like someone punched you in the chest just looking at her. And she wasn’t much better. Eyes darting all around the place, death-staring at you. The tension was unreal.”
“Fuck, I wish I was there to see that.” Xavier lets out a low whistle, dragging his fingers through his hair. “Would’ve paid good money to watch you fumble your way through that interaction.”
“It was like watching Imogen the first time I saw her,” Harrison adds. “Same look. I reckon the bloke’s in love.”
“Oh, fuck off,” I mutter, exhaling a stream of smoke as I shift my weight from one foot to the other. I flick ash to the dirt and run a hand over the back of my neck. The cigarette dangles between my fingers, and the familiar weight of it anchors me while they carry on with their shit-stirring.
“So, who is she then?”
I pause, my gaze drifting past them to the edge of the open track. I take another drag, letting the silence sit a moment before answering. “Dunno,” I admit. “Someone just passing through. But she’s got family here, so who knows how long she’ll stay. She’s pretty closed off.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” Harrison murmurs. I ignore his jab, though part of me hears it louder than I should. Maybe that’s why she caught my attention in the first place. She’s not a puzzle I need to solve. Just someone I can’t seem to ignore.
“You gonna invite her to the race this weekend?” Xavier asks.
I snort. “Nah. She’d bite my head off for asking.”
“Since when are you afraid of a little challenge?” Harrison steps closer, folding his arms.
“She’ll say no.”
“So what?” Xavier shrugs. “What’s the harm in asking anyway?”
I run a hand over my buzzed hair. They have a point. I don’t even know what I’d be asking her for. To watch me prove something to a crowd that doesn’t matter? Or to stand there and see the version of me I only ever show on the track?
Xavier’s watching me too closely now. “You’re thinking about it.”
I flick the cigarette butt away. “I’m thinking about finishing another lap and wiping that smug look off your face.”
He laughs, already grabbing his stopwatch. “Bring it.”
This time, when I take off, I don’t think about the race. I don’t think about Xavier’s teasing or the way Harrison can read my silences better than my words. I just ride. The wind hits harder now, cooler, biting at my skin as I tear down the track again. The corners feel sharper, the straights longer, but it’s all familiar. My body knows every shift, every pivot. The fear that used to ride shotgun with me is long gone—burnt out of me after years of surviving things I never speak aloud. When I come to a stop, ground crunching beneath my tyres, I look over to see Xavier staring down at the stopwatch, eyebrows lifted.
“New record?” I ask.
He nods slowly, almost like he doesn’t want to admit it. “By two seconds. That final lap? Perfect run.” A strange sort of satisfaction settles deep in my chest.
“You’ll win,” Harrison says from beside me. “I can feel it.”
Pressing my helmet to my thigh, I tip my head toward my brother. “Yeah. Me too.” But even as I ready myself to leave, my thoughts uncontrollably drift—not to the finish line, but to the woman with emerald eyes that don’t flinch, and a guarded mouth. The woman who didn’t ask for a cat, or me, or anything at all, and yet, somehow, she’s the one thing I can’t stop circling back to.
The shower’s running hot enough to fog up the room, steam curling over the mirror. I brace one hand against the tiled wall, hunched forward, letting the spray pound into my back, washing off the day’s sweat, grease, and track dust. I should be thinking about the race. Should be replaying that perfect final lap. But my head’s a traitor, and all it wants to serve me is Zoe. That fucking hair—rich copper in the sun. Those green eyes, as sharp as glass with an undercurrent she can’t hide. The way she rolls them. Christ, even the sound of her voice is under my skin. I don’t want to be this interested. I don’t want to care about what she’s doing or if she does, in fact, say no when I ask her to come to the race. I’ve made a damn art form out of not letting anyone in, and yet here she is—wedged into every corner of my brain without even trying. And it’s that thought—her, walking into the shop thatfirst day, city clothes and fire in her eyes, glaring at me like she’d rather eat glass than ask for my help—that does it. My cock’s already hard, pressed against my thigh, and I’m swearing under my breath. I bite my lip, a low growl slipping out as I reluctantly fist myself, working it quickly. It’s not gentle. It’s desperate, fast—because I shouldn’t be doing this. Not over her. But fuck, the way she’d look spread out under me, hair fanned over my pillow, chest rising fast. Those perfect lips parted. Heavy breaths drag through my nose, chest heaving. Hell, if I had her here willingly, she’d probably smart off just to get me riled up, and I’d shut her up with my mouth between her legs until she was shaking. I’d make her beg, make her choke on my name.
