Page 52 of Broken Trails
I’m humiliated. I’m angry. And I’m so fucking tired of acting like I’m okay.
And fuck them—fuck every single one of those women—for making me feel this small, this exposed, this stripped bare in the first place. The kitten watches me from across the room, headtilted, tail flicking low. Her eyes track every gasp, every sob that wracks through me.
After a moment, she pads over, slow and cautious, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed. “Go away,” I whisper, voice breaking. I don’t want her to feel this. Ridiculous, maybe, to think a cat could absorb pain, but the thought of spilling this ache onto a helpless animal feels cruel.
At what age is a person supposed to have their life together? Because at thirty-six, I’m most definitely not there. I don’t even know if I’m close.
And right now, that truth burns almost as much as the shame.
My hand crawls across the floor, shaking, searching for something—anything—until it hits the leather of my handbag. I drag it toward me, tear the zip open, rifling through the mess until my fingers close around my phone. Tears blur my vision, but I push through them anyway, and I don’t think. I just press buttons.
Until the screen lights up with his name.
19
Breathe Me by Sia
The socket wrench slips from my grip and clatters to the ground, landing somewhere under the ute I’ve been working on for the past hour. I don’t bother reaching for it. My phone’s buzzing across the workbench behind me, screen lighting up with a name that makes my brow tighten.
That’s… odd.
She never calls.
Text? Sure. But even then, they’re usually short, barely even a full sentence. Always after I’ve messaged first. Always about the cat. But a phone call? From Zoe? In the middle of the day?
Something’s definitely not right. I swipe at my screen to answer it, just as Harrison walks out from the side, his expression pulled tight, and phone clutched in his hand.
“Bro,” he starts, brows drawn low. “It’s Zoe. Imogen said something happened at the bakery.”
A cold weight drops in my gut.
“Zoe,” I say into the phone, but I get no response. All I get is the sound of her shallow breathing, like every inhale scrapes on the way in. Then a sob cracks through, and it punches the air from my lungs. My heartbeat kicks hard and fast in my ears.
“Zoe?” I try again, louder this time. “Are you hurt? Are you safe?”
Still nothing coherent. Just the desperate wheeze of someone barely hanging on. My brain flips through every possible scenario. Car accident? Someone followed her?
“Michael…”
Her voice is so soft, hoarse, but barely there, and fuck, it throws me. Hitting harder than I expected. Something’s wrong. Really wrong. I turn to where Joe’s welding something in the rear bay. “I’ll be back,” I bark out, already yanking off my gloves.
Joe lifts his head, frowning. “Huh? Where ya going?”
Harrison steps forward before I can answer, one hand out like he’s blocking a punch.
“Leave him,” he says. “Let him go, Dad.”
It takes a second to register that. Dad. Harrison never says it. Not out loud. Not to Joe’s face. But this—this moment—isn’t the time to unpack it. My grip tightens around the phone.
“Where are you?” I press.
Through another sob, her voice cracks out. “At home.”
“Stay right there, Zoe,” I breathe into the line, as I run to grab my keys. “I’m coming. Don’t move.”
She doesn’t reply. The only answer I get is a shaky exhale and the rustle of her breath through the receiver.That’s all I need. AllI can think in this moment is what the fuck happened, and who the fuck made her feel like this?
I end the call, shoving the phone into my pocket without a second thought, barely hearing whatever Harrison has just said behind me. My boots bite into the dirt as I head for my bike, the thrum of panic sitting heavy under my ribs.
