Page 62 of Broken Trails
“How’s my favourite girl Sprinkles?”
“As good as she can be. Addicted to that bloody feather stick.”
A low chuckle rolls out of me. “Knew she’d love that thing. As soon as I saw it, I was like—yep, that’s the one. She’s a menace in the making.”
“She’s already figured out how to climb my curtains. So, thanks for that.”
I grin then lean back to light a cigarette, needing something to occupy my hands. Something to ground me. My nerves have been shot to hell since I sat down, and the longer I sit beside her, the tighter they pull, like wires stretched too far. I flick the lighter, the flame catching instantly.
Her gaze tracks it. “Didn’t I say you should quit?”
I smirk, rolling the cigarette between my fingers. “I don’t even listen to my own mother. What chance do you think you’ve got?”
“That stuff will kill you. You know that, right?”
“That’s the point.” I take a long drag, let it burn deep into my chest, a sharp inhale that numbs the edge of everything for a second before I breathe it out in a slow stream. “We’re all gonna die one day, anyway, are we not?”
“Sooner, rather than later, if you keep smoking those.”
I caught the scrunch of her nose before she even said it, and for some reason, it makes me smirk. There’s something almost… warm about it. Protective, even. Not that she’d admit it. Not that I’d make a thing out of it. I lower the cigarette, keeping the smoke drifting away from her.
The last thing I want is for her to bail because of me.
“Can’t handle a bit of diesel and smoke in the air, huh?” I glance at her from the corner of my eye.
“Not when it smells like motor oil and lung disease.”
I chuckle, the sound low in my chest. “This is what peak masculinity looks like, sweetheart. Don’t act like you’re not impressed.” Sweetheart? Where did that come from?
She shifts back slightly, eyes narrowing at me. “Please. I am far from impressed.” Her tone changes. It’s softer now as she adds, “Seriously, though. Have you ever thought of quitting?”
“Perhaps.” I flick ash off the end. “Right after I finish this pack, maybe.”
She mutters something under her breath about men and self-destruction, leaning back in her chair. She’s still tense, but her shoulders have dropped. She’s not braced to run anymore. I’ll take it as a win. Though I still find myself asking, “Are you always like this?”
She frowns. “Like what?”
“Closed off. Half-ready to run. Scanning for the nearest exit, like I might eat you.”
“That depends.” Her retort is sharp and completely unexpected. “You planning to?”
I blink. Once. Twice. Wait—was that… flirting? Did I just flirt with her? Jesus Christ.
What game are we even playing here? Whatever it is, I’m not tapping out. I lean forward, elbows resting on my knees, the cigarette burning low between my fingers.
“Not tonight.”
There’s a ghost of a smirk, barely tugging at the corner of her mouth. But it’s there—I swear I’m not imagining it. Then it’s gone. Just like that. Like it was a mistake. Or a glitch in her armour. But something lingers in its place—something that tugs at me. And honestly? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. This isn’t me. I don’t push. I don’t pry. I keep shit surface-level and safe, because that’s how you avoid disappointment. That’s how you don’t end up wanting someone who won’t—or can’t—want you back. But with her? It’s different. She gets under my skin.Under the steel doors I’ve welded shut for years. And maybe that’s why I keep fucking pushing.
Even now. “Y’know,” I start. My voice is quieter now, more matter-of-fact than anything, “I’ve seen panic attacks before. Hell, I’ve had ‘em.”
Her eyes shift, just slightly.
“That day at the bakery? That wasn’t just someone having a bad moment.”
She turns to me slowly. Watching me curiously, like she’s waiting to see what I’ll do with the pieces I’ve noticed. “You don’t know me.”
“Maybe so,” I shrug. “But I know enough for now.”
