Page 7 of Broken Trails
4
Road Runner - Lainey Wilson
The nerve of that cocky bastard.
Rolling his eyes at me like I’m the inconvenience, flashing that smug grin as if he didn’t just take his sweet time getting my car sorted. And the way he said freckles—like he’d already decided I was some kind of running joke.
If I can get through the rest of my life without laying eyes on that man again, it still won’t be long enough.
Now I’m tearing down the bloody A1, the speedometer edging higher than it should, my car rumbling beneath me. At least it’s not belching smoke anymore. Small mercies.
Because, of course, something had to go wrong today—first the car, then the cocky mechanic, and the universe piling on for sport. Lucky for me, the auto shop was not far from where I was.
By now, my parents will know. Liam wouldn’t have wasted a second before ringing them, pouring on the charm while spinning some pitiful version of events where he’s the wounded hero and I’m the ungrateful villain. And, right on cue, they’ll lap it up. Every bloody word.
Standing up for their daughter? Not their style. Mum’ll be too busy clutching her pearls over what the neighbours might think. Coming back here was always going to be a nightmare. This town runs on gossip, and news spreads faster than a bushfire in summer. One whisper and the whole place will know I’m back.
Fine. Let them. I’m not here to make friends or explain myself. This isn’t forever. I just need time. Space to breathe somewhere that doesn’t smell like Liam’s lies and betrayal. Somewhere I can reset. But even with all that swirling in my head, another thought keeps slipping in. A face. A pair of rough, oil-stained hands. The mechanic—Mike? Mikey? I didn’t even bother to catch his full name, but somehow, it’s stuck with me.
And those hands… steady, capable, the kind that know exactly what they’re doing—whether it’s under the hood of a ute or… somewhere else.
I blink hard, gripping the steering wheel tighter. What the fuck, Zoe? You’ve just walked away from your marriage—hell, the paperwork isn’t even drawn up yet—and you’re already thinking about another man’s hands on you? Get your shit together. Snap out of it.
The thought creeps in, uninvited, and I shove it right back the fuck out. I’ve got bigger problems than wondering if the small-town mechanic could handle more than a spanner. Needing a distraction, I call out, “Hey, Siri. Call Jeff Stanton.”
Jeff’s not just my best friend—he’s also a lawyer. The one person who can cut through this mess and actually make sense of it. We’ve known each other for years, and if there’s anyone I trust to steer me through Liam’s bullshit, it’s him.
The line rings three times before he answers.
“Zoe, darling. What’s up?” His voice is calm and achingly familiar. The exact anchor I need right now.
I blow out a sharp breath, my chest tightening as an ache rises behind my eyes—the first sign of tears since I left. I didn’t cry when I caught Liam with Amanda. Didn’t cry when I stuffed my life into a suitcase. Didn’t cry during the endless drive. But now, with Jeff on the line, my body tries to betray me, the emotion clawing upward.
“Zoe? Are you alright?” Jeff’s voice pulls me back.
I clear my throat, forcing the words out. “Where do I even begin?”
“Oh no. That tone never means anything good. You’d better start talking.”
Parked down the street from my old family home, I glance at my phone. Of course. A barrage of missed calls from my parents and Liam.
I grip the steering wheel for a moment, letting out a long, shaky breath.
“You’ve got this,” I murmur to myself, the words feeling flimsy against the weight of what’s ahead. After a moment, I shove my phone into my bag, step out of the car, and slam the door shut with more force than necessary. I’m halfway up the drivewaywhen my phone rings again, the screen lighting up with Mum. Perfect timing.
With a resigned sigh, I answer, already bracing for the onslaught.
“Zoe, where the bloody hell are you?” she snaps, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Your father and I have been beside ourselves with worry! And Liam—oh, Liam—he’s been calling nonstop, absolutely frantic! You need to—”
I hold the phone away from my ear, rolling my eyes as her voice drones on. It’s muffled now, but no less irritating. Typical. Everyone’s worried about Liam. Poor fucking Liam.
“You can’t just walk out on your marriage, Zoe,” she continues, her tone escalating into that high-pitched panic I know too well. “This is your life. Your responsibility. You owe it to Liam to—” I’ve heard enough.
“Mum!” I stop her from continuing.
“Your father has been pacing the house, worried sick! You need to go home. Poor Liam—”
“I can’t,” I interrupt again, this time with more force.
