35. 35 #2
She pulls back almost immediately, eyes flicking toward the bench like she can’t quite meet my gaze. “So… how much of that did you hear?”
I squint and shrug. “Enough.”
“Great.”
I lean against the edge of the bench beside her, arms loosely crossed. “Wanna tell me what happened?”
“No.”
I cock a brow. “Zoe.”
She exhales through her nose, arms wrapping tight around her middle. “What do you want me to say, Michael? That she spoke with him, even after I warned her not to? After she agreed? That she thought it would be an excellent idea to give him my fucking address , after everything he did to me?”
My jaw ticks. “I didn’t know things were… strained between you and your family.”
“Between my mother and I,” she corrects, before letting out a sharp breath and pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead. “Yeah, well. I don’t talk about it much.”
I don’t speak. Just wait. Eventually, she lifts her eyes.
“My mum… she was always critical. Everything I did—how I dressed, who I dated, my job. It was never enough. I was never enough. When I married Liam, she thought I’d finally done something right.
And when it all fell apart? She made it about her .
Her shame. Her embarrassment. Not what he did.
Not what I went through.” She rubs her arms. “I’m an only child.
So all the pressure landed on me. The expectations.
The guilt. The constant feeling like I owed her something just for being alive. ”
I swallow hard, my hands curling into fists against the bench behind me.
If only she knew.
If only she fucking knew what it’s like growing up afraid to open the door.
What it’s like to flinch every time your father walks into a room.
What it’s like to be made to feel like a burden .
Not because of pressure or expectations, but because your existence pissed someone off enough to leave bruises. But I don’t say any of that. Not yet.
Instead, I exhale slowly and say, “You don’t have to push her away forever. You can still set boundaries without cutting her off completely.”
She rounds on me fast. “It’s not that simple, Michael. You wouldn’t understand.”
Oh, but I do. “Trust me, I—”
“Please, just stop. It’s my family,” she cuts me off. “ My business, Michael.”
My brows lift, but I keep my voice even. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I’m just—”
“What? Trying to fix it? That I should play nice and be the bigger person?” She shakes her head, but this time, her voice wobbles. “I don’t need you to fix it. I just need space. To breathe. To be . And every time you ask me to talk, it’s like I’m drowning all over again.”
The words land like a gut punch. Silence swells between us. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
“Zoe—” I start, softer this time. “I just… don’t want you to go through it alone,” I say gently.
“Well, maybe I need to. Maybe it’s safer that way.”
There it is.
The push. The wall. The edge she clings to when everything inside her feels like it’s slipping.
She’s self-sabotaging. I see it in the way her mouth tightens, in the way her eyes dart to the door like it’s an escape route instead of just a frame.
And I know that feeling. Too fucking well.
That instinct to torch something good before it can leave you on its own.
Before it decides you’re not worth staying for. I’ve done it. I’ve lived it.
So even though every part of me wants to argue, to stay, to prove I’m not going anywhere, I don’t. Because she asked for space, and the least I can do is respect that.
She looks down at the floor. Her voice drops, cracked and brittle. “I think you should go.”
I hesitate. My gut twists into knots. I want to tell her she’s wrong. That she’s worth the effort. That I’m not Liam. That I don’t want perfect. I just want her .
But I also know what it feels like when the world’s too loud and someone keeps trying to fix it when all you need is quiet.
So I nod slowly. “Okay.”
I don’t slam the door. Don’t throw out some smartass comment.
I bend down instead, scooping Sprinkles up from where she’s watching, and give her a rough cuddle.
Then I step toward Zoe and lean in just enough to press a kiss to her forehead.
Her eyes are closed now, lips parted, shoulders tense, but she doesn’t stop me.
“I’ll be back,” I murmur. “Just… don’t shut me out completely, yeah?”
She doesn’t say anything right away, but after a long second, she gives the smallest nod.
Barely there, but it’s enough for me.
Grabbing my hoodie off the back of the chair, I slide my boots on and walk out with the weight of her still sitting heavy in my chest.
I’ve been working on the same bolt for fifteen minutes. It’s already loose. I keep pretending it isn’t. Keep turning it anyway.
Because if I stop moving, I’ll think. And if I think, I’ll go back to yesterday. To the way her voice cracked when she told me to go. I gave her space. I didn’t push. I walked out. Like she asked.
Eventually, I let the spanner fall from my hand, the clink of metal on concrete too loud in the quiet.
I wipe my palms on a rag and head outside, boots crunching over gravel as I push open the side door.
The pack of cigarettes is buried deep in the glovebox of my work ute, just one left inside.
I forgot I still had it. It only occurs to me now that I haven’t touched the pack in weeks.
The flick of the lighter is sharp and familiar. I take one long drag and lean back against the tray, exhaling slowly as the cool menthol hits the back of my throat. Zoe’s voice flits through my head almost instantly.
You should quit that shit, Michael.
It’s gross. Smells like petrol and bad decisions.
She isn’t wrong. I should quit. Should’ve kicked the habit ages ago. But right now, I welcome the sting. The bitter taste. The silence. Because if I stop moving, if I stop pretending I have something to do with my hands—
I’ll think.
“You coming or what?” Harrison’s voice cuts through the garage.
I blink once, the drag flickering at the tip of the cigarette, and glance over my shoulder with a frown. “Coming where?”
“Lunch. Imogen’s making sandwiches. Joseph’s been asking for his ‘Uncle Mike’ since this morning.”
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 shutting us out.”
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 we understand it.”
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. We worry.” 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 feel something again. 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.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Imogen mutters.
Harrison grins, then sobers. “You’re not bad at it either.”
I exhale slowly. “I just… I think about the way we grew up. All the fucking time. How you always stepped in. Took the hits—literally. Said the things I was too scared to. And I just… I feel guilty. Like I got the easier ride because you were there, and now I’m the one that’s—”
“Don’t,” Harrison says, standing suddenly.
I look up and he crosses the room, drops down onto the arm of the chair beside me, and says it flat out: “Don’t ever say that again.”
His voice is low but steady. “I’d do it all again. Every bit of it. You’re my little brother, Mikey. That means something. It’ll always mean something.”
I don’t realise how tight my jaw’s clenched until my eyes start to sting. I look away, blink hard, then mutter, “Fuck off.”
Harrison smirks. “There he is.”
Imogen hands me a glass of water, like that fixes emotions or something. She sits again, gaze gentle. “Zoe’s not perfect. She’s guarded and proud and clearly got some deep wounds. But Michael… that doesn’t mean you should run from it.”
“She told me to leave.”
“She told you she needed space,” Imogen corrects gently. “There’s a difference.”
I pin her with a look. “Yeah? And how the hell would you know that?”
Imogen smirks, totally unfazed. “Girls talk, Mikey. And unfortunately for you, Zoe has warmed up to me.”
I narrow my eyes. “That doesn’t sound unfortunate for you .”
She shrugs one shoulder, smug. “She’s smart. Sharp. Doesn’t take my shit. I like her. We’ve had coffee. We’ve bonded. Talked about work. I even helped her pick out boots, which—might I add—you definitely noticed last time you saw her in them.”
I blink. “The black ones?”
Imogen nods, like she’s proud of herself. “You’re welcome.”
I shake my head, but can’t stop the ghost of a smile tugging at my mouth.
Harrison leans forward. “And giving her space when she needed it? That’s growth, man. But just because she needed room to breathe doesn’t mean you have to walk away for good. Don’t close the door on something real just because it got heavy.”
I nod slowly. My throat’s still tight.
Joseph stirs, blinking up at me. “You’re sad again.”
I smile at him, brushing a hand over his soft curls. “Nah, just thinking too hard.”
“Wanna hug?”
I snort. “Already got one, mate.” He wiggles tighter against me, like he’s trying to glue himself to my chest.
Imogen leans back, crossing her arms. “Don’t rush it. Don’t force it. But don’t write it off either. Sometimes the best things in life come out of the hardest parts.”
Harrison adds, “And if she’s got you this twisted up? Maybe she’s worth it.”
I stare into the middle distance, Joseph’s heartbeat steady against mine. Yeah.
Maybe she is.