42. 42
Bless The Broken Road - Rascal Flats
Do It All Again - Lauren Spencer Smith
I ’ve got nothing clever in me this morning. No sarcastic jabs. No bite.
Just exhaustion. I didn’t sleep a second last night. I stayed curled up on Dani’s couch, replaying the shit-show with Liam in my head until the sun came up.
Jeff and the other lawyers handled it exactly how I needed them to—professionally, unshakably, and entirely on my side. Turns out my gut was right all along.
The dash cam? Complete bluff.
He had nothing on Michael. Nothing on me.
Just smoke and intimidation. When Jeff called him out, his own embarrassment forced his hand, and he agreed to settle the divorce—seventy per cent to me, thirty to him.
I should feel triumphant, and I do, but it’s bittersweet.
I shouldn’t have had to bleed for this win.
The meeting wrapped quickly. Liam stormed out without a word, his jaw locked, his pride in tatters.
Dani’s laugh burst across the room. “You should’ve seen the look on his face.”
Jeff smirked, shaking his head. “Good fucking riddance.”
Yeah, I am happy. But I’ve been here too long. My skin itches with the need to get back.
I’d kept my phone off the entire time—no distractions, no chance of caving and calling Michael. But the moment I switch it back on, it jolts to life in my hand, buzzing so hard it feels like it might leap free. Three missed calls from Imogen. One from Isla. One from Michael.
My stomach knots instantly.
A text thread from our group chat lights up the screen:
Isla: Call us when you see this, please.
Imogen: Why the fuck is your phone off?
Imogen: Call me back. ASAP! Please, Zoe.
My pulse spikes. I hit Imogen’s name and press the phone to my ear.
“I’m sorry—” I start, but her sobs cut me off. My chest goes cold.
“It’s Michael,” she chokes. “He… he got into an accident last night.”
Last night.
The words crash over me like ice water, knocking the breath clean from my chest. My mind scrambles, replaying every moment I spent here in Sydney—fighting Liam, signing papers, pretending I could keep him out of my thoughts—while somewhere, he was… God.
My breath catches. “Oh my God. Is he—”
“He’s alive. Thank God, Zoe, he’s alive. But he’s in critical condition. They had to operate. He’s in the ICU, sedated, still asleep.”
Dani and Jeff freeze, their eyes locked on me. Dani mouths, What’s wrong?
“H-how? What happened? And please don’t tell me he was on his bike.”
Imogen’s voice cracks as her sobs spill through the line. “He was. Some fuckwit pulled out of nowhere, said he didn’t see him, ran him clean off the road. Please, just get here when you can.”
“I’m on my way,” I manage, but my hands are shaking so violently the phone slips from my grip, clattering against the floor with a clang that echoes far too loudly in the small space. Dani’s moving in an instant, scooping it up and pressing it back into my frozen hands.
I can’t breathe. My chest feels like it’s caving in, my ribs straining around a heart that’s pounding so hard it hurts. The room narrows to a pinpoint, sounds muffled under the rush of blood in my ears.
Jeff moves in closer to me. “Zoe, darling. Breathe. You’re hyperventilating.”
Beside me, Dani’s hand comes to my shoulder, rubbing gently. “Tell us what happened,” she urges.
I force out the words. “Michael… accident… ICU.” That’s all it takes.
Dani’s gasp is sharp and audible, her hand tightening on me.
Jeff doesn’t even blink. “Then what the hell are you still doing here? Go. We’ll handle the rest.”
I nod quickly, the movement jerky, and throw my arms around both of them in a desperate, grateful hug. “I’ll be in touch,” I manage, voice cracking.
They’re already ushering me toward the door, Jeff waving me off. “Go, go!”
I rush to grab my things, my hands clumsy, heart still hammering. As I sprint for the exit, I hear Dani’s voice behind me, quiet but fierce. “God, make him be okay.”
It’s the last thing I hear as I run out into the street.
I drive, but I couldn’t tell you how. The streets blur past—just smears of colours and headlights in my periphery.
My grip on the wheel is so tight my knuckles ache, but I barely notice.
This is the same road that dragged me back to Wattle Creek months ago, the same broken road I’d sworn I’d never set eyes on again.
Back then, I’d told myself it was the town that had pulled me in against my will. That it was some twisted fate or bad luck.
But now?
It’s not the town. It’s him.
It’s always been him.
Somewhere along the way, Michael stopped being the complication I didn’t ask for and became something else entirely. A place I don’t want to run from. A place that now truly feels like home.
And that’s the fucked-up part.
Because if I hadn’t caught Liam cheating, if I hadn’t walked in and seen him for the lying bastard he really was, would I still be there?
Would I have stayed, day after day, convincing myself that misery was easier than starting over?
The thought terrifies me. More than divorce papers.
More than the risk of letting Michael close.
Because it means I could have wasted my whole life waiting for scraps of love that were never coming.
As twisted as it sounds, maybe I’m grateful. Grateful for the crash and burn. For the wreckage Liam left me in. Because if not for that, I wouldn’t have found my way back here. I wouldn’t have found my way back to myself.
And I sure as hell wouldn’t have found Michael.
By the time I burst through the hospital doors, my chest is tight, lungs screaming for air. I rush to the reception desk, voice shaking as I give Michael’s name. The nurse scans the chart, then looks up with a polite but firm shake of her head.
“Only family can see him right now. There are too many already in the waiting bay.”
The words land like a punch, knocking the air clean out of me. Family. I’m not his family .
Not in the way that counts here. My throat burns as I nod, stepping back before she can see how much that small truth has gutted me. I turn toward the waiting room, blinking fast, refusing to let the tears spill—at least not here, not in front of strangers—when a voice stops me dead in my tracks.
“Zoe!”
I spin around to see Imogen striding toward me, her pace quick, her eyes locked on mine. Determination radiates from every step. The nurse opens her mouth to stop her, but Imogen doesn’t even slow down.
“Let her through. She’s family, too.”
Whatever thread I’d been clinging to snaps clean in half.
I stumble into her arms, the sob tearing out of me before I can hold it back.
My face presses into her shoulder, and I breathe in the scent of her perfume, grounding me as everything I’ve been holding in—panic, guilt, exhaustion, the ache that hasn’t left me since the moment I heard his name over the phone—pours out.
She holds me like she’s done this a thousand times, rubbing slow, steady circles into my back, her voice low and certain. “He’s going to be okay.”
She keeps an arm around me as we walk, her presence steadying my jelly-like legs, guiding me down the hallway toward the waiting bay. My pulse is still hammering in my ears, but the second we turn the corner, I’m met with a wall of familiar faces—Isla, Olivia, Amelia—all standing to meet me.
What I don’t expect is Harrison, towering over them all, stepping forward without a word and wrapping me up in a hug that swallows me whole. His arms are heavy and warm, solid in a way that says without speaking: you’re safe here.
When he pulls back, Xavier is there, just as quick, pulling me into his chest for a brief, firm squeeze. These two big, broad men, all rough edges and hard lines, shouldn’t feel this gentle. Shouldn’t be so willing to give comfort so easily. But I’m not an outsider anymore.
And to hell with letting myself believe I ever will be again.
“You all good?” Xavier asks, studying me with that assessing look.
“I’m fine,” I lie, my voice too quick to sound convincing.
Harrison tips his chin toward me. “You get everything settled?”
A tear slips free before I can stop it, and I nod, exhaling a shaky sigh of relief.
“Atta girl,” he says with a grin, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “Wait till Mikey hears.”
That undoes me all over again. My breath catches, and the tears spill fast, again. “Oh, Michael… I feel like this is all my fault.”
Imogen’s voice leaves no room for doubt as she states, “Don’t you dare say that. This is nowhere near your fault. The man who hit him is being dealt with. He’s the one who should be sorry.”
I nod, but my chest still aches, the guilt still clinging like a second skin. I sink into one of the chairs, surrounded on all sides by people who love him—people who, somehow, love me too—and for the first time since my phone rang this morning, I let myself believe Imogen’s words.
He’s going to be okay.