Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks Series Book 1)

by Abigail Davies

  I spin around and hold my hand out for Izzie. Her small, soft one slips against my palm and I can’t help the way that my heartbeat picks up at the feel of it. When I look down at her, I revel in the look she gives me; like her whole world starts and ends with me. I never want that to change, I want to make sure that I’m there for everything that she does, I want to be the one constant in her life—in both of their lives.

  It’s even more important now that I’m their only parent. Life is hard enough being a dad to a little girl, knowing that there’s going to be things that I won’t know how to tackle; like when she’s a teenager and bringing boys home to meet me. I bat that thought away as soon as it comes to me.

  “Hey... Dad?” Clay calls, his footsteps nearing us. I turn to face him and raise a brow, asking him silently what he wants. “Can we get burgers after?”

  “Burgers!” Izzie squeals, letting go of my hand and clapping hers in excitement. “I love burgers! They’re my favorite! Can we, Daddy? Can we? Pleeeease?”

  I chuckle and pull the front door open, waving them ahead of me to my own car.

  I nod. “I suppose so.”

  “Yes!” they shout back in unison.

  Smirking, I shake my head and follow them, strapping Izzie into her seat and checking that Clay is buckled in.

  “Right!” I say, pulling back and clapping my hands. “Let’s get this little princess to her dance rehearsal!”

  I bow slightly as I step back and close the door, relishing in Izzie’s giggling face. I can’t help but chuckle at Clayton as he shakes his head; even he can’t stop his growing smile.

  For me, this is what having children is all about. To make them smile, make them laugh and give them all the attention they’d ever need. I want to make their childhood a happy one.

  After stuffing their faces and running around in the play area of the burger joint, they both fall asleep on the drive home.

  The closer I get to the house, the more my mood deteriorates, knowing that when I step foot in the house and they’re both fast asleep in their beds, I’ll be once again left on my own. Sitting in the deafening silence that consumes the house.

  I never in a million years thought I’d end up here—alone, raising two children and not knowing whether I was doing it right or wrong.

  I suppose that all parents think the same thing; worrying that they’re not doing a good enough job, that they’re doing more harm than good. Although, in my heart, I know that there is no right or wrong; it’s all a big learning curve, and one that I’m constantly veering off.

  Am I doing enough? Should I stop working so many hours? Should I ask my mom to step in and help? All of those questions fly through my head constantly, but I always come up with the same answer—no.

  I worry that I’m not enough for them, that I’ll never be enough for them. How can only having a father ever be good enough? They should have two parents, not one.

  I scrub my hands down my face, trying to not let my mind run away from me again as I pull onto the property. Driving up the gravel driveway and around the circular fountain that sits in front of the large house, I put the car into park in front of the double garage. The headlights beam off the limestone brick of the house and the trees that line the whole property.

  I switch the engine off and jump out, making my way around to Clay and giving him a gentle shake on his shoulder to wake him.

  “Clay? Clay? Get up, bud.” He startles awake and looks around in panic, his gray eyes clashing with mine. It takes several seconds for him to realize where he is and when he finally comes to, he calms.

  “I need you to walk inside, bud, Izzie is sleeping.”

  He nods his head at me and reaches around to unclip his belt, his movements jerky. I help him down and pass him his book to carry before walking around the back of the car to the other side. He stays close to me as I open the door and unstrap Izzie, picking her up and letting her head flop down onto my shoulder.

  As soon as I’m a couple of steps away from the car I press the button on the key fob, the flashing lights of the car illuminating the dark space outside as the car locks.

  Clenching my jaw, I hold my hand out for Clay and he grips it hard. I can hear his breathing becoming faster and louder, almost turning into gasps because of the darkness that surrounds us.

  Why didn’t I leave the light on? It’s such a simple thing and I forgot, again. First thing in the morning I’m contacting someone to come and install lights that can be clicked on and off remotely.

  I manage to open the front door with my elbow as my hands are full and we walk in, Clay staying in the doorway as I move over to the left to switch on all the lights.

  “It’s okay now, bud,” I tell him, turning to face him with what I hope looks like a reassuring smile as the whole place illuminates with light. Holding my hand back out to him, he takes it and I adjust Izzie on my shoulder, making our way up the grand staircase.

  I shiver as we walk up to the first floor, hating the coldness that emanates from the entryway. The white walls and marble floor are all for show, along with the intricate design that wraps around the black and gold railings that adorn the staircase.

  Natalia hated it, she always wanted to have a wooden staircase installed and a warmer color on the walls, but I kept putting it off. Now I wish I would have said yes when she first asked instead of telling her to wait until her pregnancy with Izzie was over.

  Another thing I should have done differently.

  Once we get to the top of the staircase, we turn left toward Clayton and Izzie’s wing.

  We get to Clay’s room first, his name in blue letters on the door with a plaque of a book.

  I push the door open and say to him, “You get into your pajamas, bud, and I’ll be back once I’ve put Izzie down,” as I switch his main light on.

  “Okay,” he whispers back, his eyes full of trepidation.

  “I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” I reassure him, hating that it’s my fault that he’s so scared right now.

  He finally nods and I wait until he’s inside before I walk into the room opposite.

  Izzie’s door has the same letters spelling her name, only hers are pink, sitting above a plaque with a princess riding a unicorn.

  I let my eyes adjust to the darkness and wait a couple of seconds before I move forward, aware that I could possibly trip over one of the thousand stuffed animals that she has in here.

  I skirt around the tea party that she’s set up in the middle of the room and lay her down onto her bed, not bothering to change her clothes before I pull the covers over her.

  I place a gentle kiss on her forehead and switch on her princess night light, illuminating the pink and purple walls with figures of princesses that adorn the outside of the light.

  I walk back out, closing the door halfway behind me before crossing the hallway and stepping into Clay’s room.

  My eyes settle on him sitting on the dark blue padded seat of his little reading nook in front of the window. He’s surrounded himself with all the pillows he has and is leaning against one of the many bookcases that incase him in his safe place.

  There isn’t one spare space on his shelves, he has so many books and all of them are well read. Many of them are ones that Natalia passed down to him, and I think on some level, she knew he would be able to connect with her on those pages and inside the words.

  He loves reading, even at the young age of eight he can surpass the reading that his peers do. He gets lost in the magic of another world for hours without realizing how much time has passed, and it often means that I have to pull him out of that world, telling him that it’s time to sleep.

  “Dad?” he asks, his voice a whisper.

  “Yeah?”

  “Could you read me the next chapter?” He holds out the old battered copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

  I smile and nod as he jumps down from where he’s sitting and crosses over to his bed, lying down before pulling the covers up to his c
hin as he waits for me to come over.

  I step closer and settle down next to him, opening the book up to chapter ten and starting to read out loud.

  It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep and once he has, I close the book and place it carefully on his nightstand before turning my head back to look at him. I sit and stare at him for several seconds, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath he takes.

  Sometimes I wonder whether it’s harder for Clay or Izzie. Clay got to meet his mother, spending three years with her before she was taken from us. Whereas Izzie; all she has are photographs of her.

  “Look after my babies.”

  Her soft voice rings in my ears as I allow myself to think about her, not able to stop my eyes from closing as I imagine that she’s here with us.

  We may not have been a “normal” couple—one that falls in love, then gets married and has kids—but we made the best of a bad situation. Neither of us wanted to marry each other, not in a bad way, we just didn’t feel like that for each other; but in the end, neither of us had a choice.

  We had to get married and solidify the bond between our families, we had no option but to go along with it, no matter how much we tried to fight against it.

  It didn’t help that Nat was her best friend. The woman I walked away from, the woman who has held my heart in the palm of her hand since I first laid eyes on her.

  I knew she’d hate me for leaving her like that with no real explanation, no reason as to why I was doing it. I didn’t have a choice. I was protecting her, making sure that she could have the life that she always wanted, that she dreamed about.

  But to then marry Natalia? That would have been the final nail in the coffin for her; I knew that, Natalia knew that, but it was still something we had no control over.

  Both Natalia and I were aware of the turmoil it would cause, and we tried several times to suggest something different, to come up with a solution that wouldn’t mean tearing us all apart, but neither of our fathers would accept it.

  So we did the only thing we could do and got married. For a business deal.

  But by the time Clay was born, my father was being kicked out of his company and our family name meant a fraction of what it used to. Natalia’s father was one of the investors that lost millions of dollars, one of the reasons he demanded that she divorce me, effectively rendering the whole point of us being together moot.

  But by that time, we had this beautiful, newborn baby boy and we were both determined to make it work. She told her father no, and in turn, her parents disowned her.

  We tried our hardest to make a life for us and to be the proper husband and wife unit that we were meant to be. It was hard at first, trying to put roots down while we had so much against us, not only that, but she knew that I still loved her.

  Natalia wasn’t stupid, she could see that I’d never love her the way that I did with her. It wasn’t that I didn’t try, because I did, I tried so hard to love her in the same way.

  Things became hard when Clay was a toddler, and I pulled away, more than I ever had done, but when we found out we were pregnant with Izzie, life seemed to lift. That’s when something changed between us and I realized that I did love her.

  There was another child coming into our family and I made a promise to myself that I would be there for everything, not just for the children, but for Natalia too. It was time that I made good on the promise of our vows and be the husband that she needed.

  I loved her. She was my wife, the mother to my children. She became my best friend, my confidant, the person who I turned to the most. I could feel it happening, the love between us blossoming. I knew it would never be as intense as it was before—nothing could compare to that love, the kind that consumes your heart, body, and soul. But this was a different kind of love that I started to feel, one that I was more than happy to live with for the rest of my life.

  Part of me hated that she accepted the fact that I would always love her too. I wanted her to scream and shout at me, I wanted her to hate me for loving another woman, but she didn’t. She understood, which almost made the whole thing that much worse.

  I lift off Clay’s bed slowly, careful not to wake him as I make sure all of his nightlights are on. That’s another thing, ever since Izzie was born, he’s had this irrational fear of the dark. I don’t know where it’s come from but I’ve been trying everything and anything to make him comfortable. The ten lights dotted around his room are one of the solutions that I came up with. Another one was to paint his room a light blue, hoping that the light and airy feel would make him feel less closed in—less trapped.

  I know I should probably ask for help with it, but I fear that I’d be seen as not coping, and the thought of having someone judge me and my parenting, it’s too much to bear.

  I take one look back at him and his sleeping form before I close the door halfway, walking toward my wing where my bedroom and office are.

  I walk into my office, heading for the small table that sits next to the black, leather sofa before picking up the crystal decanter. I pour the amber liquid into a matching crystal glass before sitting down on the sofa, looking out of the window that sits opposite it and then to the left where my huge oak desk stands proud in the middle of the room.

  My gaze roves over the bookcases that line the entire wall behind the desk, full of books that I’ve never even opened. They’re just for show, and besides, I don’t have the time to read. All of my time is either spent in the office or at home with the kids. Once they’re off to bed, I’m never far behind them.

  I lean back on the sofa, gulping down the drink and relishing in the burn at the back of my throat. The warmth spreads through my chest and I let my head drop on the back of the sofa, closing my eyes and letting my body relax for the first time since I woke up fifteen hours ago.

  Christina Aguilera—You Lost Me

  Beyoncé—Irreplaceable

  James Bay—Let It Go

  The same blue car that Mom’s had for years is sitting in the driveway when I finally arrive at her house after my four-hour drive. I’ve calmed down a little after collecting the rest of my things and I’ve had time to think, but as soon as I see the house that I grew up in with my parents, the floodgates open.

  I park haphazardly and get out, heading right into the house through the crimson door, not bothering to get my suitcases or boxes. I need my mom.

  I haven’t seen her much in the last two years since my dad passed away. I came back for a few days for his funeral, but she insisted that she was fine afterward and told me I should go home and get on with my life.

  His sudden passing hit me harder than I let people see, choosing to put on a brave face for everyone around me. I’m good at closing my emotions off now, but eventually it started eating away at me which made me throw myself into my work.

  There was a lot of love and fun in our house growing up, and there wasn’t a day that went by that I wasn’t told I was loved. My parents used to take me on picnics and bike rides through the countryside; we didn’t have a lot of money, but there was no shortage of love and laughter. I can’t recall a memory from my childhood that doesn’t have me laughing in it. They were both my rocks and it broke my heart moving away from them after college, but staying here was the harder option, so I left.

  I walk into the living room, a giant ball of emotion building in my throat as I see Mom curled up in the armchair, reading a book. I don’t need to say anything, she sees the distraught look on my face and places her book on the coffee table as she stands, enveloping me in a warm hug.

  “Hey, shush. Everything’s going to be okay, my little Harmonica,” she coos into my hair.

  I cry—a lot—and by the time I’m finished, we’re sitting on the floor, my head on her legs as she leans against the sofa. I may be twenty-nine-years-old, but right now I feel like I did when I was a small child.

  She strokes my hair softly, not pushing for answers as she waits for me to talk.

  I s
niff and voice my thoughts, my voice sounding croaky. “My marriage is over.”

  With those four simple words, the fog from my head lifts and a wave of sadness comes crashing down on me again, bringing with it another round of tears. Still, she doesn’t push me, letting me tell her in my own time.

  The last of my tears dry up and I push off her lap, leaning against the sofa beside her and pulling at a piece of invisible thread on my jeans, not knowing what to say to her. She sighs, standing and pulling me up onto my feet by my hands, leading me into her brightly colored kitchen as I think about what to start with.

  I watch as she flits from one end to the other, busying herself making the chamomile tea she always says makes you feel better. As she finishes up, I lean against the doorframe and let my eyes wander over the cerulean cupboards, feeling a painful pang as I remember watching my dad build them when I was a little girl.

  Sighing, I move into the room slowly and take a seat at the multicolored table, staring ahead at the colorful painting on the wall; it’s one I painted when I was a teenager. The colors swirl together conveying every angst-filled emotion I was feeling at the time. I was going to throw it away but dad fell in love with it and hung it pride of place in the most colorful room in the house; a place that he built with his own two hands.

  I jump when Mom places the cup of tea in front of me and I smile at her appreciatively. “Do you ever wish that things were as hard as you thought they were when you were a teenager?”

  She chuckles. “That would be the life.” Watching as I take a sip of tea, she puts her hand on mine. “What happened, hon?” I try to swallow past the lump in my throat and shake my head, looking down at the red cup in my hands. “Relationships are hard work, you have to wade through the bad times to get to the good.”