Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks Series Book 1)

by Abigail Davies

  Tears spring to my eyes and I lean over, wrapping her in my arms and feeling the love rush out of us both in waves. “I love you, Mom.”

  “And I love you, Harmonica. It’s time for a new beginning.”

  It’s been three weeks since we signed the papers for the lease, but we only received the keys yesterday morning. I was too excited to get started so I bought a can of pale yellow paint and started in the room only Mom and I will come in. I was at the studio until late last night painting what is going to be my office, so today I can hardly keep my eyes open.

  My eyelids droop as I watch Mom varnishing the floor of what will be my personal studio, the rhythmic motion of it sending me into a daze.

  “Harmony.” My eyes fly wide open and I stand up, shaking out my legs. “Don’t you have to leave soon?”

  “I think I’ll leave now and drive leisurely.”

  Nate called me three days ago and said they’d received the papers back from Gerry, but I already knew that from the phone call I’d received the week before.

  “Adultery. Marriage breakdown. Verbal abuse. Are you fucking kidding me, Harmony?”

  I’ve been expecting this phone call. “Gerry, I told you not to contact me. If you want to—”

  “Damn it, Harm. You couldn’t have just said the marriage wasn’t working out?” His voice sounds exasperated.

  “Why would I lie?”

  “Verbal abuse? Verbal fucking abuse!” he shouts.

  “Well, what would you have had me call it?” I will my voice not to shake, reminding me that I’m away from it all now.

  “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters.

  “So, you’re not going to sign them?” I ask hesitantly.

  “I’ve got no freaking choice, have I? If I don’t, we’ll get dragged to a hearing,” he huffs. “I hate that I’m being made out to be the bad guy in all of this.”

  I scoff. “Do you hate being made out to be the bad guy, or is it because you’re being reminded that you are the bad guy?”

  I hear his heavy breathing over the line; a telltale sign that he’s beyond angry, and I wait for him to speak.

  Two minutes pass before he sighs. “I’ll mail the papers in the morning, your attorney will have them in a couple of days.”

  I make it to Nate’s office after a slow drive into the city and wait a few minutes in the reception area before he calls me into his office and I tell him what I want.

  “Let me get this right, all you want is your half of what’s in your joint savings account?”

  I nod. “And my studio. I don’t want him to be able to touch it.”

  “What about a house sale?” Nate asks, looking up from the papers.

  “We rented, the savings was to buy a house in a few years,” I explain.

  “I see.” He makes a few more notes before looking up at me. “Well, I can’t foresee there being an issue with any of this, unless he decides to be difficult of course. You have no debts or kids which makes this so much easier.” I wince at the reminder of what we never had. “All I need you to do is read these over and sign where I’ve placed the sticky labels.”

  He smiles as he slides the papers over his desk to me, making me smile back. “Thanks.”

  The room is doused in silence as I read over the documents, but it’s broken by his chuckle when I pull a pen out of my purse.

  “Still have that old thing?”

  I look down at the silver, ballpoint pen I’ve had since college and nod. “Same casing, yeah.”

  “You used to carry that everywhere with you and doodle whenever you had a spare minute.” He stares at me fondly. “Do you remember that time when you said you needed to draw something and it couldn’t wait? You had no paper so you made Tris…” He trails off, looking guilty.

  “You’re allowed to talk about him, Nate, I won’t break.”

  Only that’s the farthest from the truth, my heart hurts at the mention of his name. It isn’t a name I hear often, but when I do, it still feels like I’m being poked in a fresh wound.

  He looks over me cautiously before clearing his throat and pasting another smile on his face. “You picked up his shirt and started drawing on his back like your life depended on it. I’ll never forget you swatting at him and telling him to stay still.”

  “Tris, stay still for another minute,” I admonish him.

  “Sunshine, we’ve been in this position for twenty minutes now. My back’s hurting,” he moans.

  I swat at his ass. “You don’t complain when I’m in this position.”

  He snorts and I giggle at the playful, disgusted expression on Nate’s face. “Whoa, TMI, guys!”

  “I didn’t let him wash that off for three days until I’d copied it onto paper,” I state, lost in the memory.

  Silence wraps around us as he watches me sign the last few lines, both of us scared to say another word about the past.

  “There, all done,” I say, sliding the papers back over to him.

  He watches me carefully before shaking his head and reading over them. “Looks like you’ve covered everything.”

  A quick look at my watch shows I’ve been here for two hours already. “Great. I should get going, I have a floor to help varnish.”

  He raises a brow at me. “You’re into DIY now?”

  I chuckle. “Only at my studio. I’ve already spent way over my budget on furniture and supplies, so Mom and I are doing the painting ourselves to keep the costs down.”

  He nods. “Smart. Everyone I know would’ve hired someone to come in and do it all for them.”

  I stand, picking up my purse off the floor beside me. “That’s because everyone you know has the money to do that.”

  He shrugs. “I guess you’re right, but I think it’s admirable you’re doing it on your own.”

  On your own. His words sting but I try not to show it, offering him a small smile. “My mom would swat you upside the head if she heard you saying that, taking away her part in getting the studio ready.”

  “Well then I take that back. I admire you and your mom, for doing it all by yourselves.”

  I smile and let out a tired sigh. “As much as I love being a part of the process, I can’t wait until it’s all up and running.”

  “I bet you can’t, I remember you talking about owning your own studio from the moment we met. In fact, I think your exact words when we were introduced were, ‘Don’t forget that name, you’ll see it on an art studio one day and you’ll be glad you know me.’”

  I bark out a laugh at the memory. “So I did.”

  He looks over at the clock on his wall. “Shoot, sorry to rush you out, Harm, but I have an early dinner I need to be getting ready for.” He opens the door for me. “As soon as I hear anything back, I’ll call you.”

  “Thank you,” I reply sincerely, smiling warmly at my old friend.

  He looks into my eyes, clearly wanting to say something, like every time we’ve been together, but must choose not to as he shakes his head. “Anytime, ma chérie.”

  I laugh and shake my head as he bows to me; even after ten years he’s still the class clown.

  Bon Jovi—It’s My Life

  Justin Timberlake—Can’t stop the feeling

  Zara Larsson—Lush Life (Acoustic Version)

  I push back from my desk and grab my suit jacket, pushing my arms through the soft silk material that lines it before doing one of the buttons up.

  My head starts to pound, almost as if it’s trying to get me out of the lunch that I have scheduled with my father—a lunch I don’t want to attend but I feel like I have no choice. It’ll be the first time that I’ve seen his face or spoken to him since he was in the courtroom when he was sentenced.

  I have a feeling he’ll want to talk about the company, but he has no right to tell me what to do; he lost that right when he embezzled millions of dollars—and I’m not talking a few million, I’m talking in the hundreds of millions. When the FBI caught him, he swore that it wasn’t him, but ultimatel
y, they found the evidence that convicted him. I know that he should have gone to prison for longer than he did, but he still had connections—connections that he used to get himself a shorter sentence.

  It wasn’t until after the company was signed over to me that I realized the money he embezzled was a lot more than anyone knew.

  Not only did he put a black mark on his own name, but he made it almost impossible for me to gain the trust of the board. I worked tirelessly at first to show them that I wasn’t my father and to gain their trust, but now I don’t care what they think. This is my company and I’ll do what I damn well please with it. They’re a formality and they know it, just as much as I do.

  People steer clear of me as I make my way to the elevator, my cell pinging several times on the way. I ignore it, keeping my gaze pointed ahead of me and my shoulders back until I’m inside, pulling it out and answering emails and marking the ones I need to reply to when I’m back in the office.

  The BETA store went down well with the board if the grins on their faces were anything to go by—even if they hated the idea, it wouldn’t have mattered because I would have given it the go ahead anyway. Talk of buying retail space was high on the agenda and I already have my team on it, looking for the best space in the city. There’s no way that we’ll be having any little kind of space, it needs to be front and center with my name above the door.

  The board wants to roll it out quickly, having ten stores by the end of the year, but I’m more cautious. I know how retail can be nowadays and that the majority of sales come from online, but the board is mostly made up of a different generation that doesn’t understand that. Of course, the decision is ultimately up to me whether I go ahead with the stores and if I do, how many there will be, but I like to let them think that they have a say.

  I look up and pocket my cell as the elevator doors open and I walk through the vast lobby that is full of people milling about and talking. Like always, the chatter dies down when they see me and I smirk, loving that them seeing me in a room makes them act that way. I can be ruthless when it comes to my business.

  I make a point of gazing around the room before walking out of the front glass doors, getting into the car that Edward waits in outside of the building.

  He tries to make small talk as we drive through the city to Zanders but my mind isn’t on what he’s talking about; it’s on the lunch that I’m about to have.

  I haven’t see my father for nine years and the last time I spoke to him was when he called me as soon as he was released from prison a week ago. He didn’t once ask how we all were or how I was, instead he demanded I meet with him today.

  Hearing his voice again for the first time in so long rendered me speechless, so much so that I never answered him before he ended the call.

  Even as a grown man, I still feel like my father holds something over me. It’s like he thinks because he signed the company over to me that he has a right to boss me around. But he doesn’t; it may have been his name that started it, but it’s my name that will make it into the company that it always should have been.

  “Thanks,” I tell Edward as I get out of the car when he pulls up outside of Zanders.

  “What time do you want me back?” he asks as I button my jacket back up, pulling on the cuffs of my sleeves.

  “I’ll call you,” I say, closing the door and turning to face the restaurant.

  The floor-to-ceiling windows sparkle as the sunlight hits them and the white frames glisten. The two potted plants that sit either side of the main door greet me and my fingers run over the top of them as I push through the doors.

  “Mr. Carter,” the maître d' greets me. “Your guest is already seated.”

  She waves her arm and I follow her toward the back of the restaurant. The chairs are white and sleek with the same silver legs that the table have. The tables are glass with a circular brushed silver plate sitting in the middle where there’s glasses sitting on top of it, waiting for patrons to drink out of.

  When I get to the table—at the back and to the left, close to the bar but far enough away that he won’t be noticed—I cringe at the sight of him already nursing a glass of whiskey, my heart beating in my chest at seeing him for the first time in almost a decade.

  “Father.” I grimace, nodding in greeting to him.

  He returns the gesture and it shows how much distance there is between us. I could never be this way with Clay, I’d wrap my arms around him and hold him, showing him how much I love him; no matter what age he is.

  “Tristan,” he acknowledges, not bothering to stand up as his cloudy brown eyes flit back down to his glass.

  He’s aged so much since he’s been in prison; he’s a shadow of the man that I grew up with.

  The bags under his eyes tell me that he’s not been sleeping, and the stubble lining his cheeks has him looking ungroomed, so much so that he doesn’t look like he cares about himself anymore. I should care what he’s doing to himself, but I can’t bring myself to, not after everything he’s said and done.

  Undoing the button of my suit jacket, I pull my chair out and sit down, looking up at the waitress as she sidles up to the table.

  “Can I get you a drink, sir?”

  “Water, please,” I answer, picking up my menu and scanning over it.

  “I’ll have another whiskey... on the rocks,” he slurs.

  Jesus, how many has he had already?

  I don’t ask, it’s no use, he’ll only ignore me or tell me to mind my own business. I get that he’s only been out of prison a week, but this shouldn’t be his priority. Hell, who am I kidding? Whiskey and business have always been his top priority.

  “So, I hear that you’ve rustled up quite the storm in the market since I’ve been gone.”

  I lift my eyes to his, seeing his eyelids at half-mast. How can he already be drunk when it’s not even 1 p.m. yet?

  “I’ve also heard that you’ve had the idea for stores.” I don’t answer him, choosing to ignore where this is going. “You’re going ahead with them, huh?”

  “That’s none of your business,” I grind out, thanking the waitress as she places a glass bottle of water on the table, turning over the water glass and pouring it.

  “I’ll tell you what you should do,” he says, ignoring me, leaning forward and almost knocking the glasses off the table. “You should open up twenty stores to begin with, then after six months, open up another twenty.”

  I close my eyes, placing my fingers against my temples to try and stop the raging headache that is starting to form from the anger swirling around in my head. “I won’t be opening that many stores,” I tell him, feeling exasperated as I turn toward the waitress and order the seafood pasta.

  “What?” I cringe at his surly voice and clench my jaw to stop myself from saying anything. “You need to start as you mean to go on, open as many as you can.”

  “No,” I growl. “Most sales are online now, opening that many stores won’t serve any other purpose than to lose us money. I may as well give the money away if I opened—”

  “I never should have signed the company over to you,” he barks out, his eyes full of fire as he leans back in his chair and gulps down the rest of his whiskey before holding his glass up in the air for another.

  “Well it’s not like you had much choice, is it?” I spit out, leaning forward. “Had you not have been a criminal and embezzled all of that money, you’d still have the company and you’d still be able to dictate what should and shouldn’t happen to it.” He opens his mouth to say something but I cut him off. “You have no idea the turmoil that you caused.” I stare at him, my eyes narrowed. “It’s your own fault.”

  “You never fucking listen, not back then and not now.” He slumps down in his seat, the drinks he’s been guzzling clearly starting to have a profound effect on him.

  My nostrils flare and my hands clench into fists at his words. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I lean forward. “All I ever did was listen to you!” I thunder.


  I stare at the shell of the man in front of me as my mind flits back to the last time he told me what I had to do.

  “You’re going to marry her.”

  My eyes widen at his words as they roll around in my head repeatedly.

  “What?” I ask, sure that I heard him wrong.

  He huffs and leans back in his chair, the green leather creaking as he does. “Natalia... you’re going to marry her. I need her father on board with this business deal, and this is a sure way of making it happen.”

  I tilt my head, my eyes focused on a groove in the polished wood of his home office desk.

  “Let me get this straight.” I clear my throat and bring my gaze back up to his, leaning forward in my seat as I clasp my hands together tightly. “You want me to marry Natalia to close a business deal?”

  “That’s what I said, didn’t I?” He shakes his head, clearly exasperated that I haven’t yet grasped onto what he’s saying.

  How can he not see what he’s asking—no, telling—me to do?

  I can’t wrap my head around the fact that he’d do this to me. Not only is Natalia my best friend’s cousin, but she’s finishing up college, the same as Nate and me. I know that she intends to travel the world and dance, so how can he think that’s something that I want to take away from her?

  Besides that, I have a girlfriend; a girlfriend that I love like I’ve never loved anything else in my entire life.

  I stand up, widening my stance and shaking my head before spinning around and walking toward the door of his office. “No.”

  My hand grips the brass door knob as he says, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  The threatening tone to his voice has my hand stilling and the muscles in my back tensing. Closing my eyes, I see her face clearly, her smile and the happiness that shines brightly in her eyes. There’s no way I’ll do this to her.