Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks Series Book 1)

by Abigail Davies

  His eyes penetrate mine as I bring my gaze up to his. “Why are you back here?”

  I huff. “You seem to have been acquainted with the reason,” I say, pointing at his eye.

  His demeanor changes, his body stiffening as he sits up straighter. “He hit you?”

  My eyes widen; he’s taken what I said way out of context. “No, not like that. We… we grew apart, that’s all I’m saying.”

  I twist my hands uncomfortably, pulling my gaze away from his, it’s getting far too intense. I shouldn’t be here, I should get up and walk out but something is keeping me rooted in my seat.

  I take another sip of water; the atmosphere has turned awkward and I’m hyperaware of every movement I make. I’m starting to feel a little uncomfortable sitting across from the man that once broke my heart and I realize I’ve gone inside my own head; not a good place to be.

  I sit up and clear my throat when he doesn’t say anything so I try to change the conversation. “How’re the kids?”

  I see his eyes fill with understanding when I look back up at him. He knows what I’m doing, and yet he goes along with it before narrowing his eyes. “The kids?” I nod. “They’re good.”

  “Good,” I reply.

  He opens his mouth as he starts to say something but halts when the waitress walks over and places a plate in front of each of us.

  “Thank you,” I say, smiling at her before picking up my knife and fork and cutting up a piece of steak then putting it in my mouth, moaning as the meat practically melts on my tongue.

  He looks down at his plate as he picks up his own steak on his fork, his eyes closing as a smirk lifts the corner of his lips. “Aren’t you glad you stayed now?”

  I raise a brow at him but don’t answer; it’s the most beautiful steak I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating, but I won’t tell him that.

  We eat in silence, the thought that this couldn’t be any more awkward running through my head the whole time. I shouldn’t have stayed; I should have left and not even entertained staying in the same room, never mind sitting a couple of feet away from him.

  The sound of his cellphone ringing gains my attention but he simply ignores it, pressing a button before popping another piece of steak in his mouth.

  “You can answer that if you want,” I say, shrugging.

  He lifts his gaze to mine. “No, it’s only a reminder for a meeting I have in half an hour.”

  “Ahh,” I say, realizing that I have no idea what he does for work. “Where is it you work?” I ask, trying to sound indifferent.

  He places his knife and fork down before steepling his fingers together. “I took over my dad’s company.”

  I try not to show the shock I feel as I look at him but his mind seems to be elsewhere as he stares out of the windows that line the front of the restaurant. “Wow, I thought that was his baby.”

  He laughs, but it’s more sinister sounding than anything. “Yeah... it was.” He turns to face me, his gray eyes connecting with mine. “He was embezzling money.” He raises a brow. “You’re looking at the CEO of Carter Enterprises.”

  I place my knife and fork down, studying his reaction. He didn’t say it like he was bragging or showing off, it was a simple statement. “Why do I get the impression that you’re not happy about that? I thought that was what you wanted?”

  “Don’t you mean what my parents wanted? I was pushed into it, having no choice in the matter.” He shrugs. “I’ve put my own stamp on things and now that my father is out of prison, I’ll be making sure he sees that I’m better at running the company than he ever was.”

  My eyes widen at his flippant words. “Your dad was in prison?”

  “Yeah.” He waves over a waitress, saying, “Can we get the bill please,” before turning back to face me. “He was embezzling, remember… hence prison.” He raises a brow like I should know this, but how am I meant to know? I don’t know anything about CEOs, companies, or what the company is really about apart from the fact that it deals in technology.

  “Right.” I clear my throat, picking up my purse, about to pay my half when he places the slip of paper in his pocket and stands up. “I need to pay half—”

  He scoffs. “No you don’t, I’ve got this.”

  “Tristan,” I warn, my muscles tensing. He was always like this; trying to pay for everything. This meal may have cost the same as my monthly rent for the studio—okay so that may be an over exaggeration, but I still won’t let him pay for me.

  “It goes on my tab.” He shrugs, motioning his hand toward the front doors before I shake my head and blow out a frustrated breath.

  “I’ll be paying you back,” I throw over my shoulder as we walk out of the restaurant.

  When I turn back toward him, he has that insufferable smirk on his face that makes me want to add another bruise to his collection. “Which way are you going?” he asks, looking down at his watch briefly. I hook my thumb over my shoulder, pointing in the direction that my car is parked before he steps forward. “I guess I’ll see you on Saturday?” His voice is low and I can’t stop my body's reaction to it as goose bumps spread over my skin.

  “You will.” I grit my teeth, determined not to give anything away before he lifts his hand but drops it, shaking his head.

  “This was fun.” His voice doesn’t sound like he enjoyed it at all but the twinkle in his eye tells me that however much he doesn’t want to admit it, he enjoyed spending time with me.

  I roll my eyes, backing away a step before lifting my hand in an awkward wave and spinning around.

  I take three steps before I stop and swirl back around, catching him watching me. “You never answered my question either.” His brow lifts in question. “On Friday, I asked why you were there and you didn’t answer.”

  The corners of his lips lift before he says, “Maybe I’ll tell you on Saturday,” before turning and walking in the opposite direction.

  I don’t know how to feel anymore as I walk toward my car, so many different emotions are invading my mind that I feel like I’m neither coming nor going. I’m more confused than anything, but I can’t deny the pull toward him that I still feel.

  James Arthur—Safe Inside

  Ella Henderson—Beautifully Unfinished

  LeAnn Rimes—Please Remember

  Ed Sheeran—Photograph

  “Jessica, that’s amazing. I had no idea you wanted to be a dancer when you grew up.” Of course I’m telling a little white lie, the eight-year-old girl hasn’t stopped pirouetting since she joined us three weeks ago.

  She nods enthusiastically. “My mommy said I can be anything that I want to be.”

  “Your mommy’s a very smart woman. She’s right, you can; you all can,” I reply, smiling.

  I stand and inhale in a deep breath, looking around the room at the children talking animatedly about what they want to be when they grow up: astronauts, cowboys, doctors, dancers, artists, princesses.

  At what point in life do we start to lose this belief that we can be anything we want to be or do anything we put our mind to? I guess it’s drilled into you when you start high school and you have to start being serious about picking subjects and colleges. You’re told to “be more realistic” or that you’ll never succeed at what you want to do because you don’t have the grades. But sometimes that doesn’t matter; if you have the utter determination to reach your full potential, you’ll get there with a little encouragement from the people around you.

  I know what it feels like to be knocked down for doing something that you love or have always wanted to do. Gerry used to make me feel like my dreams meant a big fat nothing in the grand scheme of things, but so what if these kids don’t remember me in ten to fifteen years’ time? At least I will have had a positive influence on their lives now. He thought it was all just one tiny little blip in someone’s life, and it may be, but to me it’s everything.

  I clap my hands to get their attention and they all turn toward me, their conversations pausing. “You’
ve all done amazing today finishing off your dream boards and I’ve really enjoyed learning about what you all want to be when you become adults. You’re more than welcome to take them home if you’re finished with them. If you’re not, they need to go in the back room ready for next week. It’s cleanup time, first one to have a clean station gets to take home Willow Bear for the week.”

  They all shoot up out of their seats, grabbing paintbrushes and paper as I giggle at their enthusiasm. Willow Bear was Mom’s idea, they do it in kindergarten and she thought it would work well here too. Each child gets to take the stuffed bear home for the week and they write in a “Bear Journal” about the adventures they go on and the fun they have. It doesn’t work with the older ones, but for this session where we have four- to eight-year-olds, they love it.

  “Miss J?” a small voice says.

  I kneel in front of Izzie who has a small smile on her face. “Yes, sweetie?”

  “I’m all clean,” she says, holding up her hands. I look over to where she was using a mountain of glitter and sure enough, her place is spotless, but Clayton’s beside hers is still a mess.

  I smile at the fact that he’s helped his sister. “Wow, you sure are. Willow Bear will be coming home with you then.”

  Her face lights up and her pigtails swing as she bounces up and down. “Yay! I reaaally wanted him because my daddy is taking us to the beach tomorrow.”

  My heart skips a beat at the mention of her dad. After our impromptu lunch on Monday, I haven’t been able to get him out of my head. Which is extremely frustrating because all I’ve tried to do over the last decade is put him to the back of my mind.

  “That’s fantastic, Izzie. Willow Bear will love the beach, I don’t think he’s been there before.”

  She seems to contemplate something before asking, “Have you been?”

  “To the beach?” She nods. “Sure, lots of times. It’s one of my favorite places to visit.”

  “It is?” she squeals, her eyes wide and excited.

  I chuckle. “It sure is.”

  The bell above the door rings out and I stand up, my eyes connecting with Tristan’s. I didn’t get to see him this morning, by the time I’d finished up a phone call in my office, he’d already dropped off Clayton and Izzie, and gone.

  “Daddy!” Izzie cries, running toward him and pulling him by his hand toward me. “I get to bring Willow Bear home.”

  He chuckles, the sound causing goose bumps to prickle along my skin. I see Mom out of the corner of my eye staring over at me with her arms crossed, watching our interaction.

  “You do?” he asks, his eyes widening with excitement for her.

  “Mmhmm, can he come to the beach with us, Daddy? Pleaasseee.”

  “Of course he can,” he answers, his voice raising an octave.

  I chuckle and start to walk away until I hear her say, “And Miss J?” making me halt in my tracks.

  “Oh… Erm…” His eyes meet mine, his gaze unsure. “Not this time, pumpkin.” Izzie’s stomps her foot and he chuckles. “Miss J probably has plans.”

  Izzie pulls on my hands. “Please come, you said it was your favorite.”

  I stand with my mouth wide open, not knowing what to say. My eyes flick to Tristan’s and he smiles slightly before bending down in front of Izzie. “Another time, huh?”

  “I’m sure you’ll have a great time,” I add.

  Izzie looks up at me, her face screwing up like she’s about to cry. “But… I want you there.”

  I kneel down in front of her, holding her hands. “There’ll be other times, sweetie. And I’ll see you next week.”

  Clayton walks over toward us when he sees us standing by the door. “Hi, Dad.”

  Tristan stands and ruffles his hair. “Hey, buddy. You ready to go?”

  I watch the interaction, a weird sensation running through me.

  “Clay, Miss J won’t come to the beach with us,” Izzie cries, her bottom lip jutting out.

  Clayton turns toward me. “Why don’t you want to come?”

  “I… I err, I’d love to come, but I wouldn’t want to intrude on family day.” My gaze flits to Tristan before moving back to Clayton. “And I’m sure your mom wouldn’t be too happy about that.”

  His head snaps to the floor. “Mom isn’t—”

  “Clay,” Tristan interrupts. “Let’s not talk about Mom.” His eyes fill with sadness before he says, “Why don’t you two go and help everyone else tidy up while I talk to Miss J?”

  Clayton walks off without acknowledging either of us, but Izzie looks up at Tristan before swinging her head toward me, her lips dropping into a pout as she walks away.

  “I don’t—”

  “You’re—”

  We try to talk at the same time, laughing awkwardly at the exchange before he rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Izzie really wants you to come.” I nod, looking over at her trying to carry an armful of paint palettes but turn back as he sighs, his gaze flitting about the studio. “You’re more than welcome to come if you want… for Izzie of course.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I reply, looking down at my hands.

  “I won’t even talk to you if you don’t want me to.” His statement has me looking back up to him, seeing playfulness in his gray eyes.

  I snort, glancing over at the kids. The war raging in my head is a losing battle for the side of me that wants to run and hide in my office, but the side that wants to go with them has me nodding my head against my better judgement.

  “Sure, but on one condition,” I say as I turn back toward him and see him raise a brow at me in question. “You answer my question of why you were here last Friday.”

  He waits a beat before nodding. “Sounds fair. Be ready around ten. Where should I…” He fidgets on the spot, his hands pushing inside his jeans pocket.

  “My mom’s,” I say sheepishly, reeling off the address for him.

  “Right... So, ten?” Izzie and Clay walk back over and he takes Izzie’s hand in his. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” she squeals, looking up at us both with a hopeful look in her eyes.

  Tristan chuckles and I stare after them as he pulls Clayton into him and walks out of the door so I don’t hear his reply to her.

  I jump as my mom sidles up to me. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I overheard the conversation—”

  “Listening in more like,” I grumble.

  “So? I still heard what I heard.” She turns toward me, a serious look on her face. “Do you really think that this is the best move for you right now?”

  “How could I say no to Izzie?” Or Tristan for that matter.

  She sighs. “Be careful, Harmony, you’re playing in dangerous territory. You two have history; I don't want you getting hurt again.”

  I wholeheartedly agree with her about everything she said; I’m even second guessing my split-second decision to go to the beach with them now. But it’s not like I have the intention of going because I want to spend time with him; Izzie’s hurt face when I said no was the only thing on my mind when I said yes, but I guess I can see how it looks to my mom.

  “I will. I really didn’t think it through when I agreed to go, but I can’t let Izzie down now.”

  She nods in agreement with me and claps her hands together, much like I do to signal the end of a session. “I guess we should get set up for the next class.”

  She flits off and starts to wipe down the tables, but I’m still standing, staring at the door and thinking about what a stupid move it was to agree to go to the beach with them.

  I pack the sandwiches in the cooler bag along with bags of chips, bottles of water, and cake. Can’t forget the cake—it’s Izzie’s favorite food. I close the lid when everything is in there, zipping it up before lifting it off the counter and walking toward the front door, placing it next to the beach bag that’s full of towels and sunscreen.

  I remember a ti
me when going to the beach was simple; I’d jump in the car in my shorts, taking only a towel, not needing anything else. Now it’s not that simple; now I have to pack everything but the kitchen sink.

  “Daddy!”

  “Yeah, pumpkin?” I call back, walking toward the stairs and climbing them two at a time.

  “Do you think Miss J will have a swimsuit?”

  I smile wide as I make it to Izzie’s door, seeing that she’s packing her own bag, stuffing it with things that she’ll probably never even use.

  “I’m sure she will have.”

  “Are you really sure? I could let her borrow one of mine?” she asks, a frown on her face.

  I lean against the doorframe, chuckling at her as Clay comes to join me, a book under his arm. I look down at him: his dark blue shorts fall just below his knees and his white t-shirt is as crisp and white as the day it left the store. He has a cap on his head facing backward and his sunglasses clutched in the hand that isn’t holding the book.

  When I picked the kids up yesterday, I never expected to have Izzie want Harmony to come to the beach with us, she caught me off guard and I panicked. Truth be told, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head since Monday. The memory of her sitting opposite me in Zanders and watching the glow on her face as she ate the steak flits through my mind before I push it away.

  “She won’t fit in yours, Izzie,” he huffs, shaking his head.

  “Ugh! You’re such a… a boy!”

  I chuckle at them as Clay rolls his eyes. “Hurry up already! I want to leave.”

  “Clay,” I warn.

  He shrugs. “What? She’s taking too long.”

  Izzie stomps off into her walk-in closet, coming out with her floppy summer hat in her hand and placing it on her head before she grabs her giant sunglasses and pushes them over her eyes.

  “I’m ready,” she says, picking up her white and pink bag and the bear that she brought home from art class. She pushes between us, her flip-flops slapping against the stairs as she walks down them.

  “Come on,” I say to Clay, chuckling.