Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)

I don’t want Clay to be me in fifteen years, dreading seeing his dad because I wasn’t around when it mattered. I want him to see me as someone that he can come to no matter what. To talk to me about anything and everything; to confide in me.

A smile spreads on my face as I see my building. At least I always have control and know what to do there, that’s never been a question, I’m damn good at my job.

I step into the building and look down at my shoes when I see color out of my peripheral vision, lifting the left one and pulling off the flyer that’s stuck to the bottom.

I chuckle as I read it. The universe must have known that I need a break and something to offer the kids.

I fold it up and push it into my pocket, fully intending to take Clay and Izzie to this on the weekend. They’ve only ever been to clubs at their school—apart from Izzie’s dancing— and they’re always academic clubs; they never get to express themselves like this.

I head toward the elevator, pressing the button for my floor and riding it up. The doors spring open and I walk over to Catiya’s desk.

“Get me the computer tech supervisor, I want a meeting with him in my office in thirty minutes.”

“Erm… the computer tech supervisor?” she asks, a frown marring her face as she audibly swallows.

“Yes,” I huff, impatient that she doesn’t know who the hell it is. “Jared. His name is Jared, Catiya. How the hell do you not know this? You’ve been working here for six months.”

“I… erm… I…”

I roll my eyes and walk away from her as she stumbles on her words. I don’t have time for that.

I push open the front door, my shoulders slumped down and my eyes burning after a long day at work.

All I want to do is to get in the shower then into my sweatpants and relax with the kids. I don’t want to have to think about the board that are constantly asking for my time or the emails that are sitting on my cell unanswered, or the fact that I’ve just disowned my father—something I should’ve done a long time ago.

I start walking toward the stairs but come to a stop when I hear laughter coming from the kitchen.

“More chocolate!” Izzie shouts, making Amelia chuckle.

I spin around, my feet carrying me to the kitchen on automatic before I push the door open, seeing Clay and Izzie standing on step stools on either side of Amelia. The counter is scattered with baking ingredients: flour and sugar covering most of the surfaces.

“Dad!” Clay shouts, jumping down off the stool and running at me. “We’re making cookies! Come and help.”

My muscles lock as I stare at them all having fun as they bake. My mind swirls with memories of Natalia trying to bake with a two-year-old Clay, trying her best to get him to taste the mixture and make ball shapes with the cookie dough.

He loved the taste of the raw dough more than the baked cookies. The day that I came home to Natalia dancing around the kitchen with Clay in her arms as he ate a ball of the raw dough brings a smile to my face that drops immediately when I hear Amelia’s laughter.

Clay grabs my hand, shocking me out of my reverie as he pulls me over to the counter that they have made their baking station.

“Hi, Daddy.” Izzie waves and I can’t help but chuckle when I see her face covered in flour. Wh

en Amelia turns to face me, a burst of laughter escapes me, not able to hold it in as my head tilts back and my body shakes.

“What?” she asks, spinning to face Izzie and then Clay, her brows drawn down.

“You have a little…” I manage to get four words out before the laughter takes ahold of me again, rendering any speech useless.

She frowns even more at my outburst and moves over to the silver toaster oven, catching her reflection and giggling at herself.

“Well.” She clears her throat. “I think it looks kind of cool.” She pushes her shoulders back, embracing it as she struts back over to us, her hips swinging side to side dramatically.

“Daddy?” Izzie calls and I turn my head to her, but I’m too late to see what she’s doing before I feel a handful of flour hit my face and hear her giggles as she jumps off the step stool and runs away.

“I… I…” I can’t believe she did that.

I wipe my hand over my face, the flour not moving at all and making it worse as I manage to spread it all over my dark blue suit jacket. The dry cleaner is going to have a field day with that.

“Ohhhh! Izzie’s gonna get it!” Clay singsongs as I open my eyes, searching for Izzie and finding her on the other side of the kitchen, standing as far away from me as she can get.