Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)

I place my coffee cup in the sink after rinsing it out, turning and leaning against the counter as I watch Clay and Izzie where they sit at the table, eating their breakfast.

My cell buzzing in my pocket grabs my attention and I pull it out to see a message from Nate.

NATE: Lunch date? ;)

I shake my head, ignoring the message and placing my cell down onto the counter. I haven’t seen Nate since he left my place after the cookout—a cookout that was set up by him and my mother so that they could meddle in my life. Not only do I feel betrayed by that, but the fact that he knew Harmony was in town and decided to omit telling me has him firmly at the top of my shit list.

NATE: I know you’ve seen my message.

NATE: I’ll message you once a minute until you answer.

I flick my eyes down to my cell, listening as Clay tells Izzie about the book that he’s reading.

NATE: Did you know that Oklahoma declared watermelon a vegetable and that they’ve made it their official state vegetable?

I grit my teeth, turning my cell on silent as my gaze catches the box that sits by the back door. Another package; one of five that have been delivered in the last week for Amelia.

Nate was right about one thing: I am blind to what is going on around me, and this last week my eyes have been wide open to what is happening in my house.

NATE: Did you know that having no friends could be as deadly as smoking? That’s what Harvard University said. Apparently there's a link between loneliness and the levels of a blood-clotting protein which can cause heart attacks and strokes.

I shake my head at his message, determined not to answer him until my eyes land on that goddamn package again. I can’t help but think maybe there is something going on with Amelia, and if there is, I want to know what.

She must know that I’m thinking about her because as I’m about to pick up my cell and tell the kids that they need to go and get their backpacks, she walks into the kitchen. Only she doesn’t come in the back door like she normally would, she comes in from the main house.

I frown when I see her worried face. “Amelia?” I ask, catching her attention.

She startles, her eyes wide and her face pale as she looks around, first at me, then at the kids before her gaze lands on the package waiting for her.

She shuffles her feet on the floor. “He—ey,” she stammers.

I lift up off the counter that I’m leaning against and step toward her, my instincts on high alert. “Are you okay?”

My eyes flit between both of hers and I can see that she’s frightened. Something has happened and seeing that look in her chocolate brown eyes makes me even more determined to find out what has her so on edge.

“Yeah,” she says louder than necessary, cringing at the sound of her own voice before turning to Clay and Izzie. “You two have a good day at school. When you get back we’ll make cookies.” She smiles at them but I can see that it’s forced.

“With chocolate chips?” Izzie asks, bouncing up and down in her seat.

“You bet!” Amelia winks and then walks through the kitchen, grabbing the package and practically running out of the door, leaving me with a million questions.

I let it go at the cookout when I knew something was going on after I handed her that package. I knew it wasn’t something she’d ordered for herself by the look on her face, but what was it? I let her have her space, knowing that she knew if she wanted to talk, that I’m here. But by the looks of things, she doesn’t intend to come and talk to me so I’ll have to push her for more information.

The kitchen door closes softly and brings me out of my own head before I step toward it. “Hurry up and finish,” I tell the kids. “Edward will be here in ten.”

“Okay, Dad,” they both answer in unison.

I pull the door open and my gaze zones in on Amelia as she shuts the door to the pool house. I don’t take a second to think about it before I’m jogging over the grass and swinging the door open.

“Amelia.” I use my no-nonsense tone, the same one I use when Clay or Izzie are in trouble, the one I use when I’m in a board meeting and commanding all of their attention.

“Tristan,” she whispers, holding that damn box so tight like it’s her lifeline.

“What’s going on?” I ask, taking a step further into the room and letting the door bang shut behind me. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Her gaze flits around the room, not meeting mine as she bites her bottom lip and takes a step back. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit,” I spit as I take another two steps toward her, my shoes sinking into the plush, beige carpet that runs through the whole place as I lay my hands on the box. “What’s in here?”