Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

Why did I keep it? Why didn’t I throw it away?

“You know why,” a voice whispers in the back of my head.

The sound of a horn blaring makes me jump, my hand slapping against my chest as my heart beats an erratic rhythm. Goddamn Nate.

He isn’t going to leave, I know that. I sigh. To be honest, I need to get out of this house, away from the box and everything it means. I’ll give myself one night—one night where I forget and try to have fun with some adult company for once.

Switching the light off in my little kitchen, I head to my closet, grabbing a pair of dark-blue skinny jeans and an oversized gray sweater. I put on a coat of mascara and swipe some balm over my lips before pulling off my sweats and replacing them with my jeans. My sweater goes over my tank top before I run my fingers through my dark-blond hair, trying to tame it.

I stare into the reflection in the bathroom again, cautious as to not get as lost as I did earlier. Shrugging my shoulders, I declare myself ready and switch the light off before walking between the bed and coffee table in the main room of the pool house. Pushing my feet into a pair of booties, I grab my wallet and head out of the door, leaving the main light on for when I get home.

Locking up the main house behind me, the new front light Tris installed guides my way to the obnoxious sports car that waits with a grinning Nate inside.

That thing probably cost more money than I’ll ever see in this lifetime.

I pull the door open, careful not to mark the paintwork as I do and then sink into the leather seats that are so soft I feel like I’m sitting in a cloud that hugs my ass.

“Ready?” he asks, placing his hand on the gearstick.

“Yep,” I answer, not willing to look into his eyes. Instead, I turn my head, staring out of the passenger window as he makes his way down the driveway, cursing up a storm as the little gravel stones go flying up underneath us.

He starts to talk as we get to the bottom of the driveway—telling me about the new interns that have started at the firm he co-owns—but I’m not really listening as he turns left, heading away from the house.

Staring at the sky that’s starting to darken, my thoughts swirl. Every shadow has my pulse racing a little faster.

Are they out there watching me? If they are: how long have they known where I’ve been?

My gaze flits back and forth with every little movement. I’m being irrational and paranoid, at least that’s what I keep telling myself—but am I?

The sound of the purring engine being switched off as the car comes to a complete stop has me turning my head to face Nate, catching the reflection of lights outside a building that’s packed with patrons.

“Where are we?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

“Gillies sports bar, but we’re not going inside until you tell me what’s up.”

“What?” I frown, placing some hair behind my ear. “Nothing’s up.”

“You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Amelia. You forget what I do for work.” His gaze flits between my eyes. “I read people for a living, I know when someone’s lying. Plus, you’ve barely said a word the whole journey and that’s not like you at all.”

I smirk. “Maybe that’s because you can talk enough for the both of us.” I shake my head. “You’re like an old lady gossiping.”

He chuckles, the sound bouncing around the small car. “Joke all you like, but there’s something up with you.” He raises a brow, but when I don’t answer he huffs out a breath. “I won’t keep nagging at you but know if you need to talk I’m here in all my glory.”

I roll my eyes at him, trying my best to show him there’s nothing wrong when in fact it’s the total opposite. “Be happy with the knowledge if I need to bare my soul, you’ll be the first person I ask to come over and drink tea.”

His eyes flash with laughter before he shakes his head and pushes out of the car. I follow suit, closing the door behind me softly as he waits for me.

He lifts his arm when I come closer, seeming to hesitate. I don’t give him the chance to touch me, instead I walk ahead, pulling the door open and stepping inside the bar. My eyes soak it all in, the sounds of people laughing and having a good time; the smell of beer and burgers; the clanging of pool balls as they hit each other.

The bar to my right runs the length of the entire room, every bar stool taken. TV screens hang over the top of the bar as well as be

hind it. Nate leads me to one of the booths placed along the windows looking out onto the small parking lot.

He places his hand at the small of my back, his palm feeling like it’s burning through my thin sweater. There go those damn flutters again.

Trying to concentrate on where he’s steering me, my gaze flits to the several game tables before Nate comes to a stop about halfway down and tilts his head toward a vacant booth. I push into it, sliding along the dark-brown leather that matches the stools under the wooden bar.

He doesn’t join me and I raise a brow.