Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

He watches me for a beat before picking his own up and taking a bite. We eat in silence until I place half of my burger down, picking up my beer and taking a long swallow.

“You were right,” I say. “That was the best burger I’ve had in years.” I push the plate away, knowing if I eat anymore I’ll have to undo my jeans from the bloating that is bound to ensue.

“Of course I was right, I’m always right,” he replies, biting into the last of his burger and wiping his hands on a napkin. “How’re the kids anyway? I’ve not been able to get around much lately thanks to work.”

“They’re good.” I nod, glad we’re on mutual conversational ground. I could talk about the kids all day long and not get bored. “Clay’s always got his nose in a book and Izzie is still obsessed with chocolate sauce. The usual.”

The genuine smile creeping up his face makes me grin. I know he loves those kids as much as I do. “I’ll have to get her out of that habit. If she wants to be a ballerina like her mom was then she can’t be guzzling bottles of chocolate sauce every day.” He chuckles before his face turns serious. “She is still dancing, isn’t she?”

“Of course she is.” I tilt my head to the side, watching him intently.

“Good, good.” He pauses, looking down at his hands that are laced together on the top of the wooden table. “I thought after Tris lost his temper with me at her dance show he’d try and stop her from dancing.” He looks back up at me. “It reminds him too much of Nat, but he’s got to learn to live without her.”

My mouth opens, no words coming out. I agree with Nate but I hate feeling like I’m stuck in the middle. I’ve seen the way Tris is with the kids, I’ve been in that house for almost six years as he’s grieved and not changed a single thing inside it. Sometimes it feels like Natalia’s ghost surrounds us there.

“Yeah,” I say tentatively. I want to tell him I see the way Tris’s eyes glaze over when he watches Izzie dance, how he seems to be transported to another time. But I don’t, I give him an open look instead, silently telling him I’ll listen even if it means I won’t give him my own opinion.

“Right. Employer.” I give him a small smile but he continues on. “You know you’re more than that to him though, you’re like a sister. That means you get to have an opinion, but I respect you not voicing it.” He takes a swig of his beer before running his hand through his soft-looking brown hair. “Something needs to give with him. It’s nearly been six years since we lost her yet he acts like it was only the other day.”

My chest expands as I take a breath. ?

?You’re right, I do get to have an opinion, Nate.” I place my hand over the top of his. “It may have been six years, but you can’t put a time cap on grief. He needs to work through it on his own, at his own pace.”

He sighs, pulling his hand away. “People grieve in their own way, I get that. We all had to grieve, but… six years? It’s not just him dealing with his grief, we all get the brunt of it. And Izzie and Clay? They deserve more than him pretending like Nat didn’t exist.”

I narrow my eyes at him, trying my hardest to not spew out all the words I want to. “You don’t get it.” I shake my head at him, not bothered in the slightest when his eyes flare. “You can’t tell people how to get over a loss like that. He was there. He watched her die and then was left dealing with everything.” I make a noise in the back of my throat. Maybe I’m not as good at keeping my mouth shut as I thought. “You should be glad he did what he did and put everything into being the dad he is. He could have easily switched himself off, but he didn’t.” I keep my eyes connected to his. “Yes, it’s been six years, but who are you to say how he deals with everything? You know Tris as well as I do. So you know… you know if you push too far, he’ll slam those walls right down in your face.”

“You didn’t know him before everything. And I’m not saying he isn’t a good dad, he’s one of the best. But you can’t deny he isn’t all there with them.” His fingers tap a beat on the table. “And it’s not just about them, what about the people that have been left behind because he refuses to talk to us properly?” His eyes flash with sadness before he quickly looks back at the TV screens. “I didn’t mean that he isn’t entitled to be sad and grieve in the way he wants to, I just… is it so bad to want my best friend back? I’ve already lost one.”

A lump forms in my throat at his last words. I want to tell him he’ll get his best friend back at some stage, but I’d be lying because I don’t know if Tris will ever be the same person again. Something like that changes you irrefutably.

“Nate,” I whisper, tears gathering in my eyes.

He clears his throat before looking back at me with a smile on his face. “I sure know how to liven up your Friday night, huh?” I smile and the tears that were gathering start to fall. His gaze flicks to one before he gently wipes under my left eye. I shy away from him, not wanting to be center of his attention. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“Okay,” I croak out, pulling away completely and sliding out of the opposite side of the booth, walking through the crowd, knowing he’s following behind me.

I need to keep my emotions in check, I have to not let it all come to the surface because I’m afraid if I do—if I let myself feel everything around me—it’ll open up the locked box I shoved down all those years ago.

Six years—that’s how long it’s been for Tris and he still isn’t over what happened to Natalia. Just like I’m not over what happened to me.

They say there are several stages to grief, but what happens when you don’t allow yourself to feel any of those stages? What happens when you push it all down, refusing to allow a single emotion to come to the surface?

Does it disappear until one day you don’t need to lock it away? Or does it all explode much like a volcano that hasn’t erupted for hundreds of years?

I hope it’s the first because if it’s the latter, I know I won’t survive.

“Come on, Clay.”

He doesn’t look up from where he’s sitting on the sun lounger a few feet from the pool in the backyard, his book open in his lap as his gaze flits back and forth on the text. From the moment he got in the car when I picked him up from school he hasn’t put it down; I practically had to carry him out here while Izzie went to get changed.

“I’m reading,” he murmurs.

The sound of Izzie’s squealing has me spinning around, spotting her walking over the grass toward the pool, sunlight hitting off her bright-pink short bottoms and crop top swimsuit.

“Can you show me how to do a mushroom today?” she asks, her sweet voice the only sound in the backyard.

“Sure, sweetie.” I pull the hair tie off my wrist, walking toward her and quickly putting her hair up into a ponytail. “As soon as Clay goes and gets changed.”