Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

His gaze flits between my eyes. The longer he stares the more he seems to be worried. I need to distract him, to make him believe everything is okay and I’m not feeling like I’m losing my breath the longer the package sits in this room with all of them.

“Yeah.” I cringe at the loudness of my voice. Pretending like it didn’t happen, I turn to face Clay and Izzie. “You two have a good day at school. When you get back we’ll make cookies.” I force a smile on my face.

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

“You bet!” I wink before walking through the kitchen and grabbing the package. My heartbeat booms in my ears as I try to get out of here as fast as I can without causing any alarm.

I manage to get to the pool house, the box firmly clutched in my hands before the door opens and Tristan’s booming voice says, “Amelia.” It’s the same tone he uses with Clay and Izzie when they’re in trouble.

“Tristan,” I whisper, my knuckles turning white from the iron-clad grip I’m holding the box in.

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

My gaze flies around the room, not stopping on anything in particular as I try not to look into his gray eyes I swear will be able to see right through me. I’ve been on edge since the first package, but once the empty ones started to be delivered, I’ve been worse.

He’s not going to go away and let this drop, so I finally say, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit,” he spits out as he takes another two steps toward me. He’s quicker than I’m expecting, his hands gripping the edge of the box before I know it. “What’s in here?”

I gasp and hold it tighter as he pulls on it. No. “Stop. It’s... nothing.”

He raises his brows at me and bends slightly so his eyes are level with mine. They flash, telling me he’s here, that I can trust him. But it doesn’t matter because I’ll never tell him. It’s too dangerous.

“I—” I look out of the windows, gazing out at the backyard and the main house. “Honestly, Tris.” I take a breath, willing my body to act normal. “It really is nothing. I… I didn’t get much sleep so I’m feeling out of it.”

His eyes burn into me. “A,” he pleads.

I catch sight of Izzie as she opens the back door and shouts, “Daddy! Eddie is here!”

Taking his distraction, I yank on the box, running into the kitchen and away from him. Hiding in the corner, I pray he leaves and doesn’t demand I open the box in front of him. Oh God, how would I explain it?

I jump out of my skin as he shouts, “This isn’t over!” before the door closes behind him.

Staying where I am, I watch the minutes on the clock tick down, listening intently as tires sound on the driveway, leaving me on my own.

Pulling a knife out of the block, I slowly move over to the sofa and place the box on the coffee table. I have a feeling it’s the same as the other four I received this week, purely because it’s so light.

Taking a deep breath, I run the knife along the tape, pulling it open and looking inside. Yanking the black tissue paper out I find it empty again. I don’t know what’s worse: having an empty package, or one with a surprise inside. They’re coming more often now, and I can’t help but wonder if this is the lead up to something big or just one giant game.

Goose bumps trail over my skin, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. My head whips around, looking out of the glass door.

Is there someone out there?

My gaze flicks back and forth, over the pool, all the shrubbery linings the edge of the backyard, and over to the back gate that sits unlocked and is wafting forward and backward in the wind.

Jumping up, I nearly fall over my own two feet trying to get outside as fast as I can. My chest heaves as I dart for the gate, slamming it closed and locking the padlock. Taking a step back, I stare at it, my stomach rolling as I run my hand over my forehead.

Running back over to the pool house, I shove the box next to the trash can and lock the door before heading into the main house.

I’ve never locked the door but right now I feel far from safe and at least while I’m in the main house

, I’ll know nothing can get me here.

I go around to every single door and window, locking the ones that aren’t locked and double-checking the ones that are.

I’m being paranoid. No, I’m being cautious; safe; aware of my surroundings.

Clenching my hands into fists, I close my eyes and count to ten, feeling much calmer once I’ve done it and opened them back up again. Flexing my fingers, I pull my shoulders back and put the whole morning—the whole week—to the back of my mind.