Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

“I did.”

“Do I want to know how?”

I shake my head, the idea of how I got it sending a sour feeling through my taste buds. “You do not.”

He laughs. “You know, you’re pretty shady for a lawyer.”

“Hey, I didn’t do anything, my hands are clean.”

“Mmmhmm,” he hums and the conversation turns onto trivial things like surfing and my family, avoiding topics that would weigh our minds down.

As we get farther and farther on the north side of town, the houses start to turn derelict, the streets littered with garbage. I turn down a street and pull into the lot of a block of apartments, staring up at the brick structure with graffiti on the outside.

“What the…” Tris has the same expression on his face as I do as he stares at the building in horror.

“Why are we stopping?” Izzie asks innocently.

Tris ignores her as he adds, “There’s no way this is where she’s living now. It can’t be.”

I park and climb out of the car before looking around us at the area she’s chosen to move into. My protective instincts kick in as Tris climbs out of the car and carries Izzie, not putting her down. I walk with Clay by my side to the front doors of the building, hearing shouting coming from inside before a woman pushes the door open with such force that it crashes against the wall. I catch it before it closes and hold the door open for Tris, Izzie, and Clay. Tris shoots me a look that shows he’s thinking exactly the same thing as me: we need to get her out of here.

We hear more shouting coming from inside an apartment we pass on the first floor and Izzie cuddles into Tris as he growls, “This is ridiculous, I’m dragging her home if she won’t leave.”

The word “home” turns my stomach. His home isn’t hers, she made that abundantly clear, so I don’t say anything more as we reach the third floor and find apartment 7B.

The door is a dirty off-white with the paint peeling in places. It’s definitely seen better days, as has the rusty number and letter telling us we have the right apartment. It’s in front of me plain as day and yet I’m still wishing Holland's got it wrong; she can’t have been living here for the last week.

“Daddy, I don’t like it here,” Izzie moans from his chest when we hear another shout.

“I know, pumpkin, we won’t be long. I promise.” Tris rubs her back and shoots a smile down at Clay who has so far stayed silent, taking in the place through wide eyes.

I lift my hand and bang a beat on the door. The wood vibrates and I can tell all it’d take is a hard kick in the right place to break in, but I continue knocking before stopping and listening.

“I don’t think Amelia’s here, Dad,” Clay finally pipes up, making Tris look at me.

I shrug and knock again. “Amelia, it’s Nate. Open the door.”

When we don’t hear anything, I tell Clay to tell her that he’s here. She won’t be able to say no to him.

He hesitates before saying, “Hi, it’s Clay, and Izzie is here, too.”

Everyone waits on bated breath but no one more than me. I’m trying not to show my frustration and worry that’s raging on the inside, but I can’t help the deep noise in my throat from slipping out as I bang on the door again. “Lia, open the door!”

“Alright, kids, I don’t think Amelia is here. Let’s go.” He ushers Clay ahead of him down the hallway toward the stairs but turns around and gives me a hard stare for losing my shit in front of the kids, or at least that’s what I think his look means. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

I hand him my keys and wait until they disappear before knocking again and leaning my forearms against the doorframe. “Lia, if you’re in there, please come to the door.” It’s like everyone in the building has gone silent for this moment, waiting to seeing if she’s going to ignore me like she has done for the last two weeks. “If you’re not going to come to the door, then I’m going to talk anyway and you’re going to listen. Tris is here, by the way. If he didn’t know I liked you before, he does now.” I lean my forehead against the rough surface of her door. “Do you realize how much this is killing me? And now it’s going to be worse knowing you live in this… shithole. I don’t know what possessed you to move into a place like this, but if you need money or…” I lift my head and push off the doorframe, still talking to the door as if it’s her. “I dunno, something, anything, then you knew you had people you could come to. Instead you choose to stay locked away from everyone that loves you.”

I look down the hallway before turning back to the door. “I’m trying to be understanding because I know deep down in my gut that you’re going through something, but if it’s something I can help with, then let me help you. Let me be there for you, because I sure as hell want to be.”

I take a deep breath, my gaze focusing on the door handle like it’s my lifeline, waiting for it to move. When it doesn’t, I run my hands through my hair. “You can’t leave it like this, you can’t pretend like I don’t exist—like Tris and the kids don’t exist. If you want out of our lives then at least have the decency to tell us instead of moving out and cutting contact.” My mind zeros in on the message I got a few days ago and I laugh mirthlessly but keep my voice even and low. “If that’s the way you want it then I’d appreciate it if you didn’t send me messages telling me you miss me, and instead tell me we’re done. But I want you to know I want more than anything for it not to be over. I want you to lean on me, Lia, because that’s what people do when they’re together. I want you to lean on me because I love you.”

Isn’t it funny how one eight letter phrase can both make your heart feel like it’s being ripped in half and mended at the same time?

I spent all day yesterday cooped up in my childhood bedroom, the same as I have for most of today.

She still hasn’t followed me and I don’t get the same prickling feeling I do back home when I can feel her watching me. She’s not here—my plan didn’t work.

I know deep down she’s not going to come back here; there’s a reason she’s staying there and not coming back here, but I can’t work out what it is.