Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

“Mom called a couple of days ago,” she says, lifting her head. “She said Dad’s really busy at work.” Her lips twist into a scowl. “But I know he was there because I heard him in the background.”

Wrapping my fingers around her hand and giving a comforting squeeze, I ask, “Why don’t you invite them for Christmas?”

Her gaze lands on a tree in front of us, following the path of a squirrel as it climbs it. “I don’t really feel like celebrating this year.” She worries her bottom lip. “Is it okay if we decorate but not have the big meal and everything that goe

s with it?”

“I know you’re not in the mood after everything that’s happened, but Mom’s invited us over. We’ll have a great time.”

She’s shaking her head before I’ve even finished. “I can’t, Nate. Not like… this.”

“You’re still you.” She doesn’t say anything. “We had a quiet Thanksgiving just us two, no frills. I’m not letting you miss another holiday.”

“Then you go,” she huffs out. “I’m not leaving the house this Christmas.” Her eyes narrow. “I mean it, Nate. I’m not going to your parents.”

“Alright,” I reply with my hands held up in front of me. “You won’t leave the house this Christmas.” But she didn’t say anything about anybody coming to our house.

“Thank you.” She tries to pull her lips up into a smile, but I can tell it’s forced.

I look away from her to gaze around the park, my eyes locking onto a couple coming toward us. I stifle a laugh as I lean toward Amelia and whisper, “Hey, Earl. Who’s your friend?”

Her eyes widen at the old couple, a man in the wheelchair with the same style blanket as the one draped over her lap.

“That’s Albert,” she whispers. “He’s part of the ‘Blanket Crew.’”

The couple wheels past, the man nodding at Amelia as his gaze dips to her lap. “Nice blanket.”

I try to hold in my laughter to no avail as she stares in horror after them before her head snaps around and her gaze narrows on me. “Right!” She grabs the wheels, jerking forward. “I’ve had enough fresh air for one day.” She wheels forward again but the blanket gets stuck in the wheels. She fights it, moving backward and forward. “Stupid blanket!” Finally getting it unstuck from the wheel, she rides over it, cursing as I hold my stomach, laughter rumbling out of me uncontrollably.

“You’ll get cold,” I call after her to which she gives me the middle finger before carrying on down the sidewalk toward the parking lot.

As long as she keeps her sense of humor, we can do this. We can get through anything.

My eyes flutter open, my hand reaching out and hitting the cold side of the bed Nate sleeps on. I frown, wondering where he is as I push myself up into a sitting position and pull my chair closer to the side of the bed.

Lifting myself up, I maneuver into my chair, pushing around the bed and out of the room.

The adjustments Nate made to the house are so well thought out even I didn’t realize how much you use on a day-to-day basis. Small things like being able to walk around the bed or getting something off the hanger in the closet. Things I can’t reach but Nate has made sure I now can.

Not only has he made my recovery easier, but he’s given me back the independence that was taken away from me as soon as I was pushed over the balcony. I’ll never be able to thank him enough for what he’s done for me.

Tilting my head when I get halfway down the hallway, I concentrate on the murmurs I can hear. It’s not until I come into the living room that I see the back of a head with dark-brown hair falling in soft waves over the back of the sofa.

Frowning, I move closer, the sound of my chair causing the person’s head to whip around.

“Maya?”

Her gaze falls to my chair before she looks back up at me. “Merry Christmas, Amelia.”

“What—” I clear my throat, my gaze batting over to the double doors that lead to the kitchen as voices get louder. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s Christmas, we’re always together as a family on Christmas.”

My nostrils flare, but when I open my mouth to reply to her, Nate walks into the living room with a wide grin on his face and a plate full of cookies in his hand.

His gaze connects with mine, his eyes widening slightly before he schools his features and walks over to me.

“Nate,” I grind out, knowing he knows what I’m saying with that one word.