Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)

I drive down the street that their house is on, glancing around at the fancy houses that crop up periodically until a pillar stating their house number looms in sight. I make the turn onto a gravel driveway and my breath hitches.

Whoa!

A towering, limestone mansion sits at the end of the driveway and I feel intimidated at the sheer size of the place. That’s a lot of rooms to clean.

I park beside a circular fountain and Izzie squeals, “We’re here!”

She unbuckles herself before I slide out of my seat and get out of the car, opening her door and watching as she jumps out and runs up to the front door, pushing hard on the handle and running inside, leaving it wide open.

I walk up to it and peer inside the spacious, white entryway, wondering if I should go in or not. As I’m about to walk in, I hear voices and Tristan appears from a hallway on the left with Izzie attached to his hip.

“Hey.” He smiles. “Come on in.”

I hesitate. “I, erm... I don’t want to intrude. I’ll just—”

“No, you’re okay. Come in.” He walks ahead of me, disappearing down the hallway he showed up from.

“O—okay,” I reply, stepping onto the marble flooring gingerly, scared I’ll mark it.

I close the door behind me and take one last look around before walking down the hallway he disappeared down that leads into his kitchen.

Izzie is sitting at the table with the pretty blond woman I saw at the gallery night that I now know to be Amelia.

She eyes me and offers me a small smile before getting up and putting out her hand for me to shake. “Hi, I’m Amelia.”

I nod and return her smile and handshake. “Thought as much, the kids are always talking about you. I’m their art teacher—”

“Miss J,” she finishes for me and chuckles. “They’re always talking about you too.” She’s silent for a minute as she looks between Tristan and me, smirking and twirling around to face Izzie at the table. “Come on, Izzie, I haven’t been force-fed cups of tea for a while. Let’s go and set up a tea party.”

Izzie jumps out of her chair, waving at me on the way past before she shouts, “Race you!”

Amelia follows Izzie’s running body out of the room and I chuckle, tearing my eyes away from the hallway and setting them on Tristan who is leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Thanks for today,” he murmurs, pushing off the counter and opening one of the cabinet doors, pulling two cups out. “Do you want a drink?”

“Water, please. And you’re more than welcome, we had a lot of fun.” I watch him walk over to the refrigerator, the muscles in his arm rippling as he pulls it open and grabs a bottle of water before shutting the door and turning to hand it to me. “Thanks.” I look down at the condensation on the bottle, my earlier feelings of guilt creeping back into my psyche. “How… How is Clayton?”

His footsteps halt as he walks over to the coffee pot, his back tensing. “He’s sleeping, I…” He makes a noise in his throat and I watch as the back of his head shakes. “I think you and my mom were right.” He turns back to face me when he’s poured his coffee. “I need to get him some help. I can’t let this keep happening.”

“It’s all my fault; I wasn’t thinking when I planned the session.”

I tear my gaze away from him so I don’t realize that he’s moved toward me until I see the front of his boots in my peripheral vision. “It’s not your fault.” His voice is low. “You can’t not plan a session that has something to do with moms because of one child. He needs to learn how to deal with what’s going on in his head, but it’s hard for him. He’s still a kid and I don’t think he fully understands what happened or more importantly, why it happened.”

“I should’ve been more considerate though, I can still picture his face...” My eyes flutter shut at the thought of him holding onto me as if I were the only thing holding him together.

The feel of fingertips against my cheeks shocks me and my eyes fly open, staring into Tris’s. “Harm.” His voice is like a plea and he steps closer, his hands cupping each side of my face now as his thumb swipes away an errant tear that’s making its way down my cheek.

I swallow against his closeness, the air crackling around us as his eyes bore into mine.

“I… I’m sorry,” I say, halfheartedly, my eyes flicking down to his lips. “I don’t know why—”

“You did nothing wrong.” His hand whispers down my face, his thumb running along my bottom lip as his eyes track his movements.

My breath stutters out at his touch and his eyes sparkle as they flit back up to mine, a fleeting thought running behind them before he breathes out and slides his hands away, pocketing them as if trying to stop himself from touching me again.

“I…” I point toward the hallway, not knowing how I should feel about my reaction toward him. Where has all my anger gone? “I should go.”

He scrubs the back of his neck and clears his throat. “Erm… yeah. Thanks again for looking after Izzie. I really appreciate it.”