Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)

I nod my head and wave my hand, telling her to close the door behind her. Once it’s closed, my mom takes her long coat off and hangs it over the back of one of the chairs, looking around the room. “Well... when your only son won’t come and see you, you have no choice but to come to his workplace.”

She smooths down her blond hair, the cut sharp and drawing out her features, especially her gray eyes.

“I’ve been busy,” I respond.

“Yeah?” She snorts, so unladylike. She’d never do that in front of anyone else, she always has this front that she puts on with other people, but with me she lets hersel

f be the person that she is. “Too busy to see me, or to let me see my grandbabies?”

I shake my head at her sulking tone—she’s more of a child than Izzie.

“Yes,” I answer simply, not wanting to talk. I can barely even look at her right now, all she does is bring back memories; memories that I don’t want in my face constantly.

She crosses her arms over her chest and raises a perfectly shaped brow. “So... when will I get to see my little munchkins?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug, moving past her and collecting my leather folder that contains my important papers.

“For God’s sake, Tristan! Tell Edward to bring them over after school.”

I slowly lift my head, my gaze settling on hers. “Mother...” I warn but she ignores it and continues with her incessant talking.

“And will you stop with the Mother! No one else is around, Tristan. It’s just little old me here.”

I rub my pointer finger into my temple, trying to relieve another headache that I can feel coming on as I blow out a long breath. I love my mother as much as a person can when he doesn’t want to see her, she can be intense and that’s only one of the many reasons that I’ve pulled away from her.

Growing up, Dad wanted things a certain way. He liked to control any and all situations, he was the one who insisted on me calling them Mother and Father. He had things kept in perfect order; one step outside of his invisible lines wasn’t acceptable.

It wasn’t until he went to prison that Mom finally woke up and divorced him—ridding him from her life—that things changed.

She’d been pushed into being someone that she wasn’t while she was married to him and she’s been doing everything she can to try and be the mother that she was never given the chance to be when I was growing up. She started her own business and it’s doing really well. I can remember as a child she was always making and designing her own clothes—not that she was allowed to wear them outside of the house though.

Now, that’s all she wears: her own designs, her own clothes; she and millions of other people.

I was happy for her, I really was, but sometimes her trying too hard was a little much for me to handle.

“That’s your name, is it not?” I step toward the door, ready to get out of this room and away from the stifling atmosphere.

She rolls her eyes before picking up her coat and hanging it over her arm before moving past me, pulling the door open and saying, “Get Edward to bring my munchkins to me when they finish school. You can join us for dinner when you’ve finished work, if you get out of this mood you’re in.” I step out of the boardroom behind her and watch as she walks toward to the elevator, stepping inside and calling, “Tell Edward he can eat too!” before the doors shut.

I huff out a breath, knowing that I don’t have much choice now that she’s left without me telling her no. She’ll call Edward herself if I don’t call him.

Pulling my cell out, I shoot a message to Edward, telling him to take the children to Mom’s after they finish school while also informing him that she’s requested his presence there too.

If I have to put up with her, then so does he.

I walk out of the building and spot Edward at the side of the road, waiting for me. His face is flushed and he’s looking everywhere but at me. I know how he’s feeling because I’m dreading tonight’s dinner too.

I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the night ahead and step forward.

“Evening,” Edward says as I get into the back of the car.

“You managed to get away then,” I ask, looking at him through the rearview mirror.

He raises a brow at me before turning his eyes onto the road as he pulls into the traffic. “Just about.”

I lean back, pulling my jacket open and resting my neck against the back of the seat; today has been a long day. Between finalizing the designs for the new website and fielding calls from board members who decided they had more questions about the new direction we’re going in with the stores; I’m beat.

What is it with middle-aged men that sit in their mansions, drinking whiskey and thinking they know best? Sometimes the things they suggest boggles my mind and I wonder how they made it as far as they did. But then again, coming from a family with money sometimes means that you don’t have to work as hard for things.