Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)

It’s the reason why I made it my mission to come top of my class while I was in college. Achieving things on my own merit has always been important to me, I didn’t want to “get by” just because of my last name.

I turn my head toward the window, staring at the bumper to bumper traffic. All I want is to eat, spend some time with Clay and Izzie, and then go to bed. The city traffic is always a nightmare and I’m thankful that Mom moved closer to the city for her work.

Her design studio is literally next door to her new house. “I’ll have longer to get ready,” she reasoned when she first came up with the idea. I thought it was ridiculous at the time but now I can see the benefits because I must spend about fifteen hours in this car traveling to and from work each week. Hours I could be spending with Clay and Izzie instead of in a metal box—granted it’s a top of the line metal box, but a box all the same.

After twenty minutes, we start moving again and Edward manages to park a block away. We both get out of the car, walking side by side to Mom’s house, neither of us saying a word. I can feel the nervous energy emanating from him the closer we get and I want to say something to relieve his tension, but hell, he’s known her longer than I’ve been alive.

Maybe that’s why he’s so nervous, because he knows her so well?

He walks up the small path first, knocking on the big, black, wooden door and then smiling apologetically at me when he realizes what he’s done.

“Habit,” he explains.

“No worries,” I tell him, smiling when I hear Izzie’s squeal of delight as the door opens. She runs at me and I bend at the knees, bracing for the impact of her small body as I open my arms wide, picking her up before she manages to run me down.

“Daddy!” she squeals.

“Hey, pumpkin.” I pull her closer, resting my arm under her legs as I walk inside and tilt my head in greeting at my mom.

“Are you having fun?” I ask, walking through to the dining room where Mom says Clay is waiting.

“Yeah! I told Nana about the apple I drewed with Miss J!”

“Drew, pumpkin, it’s the apple you drew.”

“Oh,” she murmurs, her lips turning down into a pout.

“Hey,” I say, sitting down at the table next to Clay and turning her face to me. “It’s okay to get words wrong sometimes.”

“It is?”

“Yep, Daddy does it all the time.”

She giggles and turns to Edward, changing the conversation. “Did you hang my picture in the front of the car?” she asks, putting her hand on her hip and tilting her head to the side.

“I sure did, Miss Izzie.”

“Yay!” she cheers, hopping down off my lap and walking over to Mom. “Nana? Can you draw fruit?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Maybe I could come to the art class and learn?”

“I’ll ask Miss J, she’s really nice so she’ll let you,” Izzie tells her, completely serious.

I turn my gaze to Clay who’s sitting with the book on the table, his forearms holding down the bottom of the pages as he reads intently.

“How did the test go?” I ask him, leaning closer.

“Okay.”

I frown and place my hand over the pages to garner his attention, waiting for him to look up at me. He turns his head slowly and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Just okay?” I ask with a raised brow.

“It was too easy, Dad,” he moans, putting his elbows on the table and resting his head in his hands. “They’re always too easy.”

I take a breath, thinking about what I should say. Sometimes I don’t feel adult enough to be a parent. I worry that I’ll say the wrong thing all the time. All I ever seem to do is worry.

Am I giving them enough attention? Am I enough on my own? Should I be spending more time with them? Am I doing what’s best by sending them to a private school?