Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

I hand it over, watching as Nate slides it out of the casing gently and opens the lid of my record player, placing it on the turntable and then holding up the cord while searching for somewhere to plug it in.

“There’s a socket there,” Mom supplies, pointing down at the unit next to me. He lifts the entire thing, walking closer to me and placing it onto the unit, plugging it in and then setting the needle on the record.

My eyes close as the same words I listened to on the morning Nate taught me how to surf fill the room. I’m transported back to a time not so long ago where everything seemed to be perfect—where the small things felt huge but in reality were little blips on a map.

Leaning back, I soak it all in—the tone of his voice, the instruments in the background and the telltale crackle that accompanies vinyl records. It sounds like… home.

The bed dips as someone sits next to me, and when I open my eyes, my gaze clashes with Nate’s at what feels like a hundred miles per hour. My mind spins at the same speed the record next to me moves at, my body leaning closer toward him on instinct as his broad smile twinkles at me.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and raw, the emotion taking him over.

He lifts his hand, cupping the side of my face as the instrumental part plays around us, creating a whirlwind of only him and me. “You want to live in memories of lonesome times?” I ask as the lyrics swirl around us.

His lip quirks at the corner, a sparkle in his eyes that hasn’t been there in months as he watches me. “I can’t stop loving you,” he sings along before lowering his voice and bringing his face closer to mine. “I’ll never stop loving you, Lia. No matter how long you need to start letting me in again.”

I swallow against the emotion building in my throat as the song ends, plunging us in silence. I desperately want to say those words back to him, but something stops me. I’m not quite sure why I can’t physically form the words, but I know I still feel it.

“I…” I search his eyes before pulling away slightly, breaking the connection with an inch of space that may as well be a mile. His eyes cloud over at the action and I search for something to do or say to appease him—something I’ve not done in a long time. “How did moving the stuff go?”

He clears his throat and moves to the chair beside my bed. “Fine. Everything’s at my place for when you’re discharged.”

“You’ve got some nerve,” my dad thunders, scaring me as he steps closer to me on the other side of the bed.

“All I was saying was it’s there for when she needs it,” Nate grinds out.

My head whirls back and forth, taking in Dad’s red face before turning to Nate who seems to be getting agitated. I had a feeling when Dad walked in that something had happened, but now they’re both here, I can see something definitely has.

Dad lifts his hand, pointing at Nate as he stands up to match my dad’s height. “You weren’t. You know damn well what you’re trying to do. I told you, I goddamn told you it’s not happening, but yet here you are, trying to take over.”

“Carl—”

“No, Jan.” Dad turns toward Mom, still pointing his finger at Nate. “He’s trying to drop hints to her and she’s going to fall for it.”

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing. I’m not trying to do anything.”

“The hell you aren’t!” Dad shouts, planting his hands on the side of my bed and leaning forward. “She’s my daughter and I’m the one who’ll be looking after her as she recovers.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

I’m ignored as Dad continues. “I don’t trust you with her.”

“Carl!” Mom walks forward, grabbing ahold of his arm. “What are you doing?”

“I’m telling this no—”

“I’m sorry you feel like I’m trying to take over, but I love your daughter,” Nate interrupts, his chest heaving with each stuttering breath. “If I can offer her the best treatment money can buy then I’ll damn well do it.?

?? He looks at me briefly before his gaze falls back on my dad’s. “And as for trusting me with her…” His chest rises and falls before he shakes his head. “Whether she chooses to come home with me or not is her choice. Not yours. Not mine. Hers. I wasn’t saying it was a definite thing, I was giving an option.”

Dad throws his hands up. “There you go, throwing your money about again.”

“This is not about money!” Nate’s voice rises. “This is about the best care for Amelia.”

“And what? We can’t provide that for her?” Dad’s hands clench into fists at his sides as he widens his stance, his mouth in a grim line.

“I’m not saying you can’t, like I said: it’s an option. I’ve researched everything she’ll need and looked into it all extensively. My house is all on one floor with enough space for her to maneuver around herself.” He pauses for effect. “Can you honestly say you have all that if she were to come home with you? And I’m not asking that to be an asshole, Carl. I–”

“Unbelievable,” I murmur.