Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

“Hey.” I tilt my head down to Frankie. “How’s the sleepless nights going?”

“He’s been pretty good as long as he’s snuggled up with me or Harm.” Tris crouches down in front of me, his gaze batting over to Clay. “I know it’s your birthday.” His throat bobs as he swallows. “But... do you think you could talk to Clay?”

I frown, looking over at Clay, seeing his gaze bat away from me suddenly, his head lowering. “Why, what’s—” I cut myself off as I realize I haven’t talked to him properly since before I moved out. Pangs of regret flow through me at the speed of a hurricane. Why have I only just realized this now?

Clearing my throat as he comes to stand behind me, pushing me forward, I say, “Of course.”

Tris leans down and takes Frankie out of my arms when he comes to a stop next to the sofa, whispering, “Thank you,” before wandering off through the kitchen where I can hear everyone else talking.

I stay silent for several minutes, giving Clay some time, and when his page doesn’t turn when I know it would have by now, I venture forward.

“Good book?”

“Uh-huh.”

He doe

sn’t turn to look at me even though I’m desperate for him to. I’m shouting at myself in my head. Why didn’t I notice this at Christmas? It’s been months since then, and yet it hadn’t crossed my mind once. For six years I was one of the main people in his life and I up and left.

“Clay?” He ignores me this time, and I know it’ll take more than one conversation to fix what I broke between us. But now I’m aware of it, I’ll do everything in my power to fix it. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

His gray eyes finally meet my gaze, and when I see the sadness and heartbreak shining in them, I wish for the first time in months to be able to jump out of this chair and pull him to me. But I can’t. I can’t stand up and be the person I used to be.

“I’m so sorry,” I say again, hoping like hell he believes me.

“You left,” he deadpans, not giving anything else away as he closes his book and lays it on his lap, flipping the edge of it back and forth with his fingers.

“I know.” I push back the tears stinging my eyes, knowing I need to pull up my big girl panties. “I should have told you I wouldn’t be back at all, but I… I was trying…”

“Dad already told me you were trying to protect us.”

I swallow against the lump in my throat, hating that I’ve broken his heart. Out of everyone, he’s the one person I never wanted to disappoint or let down. Yet I did. I did what I always promised I wouldn’t.

“I’m really sorry, Clay. I was doing what I thought was best. I love you so much and couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt—”

“You did hurt me!” he shouts, standing up and throwing his book down on the sofa. Tears escape his eyes, trailing down his cheeks as he stands so tense I’m almost afraid he’s going to hurt himself.

Holding my arms out, I beg him, “Come here.”

“No,” he grinds out, sounding so much like his dad it’s scary. His voice breaks, a sob bubbling up as he whispers, “You wouldn’t let me come visit in the hospital.”

The tears I’ve tried to keep at bay stream out of me like a waterfall: unstoppable. “I should’ve let you,” I admit, putting myself in his position. He may have been young when his mom went into the hospital, but he knows she went in and never came back out again.

“Adults make mistakes all the time, and I made a huge one, Clay. But I promise you, I swear, I will never do anything like that ever again.”

He watches me, his emotions streaming down his face in the same way mine are as I open my arms back up, begging him with my eyes to let me hold him.

His muscles twitch before his eyes close and he takes two steps toward me, flinging himself at my chest and sobbing uncontrollably.

I hold him tighter than I’ve ever held anyone in my entire life, clinging on like he’s the only raft in the open sea that’ll get me to shore safely.

I promise him over and over again that I’ll never do it again: I’ll never leave him.

Pulling him up, I settle him on my lap even though he’s too big for that now, but I don’t care because right now I need to be close to him; I need him to know I’ll never let him go again—not even if my life depended on it.

After what feels like an hour, and most probably is, he lifts his head, his tears dried up as he sniffs. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” I tell him, cupping his face in my hands. “I love you.”