Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

“I learned from the best,” I quip, smiling at Mom. “Lia is incredible at baking.”

“Oh really?” Her gaze falls on Amelia. “You’ll have to give me some of your recipes. I don’t bake often, but Mick has a sweet tooth.”

“Of course.” Amelia tilts her head to the basket containing the cells. “I log all of them onto my Pinterest, but I have a book at home too. I love creating new ones.”

They both fall into easy conversation about inventing their own recipes and ways to do things as Dad turns toward me. “I heard Joe Kent fell into a bit of a predicament with that godawful wife of his.”

I nod. “I knew from the moment I saw it on TV that he was innocent, there’s always been something not quite right about Anastasia.”

“Apart from her being a money grabber?”

“Michael!” Mom interjects.

“I’m sorry, hon, but she is and always has been. Not to mention she’s twenty-three years younger than him so she pulled the wool right over his eyes.”

Mom tuts and turns back toward Amelia as I chuckle and catch Dad’s attention again by saying, “I put our investigators on it and they found out she hired a guy to rough her up and claim it was Joe.”

“Well I’ll be... I didn’t think she was smart enough for something that elaborate.”

“She’s not. She didn’t cover her tracks very well so we won the case without it going to court.” I take a bite of my fajita, looking over at Mom and Amelia who are still deep in conversation.

“Hey,” Dad whispers. I look over at him and he motions toward Amelia. “You have a good one.”

“That I do,” I mumble to no one in particular as she tips her head back on a laugh. That I do.

Lifting up off the sofa in the living room of the main house, I stretch out my arms above my head, relishing in the stretch of my muscles. I cover my eyes with my hand to ward off the bright rays of sun as they shine through the large window.

I watch the sun rise in the distance for several seconds before shuffling through to the kitchen and heading outside toward the pool house to get changed.

It’s not the first time I’ve crashed on the sofa in the main house, only this time it wasn’t an accident.

“Hey, Tris,” I say as Tris walks into the kitchen. He looks over at me, scanning my pajamas and my face sans makeup before he stops at the hair that’s in a messy bun on the top of my head.

I lift my cup of cocoa and he chuckles. “You and cocoa.” He shakes his head, a smirk on his face. “You’re such an old lady.”

He pulls his cell out as I gasp, “I am not!” My hand flies to my chest in mock outrage. “Cocoa is good for you, it settles you for the night.” I move closer when he frowns, standing beside him. “Tris?” I ask in concern.

“It’s Harmony,” he whispers, his voice raw with emotion.

“So, talk to her,” I reply flippantly, pulling out the chair next to him as I sit in silence.

He stares at his cell for a few long minutes, seeming to be at war with himself.

Finally he says, “I have to—”

Cutting him off, I wave him away. “Go. Go and get your girl.” I smile as he leaves the kitchen, hoping this will be the turning point with him because Harmony is good for both Tris and the kids.

Opening up the back door, I yawn big and loud before walking over the stones, my eyelids half closed. Reaching out for the door handle as I open my eyes fully, my toes slam into something on the floor.

My breath starts to saw in and out of me, my hands shaking as I slowly look down. I know what I’m going to see before I do, and when I spot the same sticker on the side, the reprieve and safeness I’ve been feeling lately disappears.

Pushing open the pool house door, I pick the package up before walking inside and sitting on the sofa at an angle so I can keep my eyes on the house. Tristan still isn’t home and hasn’t answered my message yet.

Swallowing against my dry throat, I pick up the scissors off the coffee table, swiping them against the tape and lifting the edges of the cardboard.

The same black tissue paper appears, and I gingerly lift it, nerves batting around my stomach as I try to prepare myself for what is in there, but when my fingers land on the edges of another box, I squeeze my eyes shut.

For weeks now I haven’t had a package and I almost forgot what it feels like and the terror that runs through me when I receive one. But like last time, I know whoever it is was here because it was left at the pool house door.