Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks Series Book 1) by Abigail Davies, Danielle Dickson (16)

I watch the buildings whizz past as we make our way from the school into the city. Leaning back in my seat, I pull my cell out and click open the searching app, my fingers working on automatic before my brain can catch up.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Harmony since I left her studio on Saturday night, and now, four days later, I still can’t get her off my mind.

One question spins around and around in my head, why was she crying? There has to be a reason, and although she was staring at the painting of the willow tree, something tells me that it wasn’t about that.

The sadness in her eyes coupled with the anger radiating from her said that much. Or I think it does. I can’t be so sure anymore, I used to be able to read her like an open book, but after ten years of not speaking to her, not knowing her, I couldn’t get a read on her properly. I itch to be able to find out what it was about.

I’m typing the name of her studio into the search engine app on my cell before I know what I’m doing, scrolling down the page and clicking on the link to her website.

The homepage is colorful and has one of her paintings as well as the name of her studio “Willow Arts” scrawled across it.

In college, she always talked about opening her own studio, I knew it was her dream. Even though we haven’t had contact for a decade, it doesn’t make me any less proud of her. She achieved what she set out to do.

I continue to scroll through the site, knowing that she must have done this herself, not that she’s done a bad job. It looks good—no—it looks great. The colors are Harmony to a T. She always wore bright colored clothes, either that or her coveralls that were covered in paint.

I close my eyes as I remember how she would always have splatters of paint adorning her hands.

The car jumps as Edward drives over a speedbump in the middle of the road, the movement bringing me out of my daydream.

What am I doing? I shouldn’t be thinking about Harmony and our past. I should be concentrating on Clay and Izzie.

After my talk with Clay on Saturday night, I’ve decided that how things have been over the past few years are going to change, and the only way I can do that is by cutting my hours down at work and being at home more.

All I want is to focus on the kids, making sure they have a happy home life. That’s my main goal, to be sure that they have the childhood that I never did. Which also means letting them go to the art class that they love.

I don’t know if Harmony and I can be friends again, but I’d like to try. That’s what we were first and foremost, really good friends, in fact, she was my best friend. I miss her; I have every day since I last saw her.

I told her everything and anything: the good, the bad, and the ugly. She never judged me, never told me what I should and shouldn’t do. She was there to listen to me as I talked everything through with her, not pushing or pulling me in directions I didn’t want to go.

She was the only person who did that. Everyone always wanted something from me, either because of who my father was, my family name, or what they knew I would be after college, who I would be.

There’s been so many times over the last ten years that I wanted to call Harmony up and catch her up on all the goings on in my life. Like when Clay was born: she was the first person who came to mind that I wanted to tell, or when my dad had to hand over the company to me and I was freaking out, it was her I wanted to call. So many times I would pick my cell up, my mind working on automatic.

And now that she’s back in my life, in all of our lives, I haven’t got a clue what to do or how to act.

Edward pulls up outside the office building and I pocket my cell, clearing my throat before telling him that I’ll see him later.

I head inside, Catiya meeting me in the lobby and riding the elevator up to my office with me as she reels off what’s on the agenda for today.

I nod at the right times and grunt in response, but my mind is elsewhere. Lately I haven’t been able to concentrate at work properly and it’s driving me insane because this is where I’m at my best. Running this company and coming up with innovative ideas on how we can grow. I need to get my head back in the game because I know that at the first sign of trouble, the board would vote me out. They’re waiting for the opportunity to do it after what happened with Pete last week, there’s no doubt about it.

“Sir?”

I whip my head toward Catiya, frowning at her raised brows and then turning when she tilts her head to the open elevator doors.

I speed walk through them, past all of the people who immediately look down at seeing me enter my space, and into my office, Catiya following behind me and shutting the door.

She starts reeling off anything that I need to know, ending with, “Clayton’s school has confirmed your appointment to meet with the dean.”

I nod my head as I walk over to the wall of windows. It’s taken them weeks to get back to me, and now that I finally have an appointment, I’m determined to make sure Clay is receiving the education that he should be getting.

I rest the palms of my hands on the windows, leaning my forehead on the cool glass and looking down at all of the people rushing along the sidewalks, going about their day-to-day lives.

I need to get myself together, I need my brain to stop spinning with unwanted thoughts, I need to concentrate on my job and my kids.

Finding out that it’s Harmony who has been teaching my kids for the last six—no, seven weeks now, and seeing her again after a decade completely threw me. I’ll admit, there’s still a small part of me that feels like she already knew, but seeing the looks on Clay’s and Izzie’s faces when I told them they could still go to art class was enough to tell me that I’m making the right decision.

I need to put all of my feelings aside and do what’s best for the kids.

I never thought that she’d move back here, not after all of the history that this place holds, yet here she is, and it looks like she’s staying for good.

When she offered for me to come and watch the kids this week because I missed watching week, I knew I had to think about whether I was even going to allow them to come back, but ultimately, I wanted to see what they did that made them so happy about being there. The thought of getting to see Clay and Izzie as they have fun and make art has a warmth flowing through my chest.

They don’t get to do things like this at school; their school is all about the academic side of things. Although, I do get to see what they’ve been learning a couple of nights a year when we get to talk to their teachers, but it’s not the same.

“There you go,” I say, stepping back and admiring the two pigtails that I’ve managed to do in Izzie’s hair. Amelia is the one that normally does her hair because I have no idea how to do it, but as Amelia is out, I had no choice but to try.

Izzie’s gaze turns toward the mirror behind the vanity and her smiling face soon turns into a shocked one. “What have you done?” she gasps.

I tilt my head, frowning. “Your hair?”

“It’s all bumpy!” She stomps her foot, turning her head this way and that.

I’ll admit, they’re not the best pigtails. One is quite low down and the other is high on her head; and okay, the parting is nonexistent too, but I tried.

“Sorry, pumpkin, but we have to go.” I step toward the door, ready to leave but she swivels her head toward me, her eyes wide.

“I’m not going out with my hair like this.” She points to her head before shaking it.

“You have no choice, Izzie.”

I walk out, hearing her stomping footsteps behind me as I walk down the stairs and out of the door, hearing Clay’s snicker behind me when he sees her. I shoot him a warning look to not say anything and he covers his mouth, hiding his grin.

I tap my fingers on the edge of the steering wheel as we make our way to the studio, getting stuck in the Saturday morning traffic which causes an already irate Izzie to start panicking.

“We’re going to be late, Daddy.”

“No, we’re not,” I singsong back, grinning at her when I turn around briefly in my seat.

She huffs, shaking her head and folding her arms over her chest, showing how unimpressed she is at my statement.

As soon as I put the car in park, she’s undoing her belt and bouncing around, waiting to get out of the car and inside the studio.

We’re right on time, but she’s acting as if we’ve missed half of the session as I get out and open her door.

“Isabel,” I reprimand when she begins to run off. “Wait until we’re all out of the car so I can watch you. You know you shouldn’t run off.”

“Sorry,” she whispers, looking down at her shoes and then back up as Clay and I get closer to her.

Once we’re on the cobblestone path, I nod and tell her, “You can go now.”

She smiles up at me and skips off through the open studio door.

“Girls,” Clay says, rolling his eyes and looking at me as if to say, “am I right?”

I chuckle, shaking my head at him as we walk inside.

“Close the door behind you, please,” Tilly says as soon as she sees me, although I can tell by her eyes she’s not happy that I’m here.

I nod in reply and close the door, spinning around and seeing that Clay is already sitting in his seat in the main part of the room.

I stand awkwardly as Harmony speaks to the whole class before Tilly comes to stand next to me.

“You can sit over there.” She points to a chair that is sitting outside a closed door and I smile at her, stepping toward it quietly, trying not to disturb Harmony as she tells them what they’re going to be doing in today’s class.

“Up until today, I’ve let you pretty much use whatever you want, when you wanted. So, we’re going to learn about mixing colors. We’re going to be drawing a primary triangle.” Her gaze flits over to me and she stutters. “Can… Can anyone tell me what the primary colors are?”

I sit down as Clay puts his hand up into the air, his cheeks puffing out as he waves it about frantically. Once Harmony points to him, he rushes out, “Blue and red.”

She chuckles. “Very good, but there’s one more that you’re missing.”

She walks over to Izzie, her brows drawn down into a frown as she pulls the two hair ties out of her hair and starts to braid both sides. I watch the simple gesture with wide eyes, not knowing how to feel about it as Izzie smiles.

Another child shouts out “Green,” and Harmony shakes her head, putting her hand up in the air and signaling that he should as well. When he does what she says, she nods at him and he shouts it out again.

She shakes her head. “Not quite, does anybody else know?”

She ties the braid off in Izzie’s hair and taps her shoulder, smiling down at her and whispering something before she turns back toward everyone else.

They all start shouting out colors and must go through every color of the rainbow before I lean forward in my chair.

“Yellow.”

Harmony slowly turns her head, her gaze meeting mine, her brow raised as she says, “Hand, Mr. Carter.” I roll my eyes and put up my hand. “Yes?”

“The last primary color is yellow.” I smirk, my eyes flitting to Clay who’s shaking his head, not pleased that I got the last color and he didn’t.

“Yes, well done, you know more about colors than a bunch of kids,” she quips sarcastically, her eyes burning into mine. “It is in fact yellow.” Turning back to face all the kids, she then says, “So, can anyone tell me the secondary colors that we can get from mixing these three colors?”

She cuts her gaze to me, warning me without a single word to stay out of it. I make a zipping motion in front of my lips before turning an imaginary key and throwing it away as I lean back in the chair. Her lips twitch but she doesn’t let the smile break free.

Izzie puts her hand up right away and says, “Pink?” once Harmony signals her to talk.

I raise my brow at her color knowledge then realize she only said pink because it’s her favorite color.

“That’s right, Izzie, however, we’re not going to confuse you with so many colors. We’re going to stick with six today.” She smiles. “Okay... how about this.” She walks over to a shelf in the corner, picking up three bottles of paint and walking back over to where she was standing. She holds the palette up as she squirts yellow, blue, and red paint onto it, doing the same with several more before setting them in front of the kids on their tables. “I want you all to draw a triangle on the paper in front of you.”

They all look down at their paper and my eyes settle on Izzie as her tongue comes out of her mouth, concentrating on drawing the triangle. She looks up at me, smiling and waving. I lift my hand, waving back at her as she picks up the paper and shows me the wonky triangle that she’s drawn as she puts her thumb up to me.

I can’t help the grin that spread across my face at the sight of her and all the excitement that she exudes as I lift my thumb up in answer.

“Everyone finished?” Harmony asks, and they all nod. “Great. Now use three different paintbrushes—a new one for each color—and put a small amount of paint at each one at the points of the triangle.”

I watch her intently, taking note of her hair that is up in a ponytail and the coveralls that she’s wearing, splattered with paint as she walks around the room, checking to see that they’re doing what she said to do.

She walks past me on her way back to the front of the class, her eyes skirting to mine before bouncing back to the kids who are sitting silently, waiting for her next instruction.

“Now, in between the yellow and the blue, mix them together.” She waits a beat before saying, “What color have you made?”

“Green!” The same boy shouts out that said it earlier, standing up in his seat and throwing his hands up in the air, before he realizes what he did and sits back down, putting his hand up.

“Yes, Ben?”

“Green.” He smiles, his whole face lighting up, proud of himself.

“Absolutely, green is our first secondary color. I want you to do the same with the blue and the red, and again with the yellow and the red. Let’s see what you can come up with.”

The kids go silent as they concentrate on what they’re doing and I lean forward, watching Clay and Izzie in turn. They both have big smiles on their faces, and when Izzie’s head flicks up, checking to see that I’m still here, she manages to lose grip of the paintbrush, splattering herself all over her face as it falls to the table.

She squeals and I stand up, ready to go and clean her face, but Harmony beats me to it, calling over to Tilly for a wet cloth.

“It’s cold,” Izzie moans, scrunching her eyes tight as she walks past me quickly while Harmony tries to tell Izzie that it’s only on her cheeks and not in her eyes.

I chuckle as she opens her eyes slowly before Tilly walks back past me, handing Harmony the wet cloth.

I watch as she wipes at Izzie’s face gently. “Annnd you’re all clean.”

I sit back down, knowing that she’s okay now that the paint is gone.

Izzie giggles, picking up her paintbrush and widening her eyes at it as if it’s going to attack her with paint at any second. She looks over at me, smiling and shaking her head at herself before pointing to the brush and rolling her eyes.

I cough, trying to cover up the bubbling laughter. The last thing I need is another one of those looks from Harmony.

She stops in the same place again and looks around before she says, “So, as you can see, yellow and blue make…” She holds up one finger and coerces all the kids to shout out this time.

“Green!” they all shout, giggling.

She holds up two fingers. “Yellow and red make…”

“Orange!”

She puts up a third finger. “And red and blue make…”

“Purple!”

She chuckles. “Absolutely, and all of these colors complement each other. So, who’s up for a challenge?”

They all nod their heads, jumping up and down in their seats as she tells them to paint a picture using only the secondary colors. She hands out fresh pieces of paper and claps her hands, telling them that they can start.

For the next ten minutes, the whole room is so quiet that you’d be able to hear a pin drop. My eyes wander over all of the kids, but also Harmony too. The way that she interacts with them is amazing. She’s the right mixture between firm and fun. She doesn’t let them walk around or mess around, making sure that they’re all doing the task that she’s set as she keeps an eye on them all, but at the same time she jokes around with them and lets them laugh.

I catch her looking over at me when I move my gaze from Izzie to Clay and she narrows her eyes at me, a warning behind them to which I raise my brows in question.

She compliments each of them, giving them all a little bit of her time as she crouches down beside them and talks to them. She’s with Izzie the longest and I have no doubt that it’s because she talks nonstop.

Once Izzie has finished, she holds her hand up and Harmony walks over to her before turning her gaze to me and nodding.

Izzie jumps up, the painting held across her arms as she walks slowly toward me, looking down with every step she takes with careful precision until she’s next to me.

“Look, Daddy.”

I lean closer, staring at the painting and tilting my head from side to side as I try to work out what it is.

“It’s… really good,” I say, moving my eyes back up to hers.

“Can you see it?” she asks, but doesn’t give me a chance to guess as she points to the purple splodge. “That’s a cat…” She points to the green. “That’s the grass…” And then she points to the orange circle. “And that’s the sun!”

“Oh, wow.” Now that she’s told me what it is, I can see it. I frown at myself at not being able to work it out sooner; although to be fair, it does look like three splodges of paint.

My head snaps up when Harmony claps her hands, telling them all to put their paintings in the back room to dry and that they can take them home next week.

The room becomes louder as they all walk around, taking their paintings and then coming back out and helping collect all of the paintbrushes and palettes, setting them in the bucket that sits underneath the large sink.

“Izzie, Clayton, you’re on cleanup today. That means you too, Mr. Carter.” She eyes me as she walks past, smirking. “That’s if your delicate hands can handle getting dirty.”

I point at my chest, my eyes widening as Izzie comes over to me, grabbing my hand and trying with all her might to help me up off the chair.

“I can handle it just fine, thanks,” I retort, raising a brow to which she scoffs.

I look down at Izzie where she’s still trying to pull me up and chuckle. “I got it, Izzie.” I stand and let her drag me over to the sink.

“No!” I jump as she shouts, letting go of my hand and waving her arms about frantically. “They go in the bucket, Clay, not on the side of the sink,” she huffs and storms forward, picking the palettes up and placing them in the bucket.

“Jeez, Izzie, calm down.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

I roll up my sleeves and stand back, waiting for instructions from Izzie. She stands in the middle, reaching up and showing me how to clean them and where to place them afterward.

The three of us get into a rhythm as we clean them, and several times I turn to look at Harmony as she stands at the door, smirking and chuckling at me as she hands all of the kids off to their parents.

Once all of the tools are washed, Clay and Izzie take off their coveralls and I roll down my sleeves, walking over to where Clay and Izzie are now standing where Harmony is wiping down the tables.

She turns toward Izzie and Clayton. “Did you guys enjoy today’s session?”

“Yeah!” they both shout in unison.

“That’s awesome, did Dad enjoy today’s session?” Her tone changes slightly, but if I wasn’t observing her so closely, I’d never have known or seen how her muscles tensed.

“I did,” I answer, pulling my shoulders back and watching as Clay collects his book from his chair. “Thanks…” I say, my throat dry all of a sudden when she whips her head around to face me. “For letting me watch today.”

She nods quickly. “You’re welcome.”

I wait for her to say something else, but she moves her gaze from mine, ending the conversation. After a beat, I say, “Come on then, kids. Let’s get going.”

They both say their thank-yous to Harmony, and I can’t help the sadness that washes over me as we start to walk out of her studio.

Being back in the same space as she’s in has been refreshing; it was always easy to be around her, and now isn’t any different. She seems to have a calming effect on me but also has me on edge.

I turn back to face her when we get to the door, only she’s disappeared.

As I bring my gaze back to Clay and Izzie, I spot something on the wall. I step closer, reading what the flyer says.

The sadness that started to wash over me evaporates and is replaced with excitement. The temptation to see her again is too much to resist and I’m pulling my cell out, adding the date and time to my calendar before I know it.

I’m not stupid, I know that we’ll never be more than friends, not with our history, but I can’t stop myself from needing to see her again.

I grip the steering wheel harder, my knuckles turning white as I drive toward the school. It’s taken me three weeks to get a meeting with the dean; to say that I’m frustrated is an understatement.

My child is too far advanced for the grade he’s in, yet not a single person has picked up on it. How can that happen? How can a child acing every single test go unnoticed?

I can’t deny the doubts that run through my head: maybe I should have acted sooner? I should have been more on top of his school work and noticed. I’m stuck inside my own head, my thoughts and worries swirling around like the raspberry sauce that’s inside raspberry ripple ice-cream. I’m a jumble, a mess, and so not prepared for this. I need to keep my cool, to be calm and not start shouting if I don’t hear what I want to hear.

I won’t accept it if he tells me that there isn’t anything he can do. I pay a large amount of money for them to go to this school, so I have the right to demand that they meet the requirements for Clay’s education.

I straighten in my seat when I come to a stoplight and catch my reflection in the mirror. My gray eyes are pale, the starburst that surrounds my pupil flashing with anger. My sandy-blond hair is disheveled, and not in the “I styled it this way,” kind of disheveled, more like “I’m stressed and I’ve been running my hands through it constantly.” I know that I must look like I’ve lost my marbles, but when it comes to Clay and Izzie, I worry—maybe too much.

I pull into the school grounds, telling the security guard who I’m here to see. He checks it on his tablet and nods, pressing a button to allow the barrier to come up, and I drive onto the grounds.

To an outsider, it must look grand, but to me, it’s normal. It’s the same school that I attended from the age of four all the way up to eighteen when I left for college. The old beige brick of the building extends as far as the eye can see, with a set of large, wooden doors in the middle. I know from my memories that they’re carved with several images of animals, all representing one of the eight houses that the whole school is split up into.

I come to a stop in front of one of the tennis courts, putting the car in park and watching as kids bat the ball back and forth across the net.

I look around, seeing that not much has changed since I went here. There’s several tennis courts, a sand court that kids are playing volleyball on, beside that are the basketball courts, and then behind that is the football field.

My eyes land on the theater that sits between all the sports areas and the main school before I pull the handle on the car door, pushing it open and sliding out of the car. My head swivels left and right, knowing that the grounds extend farther than the eye can see.

It may be a big school in size; but in numbers, it’s not. Only the elite go here, and although I want my kids to have all the experiences that they can—in all walks of life—I had to send them here. It’s the best school for hundreds of miles, and education to me is the most important thing.

I come to a stop in front of the wooden doors and trail my fingers over the carvings of the animals. I tilt my head as they run over the carving of the lion. They said it took a year to carve them. That’s the rumors anyway. This was my house, the same house both of the kids are in. I chuckle as I remember our chant, “We are the lions, hear us roar!”

I shake my head, ridding it of the past and pull open one of the doors letting it slam closed behind me as I walk to the right and into the main office. I spot the same lady that worked in the office when I went to school here all those years ago standing behind the tall wooden desk.

“I have an appointment with Mr. Lofton,” I say when I get to the desk that separates her from the rest of the school. Although, it’s not that tall now in comparison to my height.

She moves slowly, lifting the clipboard off the wooden surface that sits to her left and picking her glasses up from around her neck.

“Name?”

“Carter...” I clear my throat. “Tristan Carter.”

She narrows her eyes, looking at me over her glasses. “I remember you, you little rascal.” My eyes widen and I make a noise in the back of my throat. “Take a seat, he’ll be with you as soon as he can.” I take a step back before she calls, “And I’m watching you, Carter.”

I ignore her and sit down before closing my eyes, trying to center myself as I wait for the dean that I’ve never met. He’s only been here six months, yet all I’ve heard are bad things about him.

My leg bobs up and down uncontrollably as my eyes open, my gaze flitting around the room as the minutes tick by slowly. “Why the hell am I having to wait so long?”

“Strike one.” My head whips up and I grimace as the secretary raises a brow at me and holds up a finger. “No cursing.”

“I… sorry,” I huff.

I take a deep breath, trying my hardest to keep calm, but as I start to feel less stressed, a door to the left of me opens and out walks a tall man with dark brown hair, his wide frame filling the space. “Mr. Carter?”

This must be Mr. Lofton. I clear my throat and stand up, pulling the sleeves of my suit jacket down while pushing my shoulders back before stepping forward.

“That’s me,” I say, walking toward him and holding my hand out. He grunts and shakes it in greeting before turning and walking back into his office.

I follow him in, taking a seat in the chair opposite the large, pine wooden desk that he’s sitting behind.

“So… Mr. Carter. What can I do for you today?”

I clear my throat and straighten my back in the chair. “I want to talk to you about my son, Clayton Carter.”

“Okay.”

His dark brown eyes watch me closely, studying me, and all I want to do is stand up and tell him that he’s doing a shit job at running this school. But I don’t, I keep it inside as I outwardly try to portray that I’m calm and not burning up inside at his lack of awareness for his students. “I feel as if his education needs aren’t being met.” He frowns at me, the chair creaking as he leans forward. “All of the tests he’s being given are too easy for him.”

“And what would you like us to do about that, Mr. Carter?”

I can’t believe he’s asking me what I want to be done about it. It’s his goddamn job to know what to do, not mine.

I sit up straighter, clasping my hands on the wooden arms of the chair as I try to tamp down the rage that is slowly growing inside of me. “Clayton is exceptionally smart for a boy of his age. He needs to be challenged more.”

He snorts. “Mr. Carter, if I had a dollar for every parent that thought their child was gifted, I’d be a very rich man. Here at—”

My brows raise and I push forward, my rage rising to the surface at his flippant tone. “First of all, don’t talk to me like that.” My voice comes out deep and I feel my heart thumping hard in my chest.

“I—”

I don’t give him a chance to say anything as his face pales. “Second of all, show some goddamn respect to the people who pay your salary.”

I keep my eyes connected to his for a beat as I take several calming breaths before slowly saying, “Your job as the head of this school is to make sure that every child's educational needs are met. I pay a lot of money for my kids to go here.”

“I know that,” he says quickly.

“Good.” I nod. “Now…” I lean back in my chair. “What are you going to do about meeting Clayton’s educational needs?”

He lifts a folder from in front of him, opening it and leafing through the pages, scanning through it as if reading. “H—his…” he stutters before clearing his throat. “His teachers have already brought this to my attention this week.” I raise a brow, knowing that he’s full of shit. Even if they did bring it to his attention, he hasn’t done anything about it which makes me doubt—yet again—how he’s running this school.

“So, you’re telling me that this was brought to your attention, yet you haven’t contacted me to talk about it?”

“It… It was only this week.” His gaze falters as my eyes continue to bore into his.

“And you think that’s acceptable?” I ask, my voice gruff as I get more irate with him.

“I… You’re here now.” I raise a brow and motion for him to tell me what’s been said. “They’ve suggested that after the end of the school year, we move him up a grade and re-evaluate a couple of months later. Over the summer we’ll send home the work for the curriculum that they’ve been working on in the grade above so he’s caught up, but there would be no point in moving him so late in the year.” He looks up, smiling at me as if he’s solved all of my problems. “I’ll make sure to make a note on his file so that the new dean keeps an eye on his progress.”

“New dean?” I ask.

As far as I know, none of the parents have been told about this change, but to be honest, with his attitude, not only toward running this school, but also toward the people in his office, I’m not surprised he’s leaving. Probably not of his own doing though.

“Yes.” He shuffles uncomfortably in his chair. “She’ll be starting in a couple of weeks’ time. But rest assured, Mr. Carter, I will make sure that the ball is rolling by the end of the day.”

I stand up, nodding my head as I button up my suit jacket and head to the door, needing to get out of this stuffy office.

“Thanks for coming in,” he says, standing as quickly as he can—which isn’t quick at all—and following me out of his office before extending his hand toward me.

I look down at his outstretched hand, grinding my teeth together as I put my hand in his, shaking it. “Thanks for seeing me.” What I really want to do is call him a few choice words, but I keep them to myself because he’s doing want I wanted: making sure that Clay gets the education that he needs.

I lift my hand in a wave as I walk past the secretary and she shakes her head, huffing out a breath to which I chuckle.

I step outside, closing my eyes and leaning my head back, basking in the sunlight that streams across my face. My body deflates as I open them back up and start walking toward my car; at least that’s one less thing to worry about… until the next thing comes along that is.