Etching Our Way
The Broken Tracks Series, Book 1
Abigail Davies & Danielle Dickson
Etching Our Way
First Edition.
Copyright © 2017 Abigail Davies & Danielle Dickson
All rights reserved.
No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author. Except in the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a piece of fiction. Any names, characters, businesses, places or events are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events or locations is purely coincidental.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and have not purchased it for your use only, then you should return it to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Published: Abigail Davies & Danielle Dickson 2017
Cover Design: Emily Wittig
Formatter: Abigail Davies
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
Also by Abigail Davies
About the Author
Also by Danielle Dickson
We have so many people to thank who helped bring this story to life and we’ll be eternally grateful for all of it!
First we want to say a huge thank you to Harm and Tris for allowing us to tell their story.
And as always, we want to thank our families for putting up with our VERY late nights/early mornings while we wrote our hearts out. And yes okay, there may have been times where we had a mad half an hour—you wouldn’t believe some of the things that came up in our chats! Thank you for supporting us in following our dreams. You’re all amazing and we love you loads!
We want to say a huge thank you to our cover designer, Emily Wittig. Would you believe this girl is only seventeen years old! She has an incredible talent and we are honored to work with her. We can’t wait to see what you come up with for book 2 ;)
A huge thank you to all of our friends and readers for supporting us; when we announced we were co-writing, the support was second to none, you all jumped on board and never once doubted us.
Thank you to our beta readers: Amanda, Angela L, Angela B, Sarah, and Liza! Thank you for helping us see what needed to be changed and for helping us with the final tweaks to make this story what it is! We love you all to the moon and back!
To our editor Judy, thank you for correcting all of our grammar!
A huge thank you to ALL of the Bloggers, readers, and authors that share all of our stuff! We appreciate it so much and we both love being part of the indie community!
Last but by no means least; thank you to all of our amazing readers, for all of the messages that we both receive on a daily basis. It warms our hearts so much to know that you enjoy all of our stories.
Thank you for allowing us to do what we love most and tell these stories! We hope you love Tristan and Harmony’s as much as we do <3
To Danielle, Ahem, I’m writing this letter concerning—haha!! No but seriously, this whole process has been amazing! I want to thank you for lots and lots of things, but most of all I want to thank you for being my bestie, for putting up with all my crazy—although you’re just as crazy as I am—for being there no matter what.
But most of all, I want to thank you for this book! When we first started out all those months ago, I never thought we’d have the word baby that we do! But look at us! As I always say—we’re freaking awesome! Ha! Love ya! <3
Ab got in there with her dedication before me, so I’m going to ditto what she said and add in that I wouldn’t want to have brought this story to life without her. Every aspect of it has been absolutely amazing from the laughs right down to the tears and gruelling hours we put in. I can’t wait to see what else we come up with in the future, and yes, there will be more! Love you more than pink iced doughnuts and slippers, you big crazy!! <3
To us,
whenever we have any doubts, look to the left and you know that I'll be there to tell you to shut it and write your words.
#ONEBRAIN
James blunt—Goodbye my lover
This never should have happened. I’m a man in all sense of the word, but right now in this situation, I feel completely emasculated. I feel powerless in the fact that I have no choice in what I’m doing or what I’m saying.
I shouldn’t have had to do this, I should be able to make my own choices, but I can’t. I’m doing this for her.
To protect her.
I watch as tears stream down her face, mixing in with the rain that is pouring down from the rolling gray clouds in the sky. Her chest heaves on every breath, her arms wrapping around her middle as she tries to keep herself together.
All I want to do is wrap my arms around her and let her head rest in the nook of my neck that’s made especially for her.
My foot moves, taking a step forward but I stop myself, pushing my shoulders back and doing the right thing.
I have to do this.
I have to walk away.
I take one step backward, then another, my eyes not leaving hers as I do.
“Tris...”
I spin around at the sound of her voice, not being able to bear seeing her fall apart for a moment longer. Each step I take toward my car feels heavier than the last—like I’m wading through mud—and it’s getting harder and harder to walk away.
“Tristan!”
I turn back to face her, my heart cracking and my soul disintegrating when I see how hurt and utterly broken she is.
I open my mouth, shouting at her that, “We’re done,” because it’s all I can do to make sure that she never tries to fix this. If she does—no, I won’t allow myself to think about what he’d do to her, to her family.
I slide into my car, my wet clothes that are soaked from all of the rain instantly wet the seat and make it creak with each movement. It only takes two seconds until my eyes find her again, sitting in front of our willow tree, trying her hardest to pull herself together, but failing miserably.
I can’t stay and watch; I may have caused it, but I won’t watch as she breaks into a thousand tiny pieces.
I turn the key in the ignition and drive out of there without a second look back, ripping our hearts in two as I go.
Adele—Turning Tables
Lea Michele—Battlefield
As I drive home, the feeling of anxiety runs through my veins like an electric current. Eight years together—seven years married—and it’s come to this. But I have to tell him how I feel, I can’t go on like this any longer.
Our marriage was great at first; solid and comforting. We had so many things in common,
especially our love of art. All of that seems to have been forgotten about lately, instead it's turned into the biggest grievance between us. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so damn hard these last few years, but nothing seems to be working.
My heart pounds and my body temperature spikes the closer I get to our marital home. I keep telling myself that I can do this; I’m a big girl.
His car is in the driveway when I arrive, but it’s at a weird angle, like he was in a rush when he parked. Weird. I walk into the house calling, “I’m home.” My voice echoing off the colorful walls of the hallway.
“Shit!” I hear his voice coming from the kitchen so I place my purse on top of the table in the hallway and walk in that direction. I turn the corner and see a topless Gerry—my husband of the past seven years—bent over the sink, furiously scrubbing at something.
“Gerry? Are you okay?” I ask, making him jump and swirl around, dropping whatever he has in his hands into the sink.
He frowns. “Fine, why do you ask?”
“You look… frazzled.” I step toward him, pointing at the sink. “Anything I can help you with?”
“No, I—I can do it,” he stammers out, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows.
“Okay, if you’re sure?” He nods and turns back around, scrubbing again at what I see is the white shirt he was wearing when he left for work this morning. “Spill something on your shirt?”
“God, Harmony, can I not have five minutes peace!” he shouts, hands braced on the kitchen counter.
“I…” Deciding it’s not worth the argument, I nod my head even though he can’t see me. “When you calm down, I need to talk to you,” I mumble in shock at his outburst. I was only trying to help.
I watch as his back tenses but with a flick of his head, I realize that’s the only answer I’m going to get from him. I leave him to his bad mood and walk up the stairs to have a much needed soak in the bath to try and gather all of my thoughts. This won’t go down as well as I thought it would, not that I was expecting the talk that I wanted to have with him to go down well, but things need to change—he needs to change, but in this mood, I can see things blowing up.
I’ve been walking on eggshells for I don’t know how long with him. Everything I do seems to be wrong and everything I say gets ignored or ridiculed.
I sigh and turn the taps on the side of the bath, pouring in some lilac bubble bath and watching as the bubbles foam up, bringing with it the smell of lavender. I strip off my clothes and climb into the bath, leaning my head back against my bath pillow and trying to relax as much as I can.
My mind won’t let me relax though, it keeps wandering back to Gerry’s odd behavior. He can’t resent me that much, surely?
A while later as I’m dropping off to sleep, there’s a knock on the bathroom door and I startle before clearing my throat.
“Come in,” I call.
Gerry walks in with his head facing the tiled floor as he shuts the door behind him and walks over to me, sitting on the side of the bath before he finally gets the courage to look up at me. “I’m sorry, Harm.” His blue eyes sparkle and he gives me a small smile.
“I was only trying to help.” I keep my voice soft; I don’t want to say anything that’ll cause him to act the way that he did earlier.
“I know, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I’m not making excuses, but I’ve had a crappy day at work.” He sighs. “How about you get out of the bath and then we can talk?”
He pulls a large towel off the towel warmer and holds it open, waiting for me to get out. I do what he says and pull out the plug, watching as the water starts swirling down the drain.
I catch his eyes scanning my body as I step out of the bath, my gaze focusing on his lip as he sucks it in between his teeth. Now is not the time for that.
I turn around when I get to him, letting him wrap the towel around my body before he spins me so I’m facing him again.
With his arms around my waist, he says, “You go and get dressed and I’ll pour us a glass of wine each,” before kissing me on the forehead and leaving the room.
It hurts to think about how he normally is when he’s being the man I married, not the critical, resentful man he’s become, but I need to get this off my chest before it eats me up inside.
Stepping into our walk-in closet, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt before towel drying my hair and braiding it over my shoulder. I grab the damp towel off the floor and trudge back into the steamy bathroom, picking up my clothes from earlier and opening the laundry basket.
Seeing it’s overflowing, I take a deep breath and decide that I should do a load of laundry so I can put this conversation off for a few more minutes. I pick up the basket and carry it downstairs, walking through the kitchen and into the laundry room.
“Babe?”
“Just doing the laundry, be there in a second,” I call back through the house as I place the basket on top of the counter.
I sort our clothes into piles of whites and darks—how can a family of two have so much laundry in so few days?—picking up a few of Gerry’s work shirts and scrunching up my nose as I do. An odd smell lingers on them, but I’d know it a mile off—perfume. It’s not my perfume, but it’s definitely a perfume smell.
I’m about to put it down to him being around a lot of female students when he barrels into the room, ripping the shirts out of my hands. “I’ll do the laundry, you go and sit down. Go and relax.”
I take the shirts out of his hands and open the washing machine. “No, the last time you did a load you turned all the whites gray.” I chuckle but it teeters off as I frown at the sodden shirt in the bottom of the machine. “You really need to treat this before it gets washed if you’ve stained—”
I pick it up, my head spinning as I stare at the red smear on the collar.
“Harm, I can explain.”
I stare between him and the shirt, my mind instantly stopping all of the excuses it was making for him in the split second it took for him to say those words. Those words mean that there is something to explain, and not a simple explanation either. The heaviness of the words made it sound like I’ll need to sit down for the blow he’s about to deliver.
I storm past him, slapping the wet shirt against his chest as I do. I hear it drop to the floor as he follows me, trying to grasp my hand on the way into the kitchen. I pull it away from him and lean against the counter, my head hanging as I try to control my breathing. This can’t mean what I think it means, it must be a coincidence.
“She doesn’t mean anything,” he says like he’s heard my inner thoughts.
My hands resting against the countertop grip the edges harder, my knuckles turning white as I turn toward him in fury. “What are you saying?”
I need to hear him say it out loud.
He grips his hair and blows out a deep breath. “I was so mad at you, it’s no excuse but… she was there and—”
He walks toward me so I hold up my hand, cutting off his advance. “Don’t you dare come near me!”
“Harm—”
“No! I don’t want to hear your excuses!” My heartbeat is deafening in my ears. “You were mad at me, so you what? Kissed someone?” His head snaps to the floor. “Oh my God, you slept with someone.”
“I—”
“Who is she?” He shakes his head. “Who is she!” I shout when he doesn't answer me right away.
“Just a colleague, she’s a nobody. I swore after the first time—” He stops what he’s saying, realizing what he’s admitted to.
“It was more than once?” His distraught face isn’t a patch on what I’m feeling as he winces and nods. It’s like a slam to the chest, a physical blow delivered by his words. “Well, you’ve just made this a hell of a lot easier for me.”
I storm out of the kitchen and up the stairs, Gerry following me and watching as I pull two suitcases out of the closet.
“What are you doing, Harm? Don’t be so irrational.”
&nbs
p; “Irrational?” His head turns away for a split second before turning back to me. “Do you know what? I’m not even having this conversation. We’re done,” I spit out at him.
“Done? What do you mean, ‘done’?”
“I mean exactly what I said, Gerry. This…” I point between us both. “Isn’t working anymore. You don’t respect me and you constantly put me down. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about tonight. I wanted to somehow make you realize how resented I feel. I thought I could try and get out of you what I’m doing so wrong that would make you act the way you do toward me. But none of that matters now.”
“How I act toward you? We’ve not had sex in over two months, you hardly want to touch me. How’s that for feeling inadequate!”
“Because of the way you’ve been making me feel!” I shout, my chest heaving. “Why would I want to be physical with you when you treat me like trash the majority of the time?” He’s silent, not saying a word back as we stare at each other. I scoff and throw a pile of clothes into the suitcases, not caring that they’re getting wrinkled. “We weren’t having sex so you went elsewhere. That shows how much our relationship means to you.”
“It was just a kiss the first time,” he says as if that makes it perfectly okay.
“Just a kiss?” He nods. “There’s nothing ‘just’ about a kiss.” I start loading the suitcases with my shoes. “I’ll be back in a few days for the rest.”
“Where are you going to go, huh?”
Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks Series Book 1) Page 1