Fighting Our Way
Table of 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
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Afterword
Also by Abigail Davies
About the Author
Also by Danielle Dickson
Fighting Our Way
The Broken Tracks Series, Book 2
Abigail Davies & Danielle Dickson
Fighting 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
Formatting: All the Feels Formatting & Graphics
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
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Afterword
Also by Abigail Davies
About the Author
Also by Danielle Dickson
About the Author
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 Amelia and Nate for allowing us to tell their awesome story.
As always, we want to thank our families for putting up with our VERY late nights/early mornings while we wrote our hearts out. 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.
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 Amelia and Nate 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, yet again! 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 with our first idea a year ago, I never thought we’d have two awesome word babies ! 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 blanketgate!
Is this what it feels like to be free?
I’m falling through time, space, and everything in between. I’m suspended; nature keeping me in this place that is neither here nor there.
Nobody can save you but yourself: that’s what I’ve always believed. It doesn’t matter what situation you’re in, you have to be strong because there’s only one person who has to live with you: the person who stares back at you in the mirror each and every day.
But what happens when you can’t save yourself?
When that choice is taken away from you, all you can do is close your eyes and let fate run its course.
Fate: the one thing you can’t see nor hear but is there watching and waiting for its time to step in, to veer your plans off the course you thought you were on.
Peace washes over me and freedom flows through my veins as my mind accepts this is how everything was meant to be.
But I have one last thought before fate takes its course: I should have told him one last time that I loved him. That one word doesn’t do what we had justice. There are a million words that could describe what he meant to me, but there’s only one that will describe what I’ll be to him now: gone.
I run the brush through Izzie’s blond hair, trying to get all the knots and tangles out.
“Owwww!”
I stop before looking down at her, raising a brow. “What did you do, Izzie? Sleep in your hair?”
Her hand with her fork in it halts halfway to her mouth, her brows furrowing as she looks up at me with her blue eyes. “Yes.” She states it so matter of fact, not getting my joke in the slightest before putting the forkful of eggs in her mouth.
Shaking my head and chuckling, I continue to brush through the tangles before parting her hair in two.
“Can I have two buns today, Amelia?”
“Of course, sweetie.”
Shuffling feet come
into the kitchen and I look over at Clay as he pushes himself up into his seat at the table, grumbling under his breath as he clutches another book in his hand.
“Morning, Clay.”
He offers a grunt in reply and I leave him to eat his breakfast while I make quick work of Izzie’s hair. Stepping over to Clay, I run my hands through his brown hair, trying to tame it. He definitely needs a haircut soon.
“Dad had an early morning meeting,” I tell them as I head to the sink and start cleaning up the pans I used for breakfast. “I’ll be taking you to school today.”
I don’t get a response; not that I expected one anyway.
Submerging my hands into the soapy water in the sink, I scrub all of the pans clean before transferring them into the dishwasher. I know it’s not needed to wash them twice, but it’s my thing—I like to make sure things are squeaky clean.
Their voices rising has me turning my head slightly as Clay tells Izzie she can’t do whatever it is she’s doing. I chuckle under my breath. That girl can’t take no for an answer and there’s no way she’ll let Clay tell her what she can or can’t do.
“You’re not the boss of me!”
“I’m older than you, which means I am the boss.”
“No, you’re not! Daddy is the boss, not you!”
He huffs, his patience wearing thin. So much like his dad. “You can’t put chocolate sauce on your eggs. It’s… disgusting.”
My head whips around as Izzie squirts chocolate sauce all over her eggs, not listening to him in the slightest.
“Yes, I can.” She gives him a smile that says she can do anything she wants as I pick up a towel to wipe my hands dry.
“No, Izzie,” I say, stepping forward and removing the bottle out of her hands. “Clay’s right: you can’t have chocolate sauce on your eggs.”
Her eyes widen, becoming glassy as she stares at me and the offending bottle of chocolate sauce. Her gaze swings back and forth between me, Clay, and the bottle innocently.
“Daddy would let me,” she whispers.
Looking at her with a raised brow and pursed lips, I don’t say anything as I pick up the plate with the chocolate-covered eggs before making her some more toast.
“Can I have pancakes—”
“No,” I cut her off. I know exactly what she wants. She’d eat pancakes smothered in chocolate sauce and whipped cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if she could.
She huffs, her face turned down as I place the toast in front of her. Not willing to get into this argument with her when we need to leave in a few minutes, I say, “Eat up. We need to leave soon.”
She picks her toast up, scrunching her nose up at it before taking a tentative bite as Clay finishes up and passes me his plate. “I’m going to go and get my bag,” he says, his voice low.
“Okay, we’ll meet you by the door.”
“Poohead,” Izzie whispers to him as the door swings closed behind him.
“Izzie,” I warn, giving her the look that tells her she’s going to get into trouble if she doesn’t stop.
One argument and half a slice of toast later, we’re finally walking out of the door and toward the car Tristan makes me use to take the kids where they need to be. I press the key fob to open the doors and watch as they make their way over to it. Pulling the front door half closed, I stop when a UPS van starts up the driveway.
A man in a brown uniform gets out the driver’s side with a square box and device on top of it.
“Package for Amelia Rivers.” His voice sounds bored, his face expressionless as he hands me the device to sign my name and gives me the package.
I place it just inside the door then lock it, heading to the car and slipping into the driver’s seat before heading down the driveway and onto the main road.
Izzie talks the whole way to school while Clay has his nose stuck in his book—as usual.
The houses pass us by, all large with their own driveways as drivers leave them, no doubt taking the children to school in the same way I am.
It took some getting used to when I first took Clay to school with Edward all those years ago. Where I grew up, yellow buses or your own two feet were the only way to get to school. We didn’t have a uniform like the one Izzie and Clay have to wear to their private school either, we wore our own clothes which meant you could tell who the poorer kids were and who had more money than others.
As we get closer to the school, my mind flits back to the package I signed for. I don’t remember ordering anything, but then again my mind tends to be a sieve with the amount of things I’m always trying to remember. Maybe Tristan ordered something and put it in my name? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it so the package doesn’t end up back at their warehouse when he’s not here to sign for it.
I frown. But then he would have told me to expect a package.
I shake the thoughts from my head as we pull up to the school behind all of the other black town cars and Escalades. Kids step out, the boys in blue blazers and the girls in checked dresses. When it’s our turn, I hop out of the car.
“Have a good day,” I tell them both, kissing Clay on his cheek and giving Izzie a hug. They trail inside, getting lost in the crowd before I climb back inside the car and lean the back of my head against the seat for a brief second.
I follow the other cars out of the exit, heading back the way we came as I start to make a mental list of what I need to do when I get back to the house. First I need to tackle the kitchen, giving the oven a deep clean along with the refrigerator before I head on upstairs and change the kids beds. Once I have that washing and the rooms cleaned I can head downstairs and start in the main room before tackling all of those floors with my special steam mop. I hate those floors, they’re the bane of my life.
Parking the car in front of the garage, I jump out and head inside. The first thing my gaze lands on when I open the door is the package. I pick it up, pushing the door shut with my ass before heading into the kitchen.
Humming under my breath, I pick up the half a slice of toast Izzie left as I pop the package on the table and head over to the knife block.
Pulling the biggest knife out, I twirl it in my hand as I move my hips to the beat I’m humming as I walk across the kitchen.
I stop in front of the package, titling my head to the side at the sticker on the side that says, “fragile.” A smile lifts up the side of my lips as I take another bite of toast before spinning the knife around again and plunging it into the cardboard, running it along the tape.
My humming gets louder as I throw the knife down on the table, the clanking sound resonating off the wooden surface. Yanking the flaps of the box open, I rummage through all of the black tissue paper. When I feel something hard hit the tips of my fingers, I throw the last bit of toast down next to the knife.
Pulling the rectangular ivory box out, I run my fingers over the surface of it. It’s covered in a light pink pattern and encased in bronze that’s engraved. A small wind-up handle sits on the side and when I try to move it, it doesn’t budge, almost as if it’s been glued into place.
I don’t understand why this has been sent to me. Did Tristan order it for Izzie?
My curiosity gets the better of me and I lift up the small metal latch that keeps it closed.
I pull the top up, my breath catching as I see the ballerina inside that’s supposed to be standing proud but instead lies broken inside the box. The music sounds, reverberating around the room, causing my vision to blur.
It slips from my hands, clashing onto the floor but not closing as I back away, my head shaking back and forth so fiercely I’m sure to give myself whiplash. My breaths become gasps as the music fills the room; the same music that used to play on the music mobile that hung over her cot. The only thing that seemed to settle her.
I squeeze my eyes closed, wrapping my arms around myself as goose bumps spread all over my skin.
I don’t want to go back there; I don’t want to remember.
I twist
the little knob on the side of the musical mobile hanging over the cot. Stars and a moon hang from it, fascinating her as she tries to catch them, but they’re out of reach of her little chubby hands.
Her mouth opens and she coos as the music surrounds us. I hum along with the tune, reaching down and running my finger down her cheek and staring into her dark-brown eyes. Eyes that watch me intently before they start to close and her little legs stop kicking out. Her chest rises and falls on a deep breath as she falls asleep.
Still I don’t move, watching her, obsessed with how soft her skin is as the music keeps playing and the moon twirls around the stars on a continuous loop.
I fall back into the counter as my eyes spring open. This can’t be happening. It’s taken years to try and forget. Trying to not relive the memory of that night.
I’ve managed to go under the radar this far, so why now? How did they find me? I made sure to cover my tracks, there’s no way they can know who I am—where I am.
But as I lean down, my hands shaking so hard I have to ball them into fists, I see they have found me.
My eyes focus on the words written in red on the mirror behind where the ballerina is supposed to be.
“You can run, but you can’t hide.”
My nostrils flare as I stare at it wide-eyed before slamming the lid down on the box, the rattling from the broken ballerina echoing throughout the room.
The game is up. They’ve found me.
“Oh, dear lord,” Freya scoffs as I strut into the reception area of my law firm, winking at both her and Tara—two of our receptionists.