Page 59 of Sustain

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” The girls jump up in unison. Two peas in a kitty-loving pod.

I dial Brianna to inform her of my changed plans. As expected, she acquiesces easily to me taking the girls back with me, her holiday tropical bliss uninterrupted. No surprise there.

Within hours, we've said farewell to Grandma, grabbed the girls’ passports from Brianna's house thanks to a neighbor with a key, and bundled onto an early flight across the pond. The girls vibrate with excitement in the jet bridge line. I paste on an equally enthusiastic face to match as we board, quelling my rising anxiety. Maybe a transatlantic haul ending with cat introductions and frantic band paperwork amidst solo parenting isn't the most prudent decision...but the die has been cast now.

We live and die by our rash decisions, don’t we?

As we reach cruising altitude, I glance down to where Hayley and June have already curled up, sleepy against my side. Come what may outside of my control, at least we're in this adventure together. The only reliable variable in my universe. I smooth back an errant wisp of June’s baby-fine hair and smile softly to myself. Family first, always, and forever. We'll sort the rest soon enough.

Hayley squealswith delight as Stormy the kitten gingerly bats at a catnip-stuffed mouse while June makes explosion sounds. Home only two days and my daughters have turned traitor, utterly enthralled by the feline addition to our family. I’ve become a non-entity in their world for the time being, but Stormy is basking in the sudden spotlight she finds herself in. I can't complain though, their joy overrides my stress.

I crack my neck side to side, the numbers on my laptop screen blurring together. Profits, expenses, payouts - morefigures than I can keep straight under any looming accountant's microscope.

I’m drowning here.

Realizing I'm in over my head, I dial Blackmore’s VP, Eliza Kerr when the girls head off to play. No answer.

"Eliza, it's Ian. Sorry for the short notice, but I could use guidance completing Chaos Fuel's year-end reports by the deadline. Been scrambling since Mackenzie messaged me that these were due. And I’m working with scattered receipts from previous managers. Please ring me back regarding an extension? Maybe? Cheers."

My phone lights up quickly with Eliza's return call. I maneuver a now-sleeping Stormy from my lap to place her next to me on the couch. She’s obviously exhausted from the unfamiliar vigorous playtime. I slip onto the porch, closing the glass door behind me quietly.

"Eliza, thanks for getting back to me. I genuinely apologize for the last-minute holiday ask here."

She interrupts my rambling. "No need to apologize, Ian. I should have personally ensured you had the report templates before the holiday madness kicked in."

I run a hand through my hair, breathing out in relief. "I'm just grateful for your help navigating this. Being back stateside in LA is already making things easier in terms of accessing the financial records. I just needed my laptop. But the records are scattered…"

"You're back in California already?" Surprise colors Eliza's voice. "Weren't you meant to be in London through mid-January?"

"Yeah, that laptop need I mentioned changed my plans. It’s alright though, the girls are with me. We decided visiting the new kitten took priority over London rain and my mum's grilling on about when I'll get a proper career." I let out a tired chuckle.

Eliza graciously grants me an extension to file the reports, and I vow to get them to her by the new deadline. We extend New Year's greetings before hanging up.

I can figure this shit out; I just need more time. Man, that sounds so familiar. I just need more time…for everything.

When did time become such an enemy to me? I suddenly want to go back in time, stop time, beat time. It’s a race that I’m losing miserably.

And soon enough, my girls will need to go home to England, so I’ll lose them in a way. And heaven knows, I’ll lose Mackenzie any second now, if I haven’t already with my distance.

We live and die by our rash decisions.

Bloody hell, we do.

forty-three

. . .

Heartbeats

Mackenzie

My imported dark roast is barely tingling my taste buds when Eliza Kerr's name flashes insistently across my phone screen. I contemplate ignoring the call. Blackmore’s VP contacting me on New Year's Eve likely means only one thing - more work.

With a resigned sigh, I accept. "This is Mackenzie."

"Mackenzie, it's Eliza. I hope I'm not interrupting any early New Year’s celebrations..."

I snort. Unless binging Supernatural on Netflix with a microwaved lunch counts as a celebration. "All good. What's up?"

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