Page 24 of Broken Instrument

“But you’re not on your own, Fen,” he returns gently. “You have family and friends who want to help you––”

“I gotta go.”

“Call me by tomorrow with your answer, or I reach out to Sonny.”

The call ends, and my fingers tighten around my phone in a death grip. I tap it against my chin, barely refraining from throwing it against the wall.

“What was that about?” Hadley asks.

“A guy with a lot of pull in the music industry. Hawthorne,” I clarify. ''He wants me to play a show.”

“And I sense you don’t want me to congratulate you?”

I snort. “I guess not.”

“You don’t want to play?” She squeezes my thigh again, and for some reason, it grounds me. Her touch. The warmth from her tiny palm. I stare at the back of her hand on my lap but stay quiet.

“You can talk to me, you know. As a friend,” she murmurs, and it’s surprising how much I could use one right now. A friend.

I think it’s normal. To feel alone. The rehab facility hooked me up with a sponsor, but we didn’t exactly click, so I told him I wasn’t interested in keeping in contact once I was released. And because I’d checked myself into the facility voluntarily, the guy didn’t really have a leg to stand on. We haven’t spoken since.

I know I have Milo and Jake, though. Even River, Gibson, Stoker, and Phoenix would be here in a second if I ever needed them. But right now, when I’m trying to figure out the new me, reaching out to them feels forced. Like they’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. For me to fail again. For me to screw up. And I don’t blame them. I have failed. Spectacularly. Over and over again. Not to mention they have their own lives now. They don’t need my shit. Not right now. Not until I prove I can do this without them.

But Hadley? She doesn’t know about the baggage I carry. The baggage I was forcing my friends to carry with me. And for some reason, it’s refreshing. The knowledge that the new me is the only me she’s met. Maybe she can bring a fresh perspective. One I can’t see because of my tainted past.

Licking my bottom lip, I tap my hand against my jeans. Remembering the M&M’s are missing, I settle back into the cushioned seat. “It’s complicated.”

“We’ve got time. And honestly? With everything going on, I could most definitely use the distraction.”

I chuckle dryly, deciding to let out a bit of the pressure which has managed to build in my chest over the past few weeks. “I’m scared to play again.”

“Why?”

Another dry chuckle vibrates up my throat. “Let’s just say I didn’t make the best decisions when I started playing music professionally. The pressure. The desire to please everyone. The drive to push forward. To be perfect. To live up to my dad’s name. It was a lot.”

“Your dad’s name?” she asks.

“Donny Hayes.”

“The rockstar?” Her eyes widen with disbelief behind her black-rimmed glasses.

I laugh a little harder this time. “The one and only.”

“Your dad is Donny Hayes?”

“I believe we already covered that part.”

“I know, it’s… Wow. I had no idea.”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t even imagine that type of pressure.”

She has no clue.

“It’s a lot,” I admit.

“But you love it? Playing?”

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