Page 42 of Broken Instrument

“Just because I stopped doesn’t mean I’m not addicted. It’s a constant battle, Mia. Constant. And it never eases up. It’s why I’m begging you to let me flush the little bag down the toilet for you.”

She opens her hand and looks down at the contents causing my pulse to ratchet.

“But if you’re an addict, are you sure me handing this bag over to you is a good idea?” she asks quietly as if she finally understands how serious the shit in her hand is and how much she screwed up by asking for it in the first place.

My attention drops to her hand in her lap and the little clear bag with four tiny pills lying inside. I blink slowly and look back at Mia to find her staring at me hesitantly.

“I can’t let you go inside with that bag, Mia. I can’t let you walk down the same dark path your father took. You’re better than that. Better than him. Better than me.”

Her expression crumples, and her lower lip trembles, but she doesn’t hand the bag to me as she breathes out, “I miss him.”

“I’m sure he misses you too, Mia.”

“I hate that I love him, too, you know. That I miss him and only want him to come home.” Her voice cracks, and her eyes gather with tears. “To not choose drugs over me.”

My heart fucking shatters.

“Mia––”

Her arms are around me before I even register what’s going on as she holds on for dear life, her tiny frame wracking with full-body sobs.

It isn’t fair. Any of this. Bud was trying to clean up his life. It only gave his family a glimpse of who he could be without the weight of his addiction. It isn’t fair he was too weak to keep from spiraling, and the people around him have to suffer the way they are. And it isn’t fair he's not here to hold them and make them feel better.

Addiction’s shit for an addict. But sometimes, when we’re too close to it, I think we miss seeing how much it rips apart the people around us.

Like Mia.

And Hadley.

Gingerly, I rub my hand along Mia’s back as Pixie puts her giant paws on the center console separating us, nuzzling her nose against Mia’s long, wavy hair. Like she can’t stand to see her in pain. Like she wants to help. To comfort her.

Ditto, Pix.

But I’m helpless. So damn helpless, it hurts.

“Why?” she cries against me. “Why would he choose drugs over me? Am I so terrible? I know we fought sometimes, but––”

“Stop it, Mia. Those thoughts aren’t going to help anyone. Your father did not choose drugs over you––”

“But where else could he be? What else could he be doing? H-he disappeared.” She hiccups. “A-and I don’t know if he’s coming back.”

“I know, Mia. I know.” My head hangs, my defeat eating me from the inside out.

We continue sitting like this. Mia crying. Me feeling like shit for not being able to shoulder her pain on my own. Until a few minutes later, when the sobs have slowed, and only a hollow Mia remains.

“Come on,” I murmur, untangling myself from her limp grasp. “Let’s get you inside.”

We walk up to Hadley’s apartment, leaving Pixie tucked in the back of my car with the windows rolled down a crack.

I knock on Hadley’s door.

As we wait for her to answer, I drop my voice low and ask, “Where are the pills?”

She hands them to me, her eyes still glassy and bloodshot. “Please don’t tell Aunt Had––”

The door opens, and I tuck the plastic bag into my back pocket as Hadley shrieks, “Where the hell have you been?!”

15

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