Page 44 of Broken Instrument

“She misses her dad, Hads,” he continues. His voice turns my stomach into knots. “She feels like he doesn’t love her because he might’ve fallen off the wagon again.”

My expression falls, and my anger morphs into absolute loss. The pain in my chest radiates to my extremities with the overwhelming need to hug her. To tell Mia how much her father adores her and everything is going to be all right, even when I have no idea whether or not it’s true.

Peeking over my shoulder to my still cracked apartment door, I run my hands along my bare arms and mutter, “Well, shit.”

“Yeah.”

I suck my lips between my teeth, guilt slicing my insides as I replay our last conversation. I snapped at her. Nothing crazy. But I wasn’t exactly warm and welcoming when Bella dropped her off. Then, when she refused to come out of her room to eat pizza, which I know is her favorite and is the sole reason why I’d ordered it, I said she was acting like a spoiled brat.

Which wasn’t fair.

I should’ve been more sympathetic. More patient.

With a defeated sigh, I fold my arms and face Fender again. “Thanks. For bringing her home,” I clarify. “She’s been gone for hours and left her phone here, so I had no idea where to even start looking or how to contact her. I didn’t know if I should call the police or if I should call Isabella even though I didn’t want to stress her out or make Mia feel like I was tattling on her––”

“I get it. It’s a mess.”

“Yeah,” I say on an exhale. “It really is.”

“At least I realized I’m not the only one who’s broken, so there’s that, right?” he quips.

With a dry laugh, I roll my eyes and say, “Glad we could be of service. So…” I peek up at him, ignoring the way my blood heats. The way my hands itch to reach up and feel the scruff against his cheeks to see if it’s as soft as I remember. “Do you think I should be the one to talk to her, though? Or should I give her some space? Maybe call her mom? I’m flying blind here.”

“Like I know what I’m doing with a teenage girl.”

“Well, you got her to apologize, which I’m pretty sure is a modern-day miracle.”

He chuckles and squeezes the back of his neck. Looking adorable. And almost shy. I bite my lip to keep from grinning like a crazy person. Especially under these particular circumstances.

“Do you want to come in?” I offer, hooking my thumb over my shoulder toward the cracked door to my apartment.

“Nah, I should probably get going.”

“Oh.” My expression falls.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just…Pixie’s in the car, and it’s late––”

“I get it,” I rush out. “I guess I’ll see you––”

“Can I ask you something?” he interrupts.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Do you, uh,” he hesitates. “Do you hate your brother?”

My eyes widen in surprise. “Bud?”

“Yeah––”

“Of course not.”

“So, you love him?”

“He’s my big brother. I love him more than just about anything.”

“But if you had a choice. Would you still love him? Despite his addiction?”

I pause, the words rolling over me in his warm, honeyed voice as I take in his eyes. They’re shining with a restrained curiosity making my stomach tighten, and they’re filled with so much more than simple curiosity. There’s a depth there. A need to hear my response. A vulnerability hinting at something more than Bud and me. Something else. Something more…personal.

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