Page 47 of Broken Instrument

I’m frozen.

Paralyzed.

Unable to do a damn thing but memorize the shape of them. Their sharp little edges. The dull, chalky color. The weight is so small and inconsequential in my hand, but it still somehow manages to make my shoulders hunch from the pressure of holding them with the knowledge of how quickly they could tear my world apart.

My kryptonite.

I don’t want to take them. Not right now. Not ever. But being determined enough to hold them in my hands and still say no makes me feel strong. Brave, somehow. Stupid too. I get that. I’m not a complete idiot. But holding the one thing capable of breaking you in your hand and being strong enough to say no? There’s power in it. And when I’ve felt so damn weak my entire life, I like the power. The control. I like it more than I care to admit.

A quiet knock on the door makes me flinch. I open the medicine cabinet and shove the tiny bag inside the Advil bottle before I can talk myself out of it. Not because I plan on using them, but because I want to take the power back. To know these tiny pills can’t control me. Not anymore.

“Fen?” Milo calls.

“One sec.”

The cabinet door closes with a quiet click, and I clear my throat, wiping my sweaty palms against my jeans, opening the door to a concerned Milo.

“Yeah?” I ask.

He looks anxious as his gaze flicks from one of my eyes to the other.

Assessing.

Analyzing.

I know that look. He’s worried I did something stupid. And while he’s not entirely wrong, it’s not what he thinks. Not this time, anyway.

“There a problem?” I challenge.

“Just checking on you.” He turns on his heel and heads toward his and Maddie’s bedroom. He stops when he reaches the door and faces me again. “You know I’m here for you, right?”

His sincerity crushes me as I shove my hands into my front pockets, never more exhausted than in this moment. “Yeah, man. I know.”

He nods. “Night, Fen.”

“Goodnight.”

17

FENDER

She’s here.

She’s late. But she’s here.

I don’t want to acknowledge why I’m having a physical response to the beauty at the bar. Or why my gaze kept shooting toward her during the set. But as soon as I saw Hadley, the vice around my chest eased, and I could finally let go, losing myself in the music, the energy, and the gorgeous writer who has no idea how sexy she is.

And apparently, I’m not the only one who’s noticed. My brows furrow as I lean closer to the microphone and sing the final chorus, the crowd joining in. Then I slip the guitar strap from around my neck and jump off the stage.

Pixie decided to stay at home, finally being won over by Maddie and some bacon from breakfast, leaving me on my own. Which is fine. She deserves a night off from babysitting me. If only I could find the same reprieve.

However, right now? I’m not thinking about myself, or Hawthorne, or Marty and what he may or may not be planning to screw me over. Right now? I’m thinking about Hadley and why the hell this asshole is talking to her.

Jealousy licks at me as I approach Hadley and the stranger while refusing to acknowledge that I have no right to feel upset.

She isn’t mine. I made it perfectly clear when I pushed her away a few weeks ago. So why do I care if she’s talking to a guy or if she’s touching his leg, and––

Crash.

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