Page 57 of Broken Instrument

The haze from our little encounter is still making my logic clouded at best. It doesn’t help that I can still feel her perfect tits pressed against my chest or the tiny wisps of her hair beneath my chin.

I need space. To think. To breathe without tasting her scent in the air. To give her a chance to change her mind. To get her head on straight.

So, even though it kills me, I slip my arm out from beneath her and keep my steps slow and steady as I exit her apartment, careful not to wake her up.

I tell myself it’s because she needs her sleep. But I’m not an idiot. I know I’m a coward for refusing to face her. For letting her spend the rest of the early morning alone. To let her wake up in a cold bed instead of wrapped in my arms.

But allowing it would be a mistake.

And I’m tired of making mistakes.

* * *

The drive home is short and does little to clear my head as I pull up the driveway and park outside.

Darkness blankets the main living area, but the kitchen in the back of the house is bright. I step closer, exhaustion seeping from my pores when a familiar face peeks around the corner from the kitchen.

“Sonny?” I ask.

When he sees me, he rushes toward me but stops short as if he can’t decide whether he wants to punch me or pull me into a hug.

“What are you doing here?” I ask numbly, stepping around him and heading into the kitchen.

His footsteps echo behind me as he demands, “Where the hell have you been? You haven’t been answering my calls––”

“Phone’s dead,” I answer him. Or at least, I assume it is. It had been running on ten percent when I finished the show last night. And yeah, I ignored his call as I drove Hadley home afterward, but other than that? Nothing.

But I was a little preoccupied, so who knows?

“And your excuse before last night?” he challenges. “We’ve had one call, Fen. One. And I’m not stupid enough to believe you answered it on purpose.”

“So, you thought showing up on my doorstep was the right way to go?” I challenge.

“I thought addressing shit instead of sweeping it under the rug was the right way to go. And since I’d already tried giving you space, but it didn’t work for shit, I figured flying home to talk to you might do the trick.”

“Yeah, well, I hate to disappoint you, but I'm not in the mood to talk right now.”

“Tough shit. I’m done tiptoeing around you, Fen. We kept your secret. We wanted to give you space to get better, so you could come back to Broken Vows––”

“What are you doing here?” I interrupt.

He rubs his hand over the crown of his dark mop of hair, looking sheepish. “I told you I was worried about you.”

“Why?”

He scrubs his hand over his face and mutters, “Sammie called. Told me about the girl getting drugged at the bar. I took the redeye. Just got in. She said she was worried about you––”

“Fucking Sammie,” I grit out and pinch the bridge of my nose, reaching for a glass from the cabinet when what I really want is a shot of whiskey. “You guys need to learn to keep your noses out of my business.”

He grabs my shoulder. “You’re my brother, Fen. Your business is my business.”

“No. It isn’t,” I argue, wrenching myself away from him and pointing to my chest. “My business is my business.”

“Why are you acting this way?”

“Like what?”

He frowns. And I hate knowing I put it there. “Like you’re mad to see me.”

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