Page 11 of Broken Instrument

“You sure you’re okay taking her?” I ask, my attention drifting to the giant furball at my waist. She’s part Mastiff, part Great Dane, with a side of…Husky, was it? Honestly, she’s a mutt and kind of reminds me of Hagrid’s dog from Harry Potter but with more drool. So. Much. Drool. And I hate how I’m second-guessing him taking her.

She’s mine. At least, when Bud’s gone, she is.

Sensing my hesitation, he says, “Only until Bud gets back or if you think of another solution. But right now, thanks to your landlord out front, I’m thinking this is the only one.”

I swallow thickly, nearly choking on my guilt. I force a smile and give Fender a nod. “Okay. You can take her for the time being, but I’m going to keep brainstorming.”

“All right. Does she have a leash or anything?”

I nod again. “Let me grab her food and stuff.”

Rummaging around the apartment, I grab her things, put them in a paper grocery sack, and hand everything to him. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. We’ll be in touch,” I remind him.

His smirk is sarcastic but playful as he takes the leash from the bag and attaches it to Pixie’s collar. “Can’t wait.”

4

FENDER

Cursing myself under my breath, and with a grocery sack full of dog food hanging from one arm, I climb out of my car and grab the door handle to the backseat. It’s late. I’m exhausted. And all I want is to go home and collapse onto my bed when the hair on the back of my neck prickles with awareness. I pause and look over my shoulder at the dark street behind me.

Shadows blur my vision, playing peekaboo with my sanity as the distinct feeling I’m being watched overwhelms me.

It’s probably from my conversation with Hadley about her brother. My own demons coming to haunt me for my past mistakes. I’ve always been a scared little boy afraid of his own shadow. I guess it’s what happens when your mom disappears for days, leaving you alone in your trailer to fend for yourself.

But Bud’s missing. And it doesn’t feel right. Hadley might think it’s his MO, but he was getting better. Or at least, it was the impression I got when he let me stay on his couch a few months ago.

Then again, who knows if he was able to keep his resolve? I’m sure as hell struggling on that account. Maybe Bud did too.

I’m not curious enough to ask Marty if he’s seen him, though.

No. That door’s closed. And I’m not stupid enough to open it back up.

Sonny and I might’ve fought about me cultivating a relationship with our dad and half-brother, Marty, but he was right about one of them.

Marty didn’t care about me.

And recognizing that truth has been a hard pill to swallow. Even now, when I think about it, I’m afraid I might choke on it. The damn pill. The one saying I cared about him more than he ever cared about me.

I still remember the first time we met. When he reached out to Sonny and me a little while after we’d connected ourselves. You see, Marty knew about our dad, Donny. He’d always known he was the infamous rockstar’s son. But me? I had no idea. Neither did Gibson, but at least he had a mom who looked out for him. Who wanted what was best for him. Mine? Well, she might have a good heart, but I got my blonde hair and vices from her. Well, technically from both my gene donors. Donny Hayes wasn’t exactly any better in the beginning. But mom? She was a real class act. She had a thing for white pills and brown liquor, so when another brother showed up who wanted to connect, I couldn’t wait to cultivate our relationship. To feel like I wasn’t alone. To have a family. A real one.

I think it’s why I clung to Sonny too. He was kinder than Marty, though. More guarded, sure, but more genuine. Once he realized I only wanted a brother, he opened up to me. We became friends, connecting through our passion for music and 90’s movies.

Marty was the cocky one. The older brother who’d pretend to take you under his wing, only to push you toward trouble. Gibson wouldn’t put up with his shit and wrote him off long ago. But me? I was too desperate for a family to care, and Marty wasn’t afraid to play me like a fiddle.

And because I’m the broken brother, the one who was so desperate for his family, I ignored the red flags. The lies. The manipulation. All because I wanted to have the one thing I never did while growing up.

Loyalty.

Friendship.

And love.

I suck my cheeks between my teeth and shake off the thought––and the feeling I’m being watched––before opening up the backseat to my shitty beater because I liked spending money on my vices instead of saving it for something useful. Like replacing my 1980s car, which is obviously on its last leg.

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