Page 13 of Broken Instrument

The same quiet street taunts me from the window. I close the blinds and mutter, “No.”

“You sure?” he prods.

“Thought someone was following me,” I mutter under my breath. “But I guess I really am going crazy.” Turning on my heel, Pixie and I head out of the room without another word and close my door quietly behind us.

When it closes with a soft click, I look down at Pixie, all rolls and drooly jowls as she scans the foreign room.

“So. Do you sleep on the floor, or…?” My voice trails off, waiting for her to take the lead.

With her light pink tongue lolling from one side of her mouth, she stops assessing the room and looks up at me. Like she’s waiting for me to take the lead. Since, you know, I’m the human and all.

Right.

Gripping the neck of my henley, I rip it over my head and toss it into the dark woven laundry basket next to the door. Pushing my jeans down my legs, I climb into bed.

Pixie stays near the door, her tail wagging from side to side as she stares at me.

“Go to bed,” I tell her, but she doesn’t move. She just keeps staring at me with those giant brown eyes.

Waiting.

“What do you want? Go to bed.”

Nothing.

With a sigh, I pat the gray comforter to my left. “All right, Pix. Come on.”

Her heat is almost comforting as she jumps up, turns around in a small circle, and plops down next to me. She presses her side against my own and somehow manages to quiet the constant voices inside my head, telling me what a screw-up I am.

And for the first time in months, I sleep soundly without any assistance from drugs.

It’s a freaking miracle.

5

HADLEY

“Don’t hate me,” Isabella begs as soon as I answer the phone.

Pressing my cell to my other ear, I stare blankly at the computer in front of me before swiveling in my rolling chair to give it my back. I can’t deal with it right now, anyway.

With a sigh, I close my eyes and ask, “And why would I hate you?”

“I have to work this weekend, and since Bud’s still missing and Mia’s a handful on a good day, let alone when I have to leave for a few days, I was wondering––”

“Mia hates me,” I tell her.

“She doesn’t hate you.”

She will after I tell her I had to give her dog to an absolute stranger, I think to myself, but bite my tongue, waiting for Bella, Bud’s ex, to get to her point.

“She just…doesn’t know you,” Isabella adds a few seconds later.

“Mm-hmm.”

Mia is Bud’s daughter. She’s also only a few years younger than me and doesn’t take kindly to the fact I’m her aunt or that I actually have rules when she comes to visit, unlike any time she stays with her dad.

I swear those two are practically twins. Both have no filter, no self-control, and no desire to consider their future or how their choices in the present can affect said future. Exhibit A: Bud was only fourteen when he got Isabella pregnant. Fourteen. She was also only fourteen, which means Mia was practically raised by kids.

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