Page 19 of Broken Instrument

I jerk back. “Excuse me?”

“You’re right.” Raising his hands in defense, his poker face slipping back into place, he offers, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Well, you did.”

“You’re right,” he repeats and rubs his hand down his face, his shoulders hunching with defeat. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a brown bag of M&M’s, popping a small handful into his mouth. I watch in fascination as he chews slowly and offers some to me.

“Want some?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He sighs, clearly uncomfortable.

“Why do you think I’m resentful?” I demand. I shouldn’t be offended. I’m the one who word vomited on the guy, spilling my entire relationship with my niece in a two-minute monologue which probably does make me sound like a callous bitch toward my own flesh and blood. And maybe I am.

But he wasn’t there for the nights when Bella would show up on my doorstep with a sullen Mia, having come straight from Bud’s because my brother had forgotten about the drop-off and wasn’t home. He wasn’t there when the phone would ring at two in the morning, and I’d have to bail out Bud from jail for peeing on a police car while drunk off his ass, or when the bar would call me, begging me to come get my brother who’d passed out in the men’s bathroom.

The memories flash through my mind one after the other, and a cold realization hits me square in the chest.

None of those situations were Mia’s fault.

But if she and Bud are two peas in a pod, which is pretty freaking clear to see, is it so wrong for me not to want her going down the same path? To feel like it’s my responsibility to guide her toward a different one? Is it so wrong?

Tongue in cheek, Fender looks over at me again, silently debating whether or not he wants to say whatever’s rolling around in his handsome head.

“Say it,” I snap.

“You remind me of my brother, I guess.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah. Sonny. He likes to take his role of big brother very seriously. Like you with the aunt role,” he clarifies. “Sometimes, it’s nice. Other times, all I need is a friend, but he’s too busy babysitting me and being responsible to notice.”

“So you’re saying I should be the friend?”

“I’m saying she already has a mom who’s disciplining her. Maybe she could use someone who simply listens and lets her figure her shit out on her own.”

I lick my lips but stay quiet as his words rattle inside of me. Jarring, but in a way which––shockingly––isn’t uncomfortable. Because he makes a good point. She’s going through a lot. We all are. And just because my brother isn’t here to parent her doesn’t mean I should have to fill his shoes.

Whoa.

I shouldn’t be surprised by the realization, but I am.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I answer, my voice crackly. I clear my throat and add, “So your brother… Are you two close?”

“We used to be.”

“Used to?”

“He still wants to be,” he clarifies.

“And you don’t?”

“I, uh…” He squeezes the back of his neck, his gaze hazy as if lost in his own thoughts. “I need some space. It isn’t his fault or anything. But with our pasts and how everything went down over the last few months, I think it’s better for me to take a step back and figure out some shit on my own.”

Even though he’s speaking cryptically, I can feel where he’s coming from. I don’t need the details, and I’m not about to pressure him to give me any, especially when we barely know each other, but it’s clear he needs a friend. Not a fixer. Someone who listens.

Just like Mia.

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