Page 20 of Broken Instrument

With a subtle nod, I say, “Well, if you ever need a listening ear, I’m more than happy to practice listening with you. Ya know, since apparently, I need to work on that particular skill for Mia’s sake. We could practice, and I could kill two birds with one stone and all.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Noted.”

But he doesn’t say anything else, and I can tell it’s time to change the subject. For now, anyway.

“So, what do you do?” I ask.

His smile turns stiff and slides off his face entirely.

I grimace and add, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know––”

“That I’m a minefield like your niece?”

I bite my lip but stay quiet.

“It’s fine,” he adds. “And I’m a musician. Or at least, I used to be.”

“Used to be?”

“Yeah.”

My mouth ticks up before smoothing to a look of indifference.

He gave me a one-word answer.

He and Mia are alike.

“You don’t play anymore?” I confirm.

He leans against the hood of his car, staring blankly in front of him. “I, uh, I guess I’m taking a break from it.”

“Hmm,” I hum, joining him on the chipped paint. The metal is warm against my thighs yet still causes a shiver to race up my spine, but I ignore it, too focused on the man beside me to care. “Well, if you ever decide to stop taking a break, I’d love to hear you play.”

“You like music?” he asks, glancing toward me and tossing another few pieces of candy-covered chocolate into his mouth.

“I like everything.”

“Oh?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Like what?” he prods.

“Like…everything?” I answer with a light laugh. “I’m a writer. Pretty sure it’s in our DNA to want to experience a little bit of everything and find little puzzle pieces we can click together. Ya know what I mean? Even if it’s watching or reading or living vicariously through strangers, which, let’s be honest, is how I prefer it. I’m a sucker for a good story.”

“And you think I’m a good story?” He quirks his brow.

My smile widens, and I couldn’t hold it back if I tried. “Actually? Yeah. Tall, blonde, handsome, wounded singer with brother issues who shows up on girl’s doorstep and has a hero mentality, a chip on his shoulder, and a penchant for saving dogs from evil landlords? I’d read that book.”

His laugh makes my stomach tighten as he stands back up, tucks the small bag of M&M’s back into his pocket, and tilts his head toward the swingset. “Good to know. Care to join me?”

I follow his lead and sit on the black rubber swing beside him a few seconds later. The metal digs into my thighs, but I ignore the discomfort and use my feet to create some momentum. Pumping my legs back and forth, my hair tangles in the wind. I don’t care, though. I like this. This energy. It’s refreshing. Not carefree, exactly, but…poignant. Exhilarating. Something to distract me from Bud’s disappearance, and I desperately need a distraction. Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if the mysterious man beside me needs one too.

8

FENDER

“Shit,” I seethe, taking in the M&M wrappers scattered along my bedroom floor. I’d left Pixie here for thirty minutes, tops, and this is what I found.

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