Page 37 of Broken Instrument

“Why? No offense, but I could feel how into it you were.” My gaze drops to the outline of his very hard cock straining against his pants.

His eyes harden, and his jaw ticks. “It isn’t about that.”

“Then what’s it about?”

“It’s…”

“Let me guess. Complicated?” I snap. I shouldn’t be frustrated, but I am. I’m embarrassed. Hurt. I’ve been rejected by a guy. A guy I like. A guy I thought I connected with, but apparently, I’m an idiot. Shame floods my cheeks, but I stand my ground and lift my chin, staring up at him while demanding an explanation. Because this? This yo-yo feeling I have in the pit of my stomach? It freaking sucks.

“Tell me,” I push.

“Yeah, okay?” he spits. “It’s fucking complicated, and I don’t need you to psychoanalyze me or tell me why I should or shouldn’t feel a certain way.”

“So what do you need? Huh?”

“I need you to leave it. Can you do that? Can you leave something alone without the need to fix it, or write a better ending, or make it fit inside your head like a puzzle piece? Just…leave it.”

With my hands in the air, I turn on my heel and mutter, “Fine. I’m leaving it.”

And even though it kills me inside, I do.

13

FENDER

“It’s good to have you back, man,” Ashton, another SeaBird employee, says, slapping me on the shoulder. “Good luck tonight.”

With a tight smile, I nod. “Thanks. We’ll see how it goes.”

I signed Hawthorne’s contract. Not because I didn’t feel the need to shit my pants as I read it, but because Hadley was right about one thing. I definitely felt every word while scanning the document. Elation. Anxiety. Fear. So much fear. But also pride. Because Hawthorne might be a lot of things, but he’s honest. And if he thinks I can do this and have the talent to make it in this industry, I think I might too.

If I can keep my shit under control.

The memory of Hadley and our kiss a couple weeks ago haunts me like a ghost. But I haven’t allowed myself to analyze it. To examine why I didn’t crave heroin or molly or even a fucking cigarette when her lips touched mine. Why the only thing crossing my mind as she kissed me was how badly I wanted to pull her closer. To distract her from all of her problems. To push her over the edge and help turn off the chaotic thoughts running a mile a minute inside her pretty little head.

And that’s when reality hit me. Sure, I wasn’t thinking about drugs at the time, but who’s to say the cravings wouldn’t hit me ten seconds later? Sure, I was lost in her for a minute, but what happens when I cave? When we take things to the next level? When I’m inside her, and I lose my shit in the blink of an eye? What happens if I spiral out of control again?

I feel like I’ve been given another chance. A chance to take my life back. My career. I can’t lose it all for a girl or an opportunity to get off.

And despite her needing a distraction, she deserves more.

It isn’t fair.

With a small handful of M&M’s in one hand and my guitar in the other, I climb onto the stage at SeaBird. Pixie lumbers beside me without a care in the world, and I scan the crowd, my attention shifting to the barstool Hadley sat on during my last performance. I hate how I notice she isn’t here.

Not that she’d know I’d be performing. I didn’t tell her, but it doesn’t take away the sting from her absence, though I refuse to acknowledge why.

It shouldn’t hurt.

So, why does it?

When I catch people staring at me, I dump the M&M’s into my mouth and chew slowly, letting the chocolatey sweet candy melt in my mouth.

Focus, Fen.

Once I’ve swallowed, I clear my throat and reach for the microphone, adjusting the stand so I can sit on the barstool with my guitar in my lap. I greet the crowd, thank them for coming out tonight, and play a few songs for the audience.

The first ones go by in a haze, but as I play the final note at the end of the fourth song, I scan the bar again, refusing to acknowledge who I’m searching for or the disappointment which hits when I realize she still isn’t here.

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