Page 59 of Broken Instrument

Not the happy-go-lucky teenager pretending he didn’t have a care in the world from when we first met. Not the sarcastic asshole who liked making jokes while we were on the road. But me. The weak, broken brother who’s trying to be better despite the odds stacked against him. I force another breath into my lungs and add, “I’m trying to stay away from shit that’ll hurt me. I’m trying to keep my head on straight. I’m trying to get my life back because it feels like it was ripped away from me by none other than my own flesh and blood.”

Silence hangs over us like tree branches heavy with snow, and I’m afraid they’ll snap at any second. But I don’t know how to take back what I said or if I even want to. Because even though I haven’t wanted to voice it aloud, the accusation has been filling every tiny crevice inside of me since the moment Dove and Gibson took the stage without me. And there’s no going back. Not anymore.

“You think I ripped your life away?” he murmurs, his tone quiet but laced with disbelief.

I stay quiet and shake my head, pushing myself away from the counter to pace the kitchen again. I want to storm out. But I can’t actually leave. I have nowhere else to go.

“Fen, I need you to listen to me. And I mean really listen to me.”

I shake my head, my fury boiling just beneath the surface until I’m convinced I’ll explode at any second.

Gibson pushes himself to his feet, grabs my arms, and halts my pacing––despite Pixie’s warning growl––forcing me to look down at him. “I’ve already told you I want you back in Broken Vows––”

“There isn’t a place for me in Broken Vows,” I spit. “There isn’t a place for me anywhere.”

“You belong by my side. You’re my brother––”

“Yeah, well, Marty’s our brother too––”

“Marty’s an ass who happens to share some of our DNA. He is not my brother, and he sure as hell isn’t yours, either. What he did to your friend? It’s unacceptable. We’ll call Dad and tell him––”

“And what’s Dad going to do? Huh? There’s no proof. No evidence. Dad already took away the one thing Marty cared about, which is making him even more desperate and unhinged than ever. The security footage will only show a random guy with his face covered by his dark hoodie. It’ll be shit for the police to use because we both know how well Marty covers his tracks. So what am I going to do? I only know how to hurt the people I care about. I should just––”

“Stop it, Fen.”

“No.” I tug my arm from his grasp and march toward the front door. Pixie stays right by my side, but I force her to stay at the base of the stairs, and I slam the door behind me.

I gotta get out of here. And where I want to go? Well, the landlord wouldn’t be too happy if I brought Pixie along.

* * *

I don’t know why I’m not strong enough to grab a hotel or something, but I wind up on Hadley’s doorstep. I shouldn’t be here, but I also don’t want to be anywhere else. Not when I know Marty could’ve hurt her last night. How he did hurt her. I need to know she’s still okay.

Besides, the best sleep I’ve had in months was the few hours I spent in her arms. And after my conversation with Sonny and all the shit we stirred up? It’s clear I shouldn’t have left her bed.

My hands shake as I wipe my sweaty palms against my jeans before knocking softly against Hadley’s door.

A few minutes later, it opens with a quiet squeak. Her eyes are tiny slits as she fights the glare from the hall light outside her door and covers her mouth with a yawn. She’s wearing a baggy T-shirt that barely reaches her thighs but didn’t bother to find her glasses, and her hair is a mess of tangles hanging around her shoulders. I’d laugh if she didn’t look so damn beautiful it makes my chest ache.

“Where’d you go?” she asks a few seconds later, oblivious to my staring. Her voice is soft but crackly from sleep.

“Can I come in?”

With a few slow blinks followed by a slight nod, she steps aside, and I grab her hand, making sure to lock the door behind us. I climb back into her bed as if I never left it.

“You okay?” she murmurs once she’s settled beside me.

My mouth itches to lean down and kiss the crown of her head, but I restrain myself. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

She nuzzles closer to me but doesn’t argue. She’s too tired.

A few minutes later, her breathing steadies, and I know she’s asleep. If only it were that easy to quiet my own racing thoughts.

But having Hadley beside me is a start, and I hate how I notice my softening muscles and the way her scent calms me. I hate how she affects me the way she does and how I showed up on her doorstep tonight. I hate how much I missed her. How much I still miss her even when she’s in my arms because I’m counting down the days when she’ll realize I’m not worth her time and will leave.

I squeeze her a little tighter, praying I’ll be strong enough to keep her safe.

From Marty.

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