Page 63 of Broken Instrument

FENDER

“Bagel and schmear, huh?” I note as Hadley glides the sharp, serrated knife through the blueberry bagel.

After our little chat, we rolled out of bed and took separate showers because I think she could tell I needed some space. I ran out to grab us some coffee, and she sat in front of her computer to work. When I got back with our much-needed caffeine, I asked if I could stick around for a while longer, and she agreed as long as she could get some work done. So, I hid in her bedroom, playing pointless games on my phone, which had been brought back to life thanks to her charger, before opening Reddit to learn about random shit.

And now? It’s lunchtime, which apparently means bagel and schmear in this household.

“They’re the best,” she tells me.

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Even better,” she quips, her dark glasses propped on her button nose. She looks relaxed. Happy. In her element. It’s a stark contrast to the girl I brought home last night who was a bundle of energy looking to get laid.

After adding a large dollop of strawberry cream cheese, she takes a bite of the open-faced pastry and asks, “Want some?”

There’s a small smudge of schmear at the corner of her mouth, so I grab her waist, pull her closer, and lick it off, almost groaning as the combination of Hadley and cream cheese explodes across my tastebuds. I don’t know why I’m so open about kissing her. But after our conversation this morning, I feel like a weight’s been lifted, my worries dissipating. Or at least some of them. She’s right. I might not be able to give her sex anytime soon––if at all––but whatever’s going on between us is still worth exploring. And if she’s willing to put her heart on the line while I figure my shit out, even though she knows how messed up I am in the head, I’m too weak to tell her no. I’d be a fool if I did. Because she’s perfect.

Freaking perfect.

She grins back at me and deepens the kiss. Pulling away, she runs the pad of her thumb along her bottom lip.

“I can’t decide if you taste better than my favorite duo”––she lifts her bagel in her opposite hand––“or if I’m still dreaming that you’re actually here.”

“I’m here,” I assure her, though I’m still reeling myself. “And I do taste better than your favorite duo, but it’s a close race.”

She throws her head back and laughs, swaying toward the small white desk in the corner of her family room. “Touché. I still can’t believe you came back last night.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up after leaving in the first place.”

“Yeah, so…” She takes a seat on a small swivel chair and turns toward me, balancing the bagel in one hand while eyeing me warily. “Are we gonna talk about it? I mean, I think I can figure out why you left, but why did you come back? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” I lie. “Family stuff.”

“Which part of the family?” she prods.

“Sonny this time. I haven’t heard from Marty since the bar.”

“Gotcha. How’s Sonny doing, anyway? You haven’t told me much about him.”

“He’s good. Or he was until I yelled at him last night.”

“Is that what happened? Why you came back? Because you got into a fight with him?”

I grab the second half of her bagel off the cutting board and take a bite. “Maybe.”

She quirks her brow.

I chew slowly while making my way toward her, dodging the beaten-up leather couch decorated with a dozen gray and white pillows, just like her bedroom. “It’s also why I’ve been hiding away in your bedroom all day while you were working.”

“Attempting to work,” she clarifies and motions to her dark computer screen. “Not necessarily working. The words aren’t flowing, ya know?”

“Is there a reason they aren’t flowing?” I close the last bit of distance between us, shove the final bite of bagel into my mouth, and dig my thumbs into her shoulder blades, hoping it’ll ease a bit of the tension which seems to build anytime her work is mentioned.

With a soft moan, she rolls her head forward and says, “I write thrillers, Fen. And the fact my brother’s missing hits a little too close to home. I can’t focus. I can’t create a scene or a loophole or a clue leading to the next chapter. Anytime I even start going down that road, I…freeze.” Her muscles tense beneath my hands, but I keep rolling my fingers in hopes of loosening them. “And it’s not like my mind goes blank, either. I think it would be easier. Instead, every plotline I start to weave together hits too close to home. It’s like the story I keep imagining includes a body. A male body with a shaggy dog in need of a home, or he has a past with drugs and a daughter who needs her father. It won’t stop. Any of it.”

With a frown, I try to think of something to say, something to comfort her, but I come up empty. Because it sucks. And there isn’t a solution. There isn’t anything I can say to make her feel better or bring her brother back. At least, nothing in my control.

I squeeze her tense muscles again, digging my thumbs into the base of her skull and rubbing down her spine as I mutter, “I’m sorry, Hads.”

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