Page 66 of Broken Instrument

“Like what?”

“Like…nervous. Yeah.” He chuckles dryly. “Excited, maybe? Anxious, definitely. It feels weird that Hawthorne set up a few interviews with potential band members who aren’t from Broken Vows, though, but I guess it’s normal.”

“It’s exciting,” I offer.

“Still weird. To be up on stage without Phoenix, Stoker, Sonny, or even Dove. But…” He shrugs his shoulders and tucks his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, looking lost. And alone. And not nearly as excited as the old Fender would’ve been if given the same opportunity. Then again, I didn’t know him before. It’s easy to see this is tearing him apart, and it’s killing me.

“But what?” I ask.

“I dunno. I miss them, I guess. But I don’t want to be handed anything because of the shit from my past. I’m nervous it’s the only reason Hawthorne invited me to play instead of Broken Vows.”

“I can understand that,” I console, resting my head on his shoulder while savoring the heat from his palm against my thigh. “Did he say why?”

“No, but he assured me he isn’t picking favorites, and he’ll continue to represent each of his clients fairly. I guess he thinks this opportunity is the best fit for me personally.”

I lift my head and look up at him. “I think you should trust him.”

“Yeah. He also mentioned Broken Vows is back from their tour. ”

“Which you knew because you showed up on my doorstep after talking to Sonny.”

“Yeah. But I didn’t know it was officially over. Not even when I saw him at my place. It makes me feel like a shitty brother.”

“You’re not a shitty brother,” I tell him.

“Depends on how you look at it. Especially lately.” He sighs. “As you know, Sonny and I aren’t exactly on good terms. Not after I yelled at him yesterday and accused him of stealing my dream.”

“I get that too,” I admit.

“I gotta smooth things over with him.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. If anyone understands family drama, it’s me. My relationship with Bud is far from perfect, but if I’ve learned anything since he went missing, it’s not to take our time for granted. You never know when shit will hit the fan, and I’d give anything to hug my brother and tell him I love him. I have a feeling Sonny would, too, if the roles were reversed. But is it my place to tell Fender?

I finally murmur, “It’s probably a good idea. To smooth things over with him,” I clarify.

“Yeah. I don’t know how, though. He’s my brother. I love him. And I know he loves me. But…it’s weird, I guess. Seeing how things played out. And I’m not saying he was in control of all of it, or any of it is his fault because it isn’t. I know it’s not. If anything, it’s mine. But it still hurts. To feel like I was replaced. Like the band didn’t need me. They needed a front runner, a singer, sure, but me particularly? Not really. I feel like I was…replaceable.”

“Did any of them ever say you were replaceable?” I ask carefully.

He shakes his head.

“Have any of your bandmates tried calling?”

He nods.

“Have you talked to any of them?” I press.

He shakes his head again. “No. And that’s on me. I know it is. But knowing it up here”––he taps the side of his head––“while feeling the opposite in here”––his hand moves to his chest right above his heart––“are two different things.”

“I get that too. Maybe you should take a step back and analyze the why behind your conflicting perspectives.”

He smiles, but it’s laced with sadness and doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s a little easier said than done.”

“True. But I'm here to help if you need me, and I get how it can be difficult to analyze things like this. Because up here?” I mirror his movements from moments ago and cup the side of his head, running my fingers along his scalp until he leans into me and closes his eyes. “Is based on logic. And down here”––his heart beats against my palm, warming me––“is based on emotion. Both have merit. Both should be taken into account. But when they’re at war with each other, it can be hard to analyze the situation without bias.”

“True,” he concedes. “You’re further away from the situation. What do you think?”

I bite my lip, recognizing how carefully I have to tread while appreciating his desire to hear my insight. It means there’s trust here. And I know Fender doesn’t trust easily. So, I appreciate his trust. More than he’ll ever understand.

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