Page 79 of Broken Instrument

“This isn’t some small show––”

“I may have failed to mention the size of the stadium, and that’s on me, but I didn’t want you to back out because of nerves. That being said, there are plenty of other artists who would kill to be in your shoes tonight, and I don’t think you should take it for granted. This is a good opportunity, Fender. Breathe.”

Fender lets out a slow breath and shoves his hand through his wavy hair, pushing it away from his face while causing his bicep to bunch and flex. Damn, the man’s good-looking, even when he’s freaking out inside.

“Will there be any more reporters or anything?” he asks. “I feel like I was blindsided out there.”

“They spoke to you?” Hawthorne returns.

Fender nods. “Asked where I went and if I was on bad terms with Broken Vows. I said we were fine and plan on collaborating in the future.”

“Good. Sounds like you handled it perfectly. Sorry I wasn’t out there to help deter them from pouncing on you like a pack of wolves. I’d assumed keeping them from the back entrance would’ve been enough.”

“Apparently, a few knew how to sneak through. And it’s fine. I know you don’t want me to lose my shit, but keeping me in the dark will do more harm than good.”

“And from now on, I’ll keep that in mind. I apologize.”

Again, Fender nods, accepting Hawthorne’s apology. Hawthorne guides us into the main area and introduces us to so many people it makes my head spin.

Seriously. This is crazy. There’s a buzzing throughout backstage as people set up different instruments and test the lighting and sound system. It’s insane. And so freaking cool, my fingers are itching to write all about it. If only I’d brought my computer.

A little while later, the crowd begins filtering into the stadium, and Fender gets ready to head onstage while I drink champagne from a flute surrounded by Dove and Sammie.

And the crazy part? I’m actually enjoying myself. When I said I was dating Fender as a distraction from my everyday life, I had no idea just how well it would suit me. But his friends? His family? They’ve welcomed me with open arms. I wouldn’t change any of it for the world.

If only I’d known how quickly it would come crashing down.

27

FENDER

My hands are sweaty. I wipe them on my dark pants and grip my guitar. Hawthorne asked if I wanted to meet a few more potential band members before tonight’s show since our first try had ended so poorly, but it felt wrong performing with strangers instead of my surrogate family. So, I asked them if they’d be willing to play with me for old time’s sake during lunch when we’d all gotten together. Dove and Gibson loved the idea of me stealing Stoker and Phoenix for the night, but being up here without Dove and Sonny somehow feels wrong too. Like I’m stepping back in time instead of moving forward.

Stoker, the bassist, slaps me on the back as we wait to go on stage and asks, “Dude. You ready?”

“Not in the slightest,” I admit, though a laugh catches in my throat. The old me would’ve said fuck yeah, popped a pill, and headed onstage with my guitar raised above my head and my shirt tucked into the back pocket of my jeans. But the new me? He’s more honest. Which is terrifying as shit.

Stoker laughs too. “Same. This never gets old. Thanks for having us play with you tonight, though. We’ve missed you, man.”

Phoenix, the burly drummer who looks like a giant leprechaun, tosses his arm around my neck and pulls me into a hug, slapping my back roughly. “Yeah we have. You ready to debut your new song? That thing’s the shit.”

The oxygen burns my lungs as I breathe in deep and force myself to nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m ready.”

“All right. Let’s show ‘em what you got.”

The lights dim a few seconds later, and we all race onto the stage, settling into position as the lights flicker back on.

With sweaty palms, I play the intro to a new song. It still has a few kinks needing to be worked out, but it felt wrong playing anything else. And when I played it for the band at the house a few weeks ago, they agreed this was the one.

As my fingers pluck at the strings for a few more measures, Phoenix comes in with a slow pulsing beat, followed by Stoker on the bass. I search for Hadley in the crowd of people lining the side of the stage behind the curtains and find her surrounded by Gibson, Dove, Sammie, and Hawthorne. Her smile is soft and sweet as sugar as she holds my gaze. She’d opted for contacts instead of her usual quirky black glasses tonight and looks sexy as hell.

My tongue darts out, and I moisten my lips and let the lyrics flow through me.

I thought I was broken.

Lost.

Tossed aside in the trash.

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