Page 93 of Broken Instrument

Gibson’s smirk reminds me of Fender as he answers, “We have a plane ticket to buy.”

33

FENDER

“You’re on in five. You ready?” Hawthorne asks.

He doesn’t usually tour with the band, but he had a meeting in Denver and figured he’d stop by. Not gonna lie. It's been nice to have him here. A familiar face.

Don’t get me wrong. The new guys are great, and I like them a lot. But being on tour can be lonely. Like you’re in a crowded room, yet have never felt more isolated or disconnected in your entire life. It’s how I’ve felt every damn minute of every damn day since Hadley walked out.

Even with Pixie by my side, the world has felt bland. Like it’s simply going through the motions. Like I’m just going through the motions. And I’m not sure how much longer I can take it.

“I asked if you’re ready?” Hawthorne prods, reading my silence as anxiety when it couldn’t be further from the truth.

I’m not anxious.

I’m numb.

And while it might’ve been what I’d craved before I met Hadley, ever since I fell for her, I realized it’s the opposite of what I need, yet I’m drowning in it all the same.

I force myself to nod as I glance toward the restless audience a hundred feet away from between the stage curtains.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again.

“Fine. Just tired,” I lie. Although it isn’t completely off base. I am tired. Bone tired. Not the kind of exhaustion you can fix with a solid nap, but one running deeper. More consuming.

I’ve been fighting this battle for what feels like a lifetime, and as soon as I could stand on my own and be strong, I was sucker-punched in the gut. My past sins caught up to me. Again. And there’s no erasing it. No running from it.

I might’ve learned to accept my addiction and the constant battle it’ll be for the rest of my life, but the truth is, I can’t expect everyone else to accept it.

Especially not Hadley.

Not after everything she’s been through.

Not after her brother, and my brother and…

I shove my fingers through my hair, grab my guitar from its case, and head onstage. The large platform is still dark, the blaring lights currently flipped off, but I need to do something. Anything. To keep my thoughts of Hadley at bay.

Pixie pads next to me onto the dark stage as the crowd starts cheering my name.

Fen-der! Fen-der!

And it feels good.

It does.

The rush. The anticipation. The fans who are here for me. To see me. To hear my lyrics. My guitar. It’s heady.

But it doesn’t hold a flame to what’s at home for me. What I lost because I’m too hard to love. Because I’m a ticking time bomb who made a mistake. Not a big one. I know that. Even now, I look back on the moment when I put those stupid pills in the medicine cabinet instead of flushing them down the toilet. I hadn’t wanted to take them. I had no intention of doing so. But I’d still messed up. And Hadley knew it. It’s like I placed a tiny pebble at the top of a mountain without considering how much momentum it could gain if gravity took its hold on the damn thing.

That’s where I was wrong.

I didn’t consider gravity. I didn’t consider Hadley or how she might react. I didn’t consider my own strength and how I could potentially react on a hard day by keeping those stupid pills in my house. I didn’t consider a lot of shit. And because of it, I lost everything.

The crowd continues chanting my name, anxious for me to play the first song even though the rest of the band is still offstage and the bright lights have yet to turn on. But I stay quiet, lost in my own head. In the memories of that night. In the potential of what could’ve been if I hadn’t screwed up.

If I close my eyes, I can almost hear Hadley’s quiet voice when she whispered she loved me after we had sex.

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