Page 21 of A Little Broken

His brow quirks. “What?”

“I’m not some creepy stalker or something, if that’s what you’re worried about.” I hesitate. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have remembered, either, if it wasn’t for Raine.”

Just as confused as before, he unfolds the yellow wrapper around his cheeseburger but pauses instead of bringing it to his mouth. “Dodger’s little sister?”

“Yup. A few years ago, we were in Lockwood Heights, and you pulled up on your motorcycle beside the car I was in and?—”

“We played a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors,” he realizes. Eyes glazed, he hesitates before letting out a low chuckle. “No shit. I remember that.” Another laugh escapes him. “You won back then, too. Right?”

“Pretty sure I'm the reigning champion.”

“Very sneaky, Birthday Girl.” Taking a bite of his burger, he chews thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving me. After he swallows, he adds, “I lost on purpose that time, though.”

“You can’t lose Rock, Paper, Scissors on purpose.”

“Can and did,” he argues. “I had to do something to make you smile.”

I look down at my untouched burger, lost in the memory. I was so pissed at my sister. Actually, I was pissed at everyone. For going out and having fun and moving on when I felt like I was being ripped apart, limb from limb. Tendon from bone. Skin from muscle. I was being flayed, and they were joking about…shit, I don’t even remember anymore. Not that it matters. I was hurting, and I wanted everyone else to hurt, too.

Well, would you look at that. I did learn a thing or two from my therapist. Mom and Dad would be so proud.

“Kinda feel like I need to do something to make you smile today, too,” Pax murmurs, somehow riding the line between making me feel like we’re talking about the weather and something more.

Picking up my burger again, I say, “It was a bad day.”

“I’ve had a few of those.” He shrugs. “They fucking suck, am I right?”

A breath of laughter puffs from my lips, and I look down at my burger, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, they do.”

That’s it. No digging. No why or what happened? Just a simple, yeah, me, too. They’re the worst.

Honestly, I’m so caught off guard, I don’t know what else to do but eat my burger. It’s refreshing. Having someone willing to relate to you without all the added prying I’ve grown to loathe over the years. Sometimes, less is more, and very few people get it. That when you’re mourning, you don’t need a solution. You don’t need a Band-Aid or a word of wisdom. You just need a yeah, that fucking sucks. Let me sit with you while we both wallow in self-pity and vent about how much fate hates us.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not stupid. I know living that way for too long can be detrimental in the big picture, but sometimes? Fuck the big picture. Even if it’s only for a little while.

“So, what’s it like?” I ask. “Being a rockstar?”

His shoulder lifts, and he smiles around his burger. “Can’t complain.”

Clearing my throat to keep my amusement in check, I murmur, “Of course not.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with liking my job.”

“Not at all,” I agree. “What are your favorite perks?”

“Money, obviously. Makes life a hell of a lot easier. The private jets are cool. The women aren’t a bad perk, either.” He grins shamelessly. “Let’s see, what else? It’s pretty sweet being on stage and hearing the crowd chant your lyrics.”

“Yeah, it looked like you were having quite the time up there earlier.”

“Had to put on a good show for a new fan tonight.”

“Is that what you were doing?”

He dips a fry in ketchup and tosses it into his mouth. “You tell me.”

I could tell him I had fun. I could tell him he put on a hell of a show and gained a fan for life. I could tell him a lot of things, but I won’t. Motioning to myself, I ask, “So am I a fan, or a perk?”

His eyes dance with mirth. “I dunno, are you a perk?”

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