Page 48 of A Little Broken

His eyes thin. “That’s what you hear, huh?”

I lift a shoulder but don’t comment, taking another sip of my beer.

“Have you seen him yet?” Roman asks.

“Not yet. Been writing him, though.”

“Good,” Roman says. “He misses you.”

Sobering, my attention falls to the sand beneath my feet. “Yeah, man. Miss him, too.”

Every damn day.

“How long are you in town?” Roman asks.

“Not sure,” I admit.

“You want in on anything while you’re here?”

I’ve thought about it. Fuck, I’ve thought about it a lot. However, pissing off my bandmates hasn’t been on my to-do list, but twiddling my thumbs has left me bored and restless. Too restless.

“Judge will kill me,” I point out.

“What else are you gonna do while you’re in town?”

I scratch the scruff along my jaw, considering my options even though we both know there aren’t many. Not really. This college town might look sleepy on the surface, but underneath? Well, let’s just say looks can be deceiving. And without the band to distract me? There’s only so much a guy like me can do.

Well aware it might bite me in the ass, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I ask, “What’s next on the agenda?”

“Agenda,” he chuckles. “Way to make it sound official and shit.”

“Pretty sure you boys know how to run this town smoother than most Fortune 500 companies.”

“Fuck yeah, we do,” he agrees. “Like a well-oiled machine.”

“Sounds about right.” I laugh.

“We got a poker tournament next week.”

Another low laugh escapes me. “Pass. I’d prefer to keep my money.”

“Probably smart.” Roman gives me a cocky grin and scratches his jaw, glancing at the bonfire a hundred yards away before turning back to me. “There’s a fight comin’.”

My hands squeeze into fists on reflex, but I force them to relax. “A fight, huh?”

He nods. “You still brawl?”

“Nothing official. Not since leaving.”

And your brother’s arrest, I silently add. It doesn’t need to be said aloud. Roman knows the truth as well as I do.

“Bet you could make a decent amount if we push it right.”

“And get my ass kicked in the process?” I joke.

“Nah, I remember watching you when I was a kid. That fight doesn’t go away. It’s in here.” He taps his sternum. “And here.” His finger moves to his temple.

He’s right. It is. The trick is learning how to turn it off, not make it disappear altogether.

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