Page 62 of A Little Broken

“And don’t you forget it.”

17

PAXTON

Lifting my hand, I rap my knuckles against the heavy oak door and wait. Footsteps echo on the opposite side before Dodger appears and nods his head in greeting. “Hey, man. Come on in.”

He opens the door the rest of the way, holding it for me as I step over the threshold and into the foyer. It’s nice. Screams money, too. Vaulted ceiling. Spiral staircase. Tall windows like the place I’ve been staying. It’s a family home, or so I’ve heard. Been passed down for generations. I tuck my hands into my front pockets and scan what I can see of the large house since it’s my first time being at Judge’s. Dodger’s basement has the studio, so there’s never a need to meet at Judge’s when we’re all in town, or at least it’s what they tell me. Personally, I think it’s because Titas, Judge’s brother, is too much of a tight-ass to let someone from The Drift into his personal space, but what do I know? Yeah, this isn’t Judge’s place, even if his name is next to his brother’s on the deed. It solely belongs to Titas Harden through and through, like everything else in this town.

As I walk through the foyer, Dodger closes the door behind us, motioning to an office on the right. Black marble. Chromeaccents. Monochromatic artwork. The place feels as cold as Judge’s heart.

Not surprised.

Leaning against the glass desk in the middle of the room, Dodger asks, “So, what’s up?”

I look around the foyer, finding it empty except for us. “Where’s Tuke?”

“Last I checked, still in the Cayman islands, smoking enough pot for all of us.”

“Sounds like Tuke,” I laugh. “And Judge?”

Dodger peers around me. “He’s?—”

Judge walks into the room as if on cue. He looks as put together as always, but after sharing a bus and more late nights on tour than I can count, it’s easy to see past the facade. Bags under his eyes. His shirt untucked. That’s it. Two minor details, but it’s enough. The guy’s being drug through the wringer.

“Take a seat, Pax,” Dodger suggests.

I sit on the black leather couch along the side of the wall beneath the window overlooking the quiet winding road while Judge takes his place behind the desk and Dodge leans against the edge of it.

Eyeing both of them, I note, “This feels…official.”

“You said you wanted to talk shop,” Dodger reminds me. “Figured this was the best place for it.”

He’s not wrong. Since IndieCent Vows’ hiatus announcement, the paparazzi have been dying to be the first to find the why behind our decision. Then again, so have I.

“How are you liking the new place?” Dodger asks.

“It’s all right.” I hesitate. “Different.”

“Than the tour bus or The Drift?” Judge chimes in.

“Both,” I answer with a dry laugh. Pretty sure our tour bus could’ve fit in the new kitchen, and The Drift? It’s something else entirely.

Twisting in his office chair toward the window, Judge takes in the main road outside. “You’ll get used to it.”

I doubt it, but I don’t bother arguing.

“So how are the nephews?” I ask.

“Pains in my ass, like always,” Judge grunts.

“Any reason why your brother couldn’t be the one to whip them into shape instead of shitting on our tour?”

“We wanted a break anyway,” Dodger says, as if he needs to remind me that I’ve been feeling burnt out for years. Although, if I’m being honest, sitting on my ass in a mansion on the beach isn’t exactly all it’s cracked up to be, either.

I nod slowly. “It doesn’t explain why Titas couldn’t come here himself.”

Crossing one ankle over the other with his hands in his pockets like we’re talking about the weather or some shit, Dodger defends, “He’s busy.”

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