Page 92 of A Little Broken

His forehead wrinkles. “She called it off?”

“That’s the part I’m not sure about,” I lie, finding the need to cover for her, though I have no idea why. It’s not like she’d do the same for me if the roles were reversed. But I can’t help it. I like her. And I want us to have a chance even if I’m still on the fence as to whether or not she actually deserves another one with me. Scratching my jaw, I tell him, “Tatum is a, uh…”

“Pain in the ass?” he offers dryly.

“Guess you could say that,” I grunt, though he definitely hit the nail on the head. She’s the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever met, but even so, I can’t get my mind off her. Seeing her in my home every week? Talking to her? Touching her? The push andpull is enough to drive any man insane, but what a way to go. “I’m throwing a party next weekend to help keep the media's attention, and I invited her to come.”

Bringing the drink to his mouth, Dodger asks, “What’d Tatum say?”

My teeth grit at the memory. “She turned me down.”

“No shit?” He laughs again. “Maybe you really do need the band to get laid.”

“Fucking isn’t our problem,” I admit. “It’s the commitment part she shies away from.”

His shoulders lift in a shrug as he shifts on the barstool, getting comfortable. “Makes sense, all things considered.”

Surprised, I cock my head. “What do you mean?”

His silence speaks volumes as he lets his drink hover an inch from his mouth before he runs his tongue along the top of his teeth and takes a drink. Setting it back on the bartop, he mumbles, “Nah. Nothing.”

“Tell me,” I push.

“Not my story, man.”

“Kinda sick of being left in the dark, Dodge.”

A divot forms between his brows, and I know I have him. Because yeah, sometimes I’m not privy to shit, and I get it, but again? After the last few months of fucking crickets when it comes to all things IndieCent Vows despite our recent agreement? The bastard owes me, and he knows it.

“Remember the guy who died a while back?” he asks warily. “One of my buddies, from the car accident?”

I nod.

“Yeah, well, she knew him, too. He was Squeak’s older brother.” He sobers even more and takes another swig of his drink. “I think his death fucked with all of us.”

“Including Tatum,” I conclude.

Damn. The memory is foggy. It’s been years. But even so, I remember Dodger’s face when he found out. The way he was gutted. The drinks afterward. The weed. We did everything we could to help him forget, even if it was only for a little while. But the worst part? It was that he didn’t even go to the funeral. Couldn’t swing it, thanks to the band’s packed tour. Pretty sure it haunted him for months. Hell, maybe it’s still haunting him. Maybe it’s why he hates Lockwood Heights almost as much as Tatum does. In all honesty, I get it. It’s why I didn’t want to come home, either.

“Seems ghosts have a way of haunting all of us, don’t they?” he adds, referring to my mom.

Ignoring the dull but familiar hit of shame, I mutter, “Yeah, I get it.”

And I do. I spent years ignoring my mom. Hating her for giving my dad’s decision so much power that she couldn’t even get out of bed most mornings. I was only a kid. A little fucking shit who lost his dad, but instead of grieving the way I should’ve been able to, I lost both my parents in every way. That’s when the fighting started. When the need to be numb or drowning in adrenaline took over.

“You really like her?” Dodger prods.

“Yeah, man. I really do.”

He hesitates, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he stares at the half-empty beer in front of him. “Look, I know you don’t like talking about your past mistakes, and I get it. We’ve all screwed up more times than I can count, but…” He sighs. “I need you to promise me you won’t screw up again. Not like you did with Raine.”

Fuck, if the memory doesn’t burn. Dodger’s bike wasn’t working, so he asked me to pick up his little sister, Raine, for one of our concerts while we were visiting his hometown. Instead of being there, I was having my cock sucked by a groupie in theback room while doped up on coke. It’s one of the reasons I quit. One of the reasons I’m pickier with my one-night stands. One of the reasons I’ve worked on mindset and self-control and clean habits.

“You know I’m not that guy anymore.”

He gives me a slow nod. “Still gonna need to hear you say it.”

He’s right. He does. And I can’t even blame him for questioning me on this. For making me promise him I won’t screw up again. Because if Raine’s boyfriend hadn’t shown up, she would’ve been hurt, used, and possibly killed. And it would’ve been all my fault.

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