Page 39 of Shattered Chords

Walking before running, my therapist had explained the theory in a nutshell.

I took a swallow of my water and met Malik’s gaze.

He stopped moving and locked his hands behind his head. “Just don’t get married or you’ll end up like me—homeless.” His sweaty face broke into a huge grin. Knowing how to laugh at oneself without feeling self-pity was a rare quality, and Malik had mastered the art of not giving a fuck. Life had thrown him under the bus again and again and he still kept pushing through. His perseverance was contagious.

“I said it before and I’m saying it again. You’re always welcome to stay at my place.” It was a genuine offer. Besides, my house was so huge, I doubted we’d even see each other unless we made fucking appointments.

“Nah. I don’t want to put you out…” He knocked my shoulder and wiggled his brows. “In case you get a lady friend.”

“Don’t worry. Looks like it would just be me and you since my skills are a little rusty. I can’t even get a woman to go to dinner with me.”

“Send her flowers.”

“People still do that?”

“You got weak game, brother. Women like flowers.”

“I don’t have a game at all. Women used to fall into my lap. Now they run from me.”

“You know what you gotta do? Watch some rom-coms. My ex used to host movie nights every Thursday. That shit is educational.”

“Rom-coms?” I glared at him suspiciously.

“Married life is like being behind the enemy line,” he explained.

Dude had a point.

By the time we made it back to Malik’s car, my skin was hotter than a hot plate. I could probably roast bacon on my back. Too bad the doctor said that bacon was a big no-no.You are what you eat, he’d constantly told me about the benefits of a healthy diet.

The morning sunlight streaming down the hillside was almost sadistic as we loaded into the Jeep. The dry air was heavy against my chest and in my lungs, like I was breathing sandpaper.

On the drive back to my place, Malik continued to lecture me about chivalry. He was a wealth of useful information. Forty minutes later when his Jeep pulled up to my house, I felt like a Harvard graduate with a degree in couple counseling. Malik Dixon was that good at all things women and dating. He knew exactly how to get them to like a man.

I found Yanneth in the kitchen, reorganizing my fridge. Bags of unpacked groceries occupied the counter. She was a nice, soft-spoken woman whom Javier had hired through an agency. Despite sharing the same language, we didn’t speak often. Yanneth mostly kept to herself when she came over, but once in a while, I struck up a casual conversation, which usually ended with either me showing her my guitars or her showing me photos of her kids. The older one was in college and the other two were still in high school.

“I’ve never asked you,” I said matter-of-factly as I crossed the kitchen. “Are you married?”

Yanneth stopped fumbling with the food and nodded. “Yes. Twenty-two years.” There was a lick of pride in her voice.

I let out a long whistle and allowed her words to sink in. Sleeping with someone in one bed for that long scared the fuck out of me. “Let’s say, hypothetically, if you weren’t married—”

Confused, she raised her brows.

“Hypothetically.” I paused and stared at the jagged mountain tops on the opposite side of the terrace doors. “If you were a single mother and a man asked you out... What would prevent you from going out with him?”

Yanneth’s face screwed up in concentration. She took a moment to think. “Dating when you have a child is different,” she said finally. “A child always comes first.”

“So you’d stop seeing men?”

“No.” She shook her head. “But I’d make sure the man I’m seeing understands that I’m a mother first and respects my child’s needs. I’d make sure the man is responsible and a good influence.”

“Hmm.” I had to think about what she’d said for a second. I didn’t know if it was just another glitch in my broken brain, but it took me a moment to process. “That’s very helpful, Yanneth. Thanks,” I muttered on my way out as my heart rate suddenly doubled.

“Good luck!” Her voice trailed after me as I jogged up the stairs.

Luck? I didn’t believe it liked me much. But responsible? That, I could be. Heck, anyone who ate grapefruits for breakfast and broccoli for dinner was as straight as an arrow. I hadn’t missed a single appointment with my therapist or any of my AA meetings either. I was a fucking robot, desperately clinging to the last drops of my sanity and my will to stay alive. This routine didn’t necessarily bring me pleasure, but it’d grown on me. Even if my mind still rebelled at times, my body had become accustomed to my new reality.

I was crippled and cracked, and the glue that held me together was my own desire.

---