Broken instrument, p.17
Broken Instrument, page 17
“I think I was using you as a crutch, Sonny,” I admit. “I knew you’d always be there to pick me up again. I knew the band was always there to cover for me when I’d screw up. I think it was enabling me to continue spiraling. And while I appreciate your support and the way you guys are willing to let me back in with open arms, after taking a step back, I’ve realized I think I do need a fresh start. Even though it’s been hard, I need to do this on my own. But I want you to know you’re still my closest family. You’re still my big brother. I gotta do this on my own.”
He scans my face carefully, absorbing my expression the same way he’s absorbed my words. Then he nods and slaps my back in a way that would be an asshole move if it weren’t from my brother. “The door’s always open with Broken Vows. The rest of the band agrees. But I get why you’d want to go on your own.”
“Thanks, Son. You don’t know how much it means to me.”
“I’m here for you,” he adds.
“I’m here for you too.”
“And congrats on the charity concert,” he continues. “You should’ve heard how jealous Stoker was when we found out.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. You deserve it. But don’t be surprised if I call you every once in a while to see if you wanna do a crossover song or two.”
The idea makes me grin. “Sounds good, man. I’m in.”
“Good. So, where’s your phone?”
I grimace and shift on my ass to pull it out. “Why?”
“You should call Dad.” He motions to my cell.
“What?”
“Call Dad,” he repeats.
“Right now?”
“The guys downstairs can wait for a few more minutes. He misses you.”
With a quick look toward the half-open door, I let out another sigh and flip my phone into the air, but I don’t unlock it as another wave of guilt washes through me. “Listen, about you and Dad reconnecting. I’m sorry about what I said the other night. I was wrong. And I think it’s good. You and Dad. I shouldn’t have been jealous.”
“We wouldn’t have reconnected if it weren’t for you,” he reminds me. “But you were right. Dad’s changed. He’s not the asshole I’d pegged him for, and I never would’ve given him another chance if you hadn’t convinced me to. As for the jealousy bullshit? You gotta let it go. Dad misses you. He’s been giving you space because he knows it’s what you need, but I can’t replace you, Fen. Not in Broken Vows, and not in Dad’s life, either. Call him.” He pushes to his feet and heads toward the door. “And when you’re finished, come downstairs and grab some pizza. The guys and Dove miss you too.” He closes the door behind him, blanketing the room in silence. I unlock my phone and settle back against the side of Gibson’s bed.
He’s right. I need to stop ignoring all of my past relationships out of fear of rejection or disappointing them again. They’re my family, blood or not.
Apparently, it’s time to make a call.
26
HADLEY
The next few weeks go by in a blur. I’ve been preparing for Fender’s concert, which includes clothes shopping and a salon appointment, but I haven’t heard a word from the police as to whether or not they have any new information on Bud. It’s disappointing, but I’m trying to stay distracted, and getting ready for my little trip with Fender has been an excellent one.
Things have been great between Fen and me. He even managed to smooth things over between him, Sonny, and his bandmates. And I’ve never seen him happier. We still haven’t had sex. I think he’s terrified to take the step, even though we’ve done everything else under the sun. But it’s been good. We’ve still been intimate––both sexually and emotionally––and I couldn’t ask for anything more.
We spend our days at his place, thanks to Pixie and my insane landlord, but it’s been nice. His roommates are great. Both Dove and Maddie are awesome, along with Jake’s girlfriend, Evie. And even Mia’s been hanging in there. She’s hurting and anxious about the lack of information where her father’s concerned, but Isabella found her a therapist, and she’s been getting the help she needs. Well, that, and she’s been taking extra runs with Pix after school ever since Isabella gave back her car keys.
Now, if only I could get these stupid nerves to stop assaulting my stomach as I curl my hair in the hotel room, that would be great. We flew out yesterday and spent the night in LA, getting ready for the charity concert.
Tonight’s the night, and I’m kind of freaking out, though I have no idea why. It’s not like I’m the one who has to be on stage or anything. Maybe it’s because Maddie and Milo are watching Pixie at home, so Fender won’t have his cheerleader on stage with him tonight. Or maybe it’s the fact I know I’m going to be exposed to an entirely different side of Fender’s life this evening. One I’m not quite sure I fit into. And I’m scared it’ll rock the boat. Thankfully, Dove and Gibson will be with me to cheer him on, and I’m grateful for them. A familiar face or two is exactly what I need.
“You ready?” Fen calls through the closed door.
“Working on it.”
The door opens a few inches, and I catch Fen smiling at me through the mirror.
“Damn, Hads. You look…” He steps inside and grabs my hips, pinning my back to his front as he checks out my reflection.
“Yes?” I prod.
With a soft, warm kiss to the side of my neck, he finishes, “Edible.”
I laugh and put the straightener down, twisting in his arms. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” His soft gray T-shirt hugs his biceps and leaves his arms bare, showcasing Milo’s fancy tattoo work, but he looks…edible. Fen was right. It’s the perfect word choice.
I bite my lip then press a quick kiss to his mouth.
“You nervous?” I ask.
“Just trying to keep the right perspective.”
“Any cravings?”
He’s opened up to me over the past few weeks, giving me insight as to what his triggers are and when he would succumb to his addiction on tour. He’s even given me warning signs to watch out for. Not that he needs a babysitter, but he recognizes his own weaknesses and knows I can be strong for him when he can’t.
The responsibility is staggering, though. But so is his trust. And I won’t ever break it. Even if it is a little intimidating. After all, Bud’s my brother. I knew him before he fell down the rabbit hole of drugs and addiction. I knew him after. I saw how much it took its toll, whether he was on or off the wagon. It was a rollercoaster, and I’m not going to lie to myself and say I’m not terrified falling for Fender will lead me down the same path of heartbreak and disappointment.
One mistake. One slip up, and I’m gone. I’m not sure I can handle anything else. But it’s a promise I’ve made to myself, one I’ve refused to admit to Fender. Not because I’m trying to keep it from him, but because I know he doesn’t need the added pressure. I know he already puts too much of it on himself. And I know it’ll only hurt him in the end if he realizes my feelings for him might be unconditional, but my self-preservation isn’t.
I don’t say any of it, though, as I turn around and continue doing my hair while carefully assessing his reflection in the mirror. He looks relatively calm. Not too jittery. Seems focused. Nervous but happy. He’s okay.
“I haven’t been craving anything but you,” he quips, kissing my temple. “I’ll let you finish getting ready. We should head over to the arena in twenty. Will you be ready by then?”
“Yup. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
The drive takes about fifteen minutes. The driver Hawthorne sent to pick us up at our hotel is kind and tells us horror stories about driving in the middle of LA for the rich and famous before pulling up to the back of a massive outdoor arena.
There are cars already filling the lot, even though the concert isn’t supposed to start for another few hours. My nerves shoot through the roof as I take in a few teenage girls carrying signs with Fender’s name on them.
“You didn’t tell me there were going to be this many people,” I note as I smooth out my red crop top and dark jeans.
“I didn’t know,” he admits while eyeing the entrance already lined with fans waiting to get into the show and grab their seats. Thankfully, we’re parked in front of a back entrance, but if they simply turn their heads and look our way, I’m pretty sure chaos would ensue.
I grab his hand and squeeze softly to distract him from the sea of people. “It’s going to be awesome, Fen.”
“We’ll see,” he mutters under his breath. “Let’s get going, I guess.” He climbs out of the backseat and offers his hand to help me up. Once I’m standing, he takes the guitar case from the trunk, and we walk inside, trying to be discreet so no paparazzi can catch us and start snapping pictures.
Which is weird. We’re a couple of nobodies. Scratch that. I’m a nobody. Fender is obviously a somebody, which is made even clearer when a reporter spots us and calls, “Fender! Fender Hayes! Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
He tilts his head down and keeps walking, but I dig in my heels, making him slow a bit as I whisper in his ear. “You sure Hawthorne wouldn’t want you to say anything?”
His nostrils flare, but he turns to the reporter and says, “Hey. What can I do for you?”
“I want to know where you’ve been and if you were planning on breaking up with Broken Vows from the beginning or if it was a recent development?”
With a death grip on my hand, Fender gives the reporter a tight smile, his gaze flicking from the crowd who, by some miracle, hasn’t seen us yet and the guy in front of us. “Broken Vows is an incredible band full of great guys and an awesome girl,” he clarifies, his smile turning genuine for a brief moment. “While we have split, I'm looking forward to continuing my relationship with them. In fact, we plan to collaborate on a few songs this upcoming year. Thanks so much––”
“Will you plan on taking your shirt off during the concert, Fender? I know it was your signature move.”
He chuckles and lifts our laced hands, placing a kiss against the back of mine. “Not sure my girlfriend would like it, but I appreciate the interest. Have a good one.”
He tugs me toward the back entrance, obviously finished with the short interview when a massive man with dark sunglasses and a permanently etched frown on his bulldog features stops us with crossed arms.
“Passes?” he barks.
Fender lifts the laminated pass hanging from a lanyard around his neck.
The security guard nods and turns to me. “Pass?”
My smile is tight as I do the same, lifting the pass for the guy to inspect.
Satisfied, he nods again and steps aside, allowing us entry while the reporter keeps peppering questions our way.
As we step inside and out of earshot, I look up at Fender with wide eyes. “Whoa.”
His palm is warm as he presses it against my back and leads me down a short hallway beneath the stage. “Yeah, I’m gonna kill Hawthorne.”
“Why? You did good!”
“He should’ve at least given me a heads-up.”
“Well, here’s your chance to tell him. He’s walking this way.” My attention shifts to the tall, handsome guy wrapped in a fitted suit with Sammie on his arm who’s talking to someone in a black T-shirt with a headset.
When he catches me looking at him, Hawthorne closes the last bit of distance between us and offers his hand for Fender to shake. “Hey, glad you guys made it here okay.”
“Thanks for sending the driver to pick us up. It was thoughtful.”
He chuckles, takes my hand, gives it a firm shake, and wraps his arm back around Sammie.
“Although you could’ve warned us about the size of this little charity event,” Fender interrupts, but Hawthorne only laughs harder.
“If I had, would you have still come?”
“This isn’t some small show––”
“I may have failed to mention the size of the stadium, and that’s on me, but I didn’t want you to back out because of nerves. That being said, there are plenty of other artists who would kill to be in your shoes tonight, and I don’t think you should take it for granted. This is a good opportunity, Fender. Breathe.”
Fender lets out a slow breath and shoves his hand through his wavy hair, pushing it away from his face while causing his bicep to bunch and flex. Damn, the man’s good-looking, even when he’s freaking out inside.
“Will there be any more reporters or anything?” he asks. “I feel like I was blindsided out there.”
“They spoke to you?” Hawthorne returns.
Fender nods. “Asked where I went and if I was on bad terms with Broken Vows. I said we were fine and plan on collaborating in the future.”
“Good. Sounds like you handled it perfectly. Sorry I wasn’t out there to help deter them from pouncing on you like a pack of wolves. I’d assumed keeping them from the back entrance would’ve been enough.”
“Apparently, a few knew how to sneak through. And it’s fine. I know you don’t want me to lose my shit, but keeping me in the dark will do more harm than good.”
“And from now on, I’ll keep that in mind. I apologize.”
Again, Fender nods, accepting Hawthorne’s apology. Hawthorne guides us into the main area and introduces us to so many people it makes my head spin.
Seriously. This is crazy. There’s a buzzing throughout backstage as people set up different instruments and test the lighting and sound system. It’s insane. And so freaking cool, my fingers are itching to write all about it. If only I’d brought my computer.
A little while later, the crowd begins filtering into the stadium, and Fender gets ready to head onstage while I drink champagne from a flute surrounded by Dove and Sammie.
And the crazy part? I’m actually enjoying myself. When I said I was dating Fender as a distraction from my everyday life, I had no idea just how well it would suit me. But his friends? His family? They’ve welcomed me with open arms. I wouldn’t change any of it for the world.
If only I’d known how quickly it would come crashing down.
27
FENDER
My hands are sweaty. I wipe them on my dark pants and grip my guitar. Hawthorne asked if I wanted to meet a few more potential band members before tonight’s show since our first try had ended so poorly, but it felt wrong performing with strangers instead of my surrogate family. So, I asked them if they’d be willing to play with me for old time’s sake during lunch when we’d all gotten together. Dove and Gibson loved the idea of me stealing Stoker and Phoenix for the night, but being up here without Dove and Sonny somehow feels wrong too. Like I’m stepping back in time instead of moving forward.
Stoker, the bassist, slaps me on the back as we wait to go on stage and asks, “Dude. You ready?”
“Not in the slightest,” I admit, though a laugh catches in my throat. The old me would’ve said fuck yeah, popped a pill, and headed onstage with my guitar raised above my head and my shirt tucked into the back pocket of my jeans. But the new me? He’s more honest. Which is terrifying as shit.
Stoker laughs too. “Same. This never gets old. Thanks for having us play with you tonight, though. We’ve missed you, man.”
Phoenix, the burly drummer who looks like a giant leprechaun, tosses his arm around my neck and pulls me into a hug, slapping my back roughly. “Yeah we have. You ready to debut your new song? That thing’s the shit.”
The oxygen burns my lungs as I breathe in deep and force myself to nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m ready.”
“All right. Let’s show ‘em what you got.”
The lights dim a few seconds later, and we all race onto the stage, settling into position as the lights flicker back on.
With sweaty palms, I play the intro to a new song. It still has a few kinks needing to be worked out, but it felt wrong playing anything else. And when I played it for the band at the house a few weeks ago, they agreed this was the one.
As my fingers pluck at the strings for a few more measures, Phoenix comes in with a slow pulsing beat, followed by Stoker on the bass. I search for Hadley in the crowd of people lining the side of the stage behind the curtains and find her surrounded by Gibson, Dove, Sammie, and Hawthorne. Her smile is soft and sweet as sugar as she holds my gaze. She’d opted for contacts instead of her usual quirky black glasses tonight and looks sexy as hell.
My tongue darts out, and I moisten my lips and let the lyrics flow through me.
I thought I was broken.
Lost.
Tossed aside in the trash.
But you turned me around
And looked past my past.
There’s a future with us.
One I can taste.
Especially when I look at your sweet face
You put me together
We’re a puzzle
Meant to be
And I know you can help fix me
Just stay with me
Stay with me
I sing the chorus, lost in my words, the rhythm, the lights, and the crowd, every emotion rolling through me like a thunderstorm. It gains momentum with each passing note until the last one rings through the air.
And then… Applause.
It’s a high I know I’ll never be able to replicate. One I’ll always crave but is only magnified when I find Hadley grinning back at me with glassy eyes and so much pride, I almost feel like I deserve it.
She isn’t ashamed. Or embarrassed to be mine. She’s proud. And I think I could love her for it.
