Page 25 of Broken Instrument
“I used to.”
She tilts her head to one side. “Used to?”
“Now, I’m starting to wonder if I loved the music or the high from the audience. I haven’t played since…” I scratch the scruff of my jaw. “I haven’t played in a while. Not since my band fell apart.”
“What happened?” she prods.
I shake my head, my lips pressing into a thin line. Such a simple question. Two words. If only I knew the answer. One that wasn’t a convoluted mess of regret and mistakes, all of them made by me.
She frowns. “You don’t have to tell me––”
“I screwed up,” I mutter.
The compassion in her gaze is too much. I feel like I might suffocate from it.
“I think you should try playing again.”
“You do?”
She nods. “Even if it’s only for closure. You not playing––not knowing what the trigger is for your why behind your love of music––it has to be killing you. Isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” I reply, my hands itching at my sides. I wipe them on my jeans.
“Then, you should play. Even if it’s your final show, and you never pick up an instrument again. I think you should still do it.”
Curious, I glance up at her, tearing my gaze from the linoleum floor to the crystal blue irises staring back at me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Would you want to come?” I ask.
Her eyes widen. “Me?”
“Yeah. You.” My mouth tilts up as I take in her surprise at my offer. “I thought you said you could use the distraction.”
She smiles, her cheeks stretching and turning pink all at once. “I’d love to, Fen.”
The back door opens, and Dr. Grover steps into the white and gray exam room, interrupting us.
“Pixie’s going to be okay,” he starts. “We got all the chocolate out of her system, and she should be good as new by tomorrow. We’d like to keep her overnight as a precaution, but you should be able to pick her up in the morning.”
“Thank you,” I reply, relief flooding my system.
“Don’t mention it. And, uh, we want you to know we’ve been thinking a lot about Bud. If you guys need anything, let us know.”
Hadley nods, her expression tightening. She turns on her heel without another word.
I thank Dr. Grover for his help, pay the bill at the front desk, and rush out of the exam room to catch up to Hadley. She slows at the door, feeling my presence behind her but doesn’t say a word as I push it open for her. The warm breeze causes her hair to tangle around her face almost instantly, and she dips her chin to her chest, shielding herself from it.
Or maybe she’s shielding herself from me.
We make our way to the cars in silence. When we’re standing by the vehicles, I ask, “You okay?”
She shakes her head and brushes beneath her nose with the back of her hand, avoiding my gaze.
My hands itch to grab her face and force her to look at me, but I restrain myself. Shoving them into my pockets, I lean against her driver’s side door. Patient. Weary. And with the knowledge that if there were ever a time to walk on eggshells, it would be now.
“How did he know about Bud’s disappearance?” I ask quietly.