Page 5 of Broken Instrument
With my shoulders hiked up to my ears and my head down, I rock back on my heels, blown away that I’m actually here.
I shouldn’t be here.
This is a bad idea.
But I’m lonely. And even though I’m not gonna be having sex with anyone in the near future, it would still be nice to talk to someone. To not be alone.
A muffled dog’s bark echoes from down the hall as I lift my hand and tap my knuckles against the familiar apartment door.
It’s late. I shouldn’t be here. But I didn’t know where else to go. Yeah, Milo’s at home. But he has his girlfriend. His baby girl. He doesn’t need my shit.
To be fair, neither does Trish, but I can’t help myself.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, the dog’s barking from down the hall grabs my attention again for a split second before the door in front of me creaks open.
With wide eyes, a gorgeous Trish peeks through the crack in the door, her jaw dropping when she recognizes me. The door closes, followed by the rustle of the metal chain lock unlatching, and my only casual yet consistent hook-up stands in front of me.
Trisha folds her arms to keep her pert nipples from playing peekaboo through her dark silk nightgown, looking uncomfortable to find me here. Especially when the last time we spoke, I ended things without even bothering to give her an excuse.
“Fen?” Her voice is quiet. Nothing but a breath as my name leaves her lips.
My smile is tight as I rub my hand over my head. “Hey, Trish. Long time, no see.”
She glances behind her shoulder like it’s a nervous tick and steps further into the hallway and closing her apartment door until only a crack is left. “What are you doing here?”
Excellent question.
What the hell am I doing here?
I clear my throat and rock back on my heels. Again. “Uh, yeah. Just wanted to stop by.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too. How’ve you been?”
“Good. I’ve been…good. Listen––” Barking cuts her off as she glances down the hall and looks up at me again. “You weren’t answering any of my calls. I tried to reach you.”
“I know.”
“And the one time you finally decided to return my call, you ended things,” she reminds me.
“I know,” I repeat.
“So…no offense, but what are you doing here?”
“I…” I scrub my hand over my tired face. “Can I come in?”
With a hesitant nod, she drops her voice low and says, “Only if you stay quiet. I, uh, I have company.”
I hide my surprise with a look of indifference and dip my chin. “Okay.”
She pushes the door open, and I follow her into her apartment. I don’t miss the way she keeps the door from closing or the way her eyes keep darting toward her bedroom as we huddle in the small entryway.
“So?” she prods. “Where’ve you been? Last I heard, you were on tour, and then you disappeared––”
“I know. I, uh…” I drop my gaze to the ground. “I was in rehab.”
Silence dominates before a whispered, “Oh,” echoes through her tiny apartment.