Broken Instrument, page 7
“A glass of red wine, please.”
Her perfectly plucked brow arches. “No preferences?”
“Nope. Whatever you have that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg would be great.”
With a smile, she dips her chin. “Coming right up.”
She sets a glass in front of me a few minutes later and asks, “So. You here to see Fender play?”
I drag my attention from the empty stage and back to her. “How could you tell?”
“Because I haven’t seen you in here before, and you keep staring at the stage as if you’re waiting for a certain someone to take it.”
A blush creeps into my cheeks. I reach for the glass of wine and bring it to my lips.
“Were you a fan of Broken Vows?” she asks.
“Not until Fender invited me to watch him play tonight. I’m kind of a recluse and didn’t know about them.”
“You know Fen?” She tilts her head to the side and assesses me with new interest. “Like, personally?”
I take another sip from my glass. “Yes?”
“Interesting. I didn’t know he was seeing anyone.”
“Oh, we’re not…” My voice trails off, leaving my words hanging in the air.
“Gotcha,” the bartender replies a few seconds later, though she doesn’t exactly look convinced. “So, I assume you haven’t known him very long since you weren’t aware of his connection to Broken Vows. Am I right?”
“Yeah, we just met a few weeks ago.”
“Interesting. And…how’s he been doing?” she prods. Not with any malice or overbearing interest which would make a normal person feel uncomfortable, but with an honest curiosity reminding me of a good friend or even a Mama Bear.
Interesting.
“He’s good, I think,” I tell her.
Her eyes narrow in disbelief. “Yeah?”
I nod, hating how I’m beginning to second guess myself when under her scrutiny. “I think so?”
Another pause. “Well, good. Good for him. I’m glad he has someone to talk to,” she decides.
Someone to talk to? My brow quirks. Why would he need someone to talk to? Or better yet, why would a random bartender who obviously knows Fender quite well be grateful he has someone to talk to? The questions continue building, but I shake them off and take another sip of wine.
I’m not sure why, but I feel like I’m missing something. A vital piece of information. One which would finally connect all the dots that are Fender Hayes and show me the real him instead of the acquaintance I’ve gotten to know over the past few encounters. Unfortunately, I’m not that lucky and am still as lost as ever. Hell, more so.
“Not sure I’d say Fender has opened up to me, but he knows he can,” I explain. “Or at least I think he does. So…there’s that. Right?”
“Right.”
She gets back to work while the bustle from the crowd grows more and more restless as the next few minutes crawl by at a snail’s pace.
A few minutes later, a man in a fitted gray suit settles onto the barstool next to mine.
The bartender almost squeals when she sees him, leaning over the countertop to press a quick kiss on his lips. “Hey, babe! How’s he doing?”
“Refuses to get on stage without his dog,” the stranger replies, his mouth curving up with amusement. “That’s how he’s doing, Sammie.”
Dog? My ears perk, but I keep my gaze glued to what little red liquid is left in my cup.
Be. Inconspicuous. Hadley!
“It’s a good thing my dad owns the bar and wouldn’t care,” Sammie, the bartender, returns. “How’s he doing otherwise?”
“He’s…” I catch the man raking his fingers through his hair from the corner of my eye. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
“I guess so. But he better hurry. The crowd’s getting restless.”
“Yeah. I don’t know what he’s waiting on.”
“Maybe his new friend can help,” Sammie offers, turning her attention to me.
Crap!
“Hawthorne, this is… I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name,” she adds with a light blush.
Forcing a smile, I twist in my seat to face the guy fully while pretending I most definitely wasn’t eavesdropping on their previous conversation. Nope. Not me. I was just minding my own beeswax.
“I’m Hadley. Hi.”
“Hi.” Sammie smiles and turns back to Hawthorne, shooting him a look I can’t quite decipher.
With his massive hand outstretched, he says, “Like my girlfriend said, I’m Hawthorne. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too. I’m Hadley,” I repeat with another awkward smile as I shake his hand.
“So, Hadley. You know Fen?”
He says it like I belong to some inside club, eyeing me with interest.
“Um…yes?”
“And? How is he?” he prods.
I laugh, déjà vu hitting me square in the chest. I toss Sammie a knowing look. “I see whatcha did there.”
“And I’m not even sorry about it,” she volleys back and heads toward the opposite end of the bar to help another customer.
“So?” Hawthorne’s attention shifts from me to the empty stage. “How is he?” he repeats.
“He’s fine, I guess?”
“Just fine?”
I let out a huff, surprised by my overprotective self who wants to ask why he needs to know but bite my tongue then explain. “Okay. I think he’s going through some things, but he’s processing it the best he can. Better?”
Hawthorne’s chin dips as the lights on the stage flicker on, and Fender approaches the stage with Pixie right beside him. No leash. I don’t know why, but the sight makes me smile. Like they’re a team.
Clearing his throat, Fender heads toward the mic on stiff legs, looking uncomfortable yet still sexy as hell in a black T-shirt and dark jeans hugging his thighs. If I didn’t know any better, I’d said this is his first show. He looks nervous. A little jittery. He’s refusing to maintain eye contact with anyone. It’s adorable and a little nerve-wracking at the same time. I want to climb on stage and give the guy a hug, but I wipe my palms against my jeans to restrain myself.
For now, anyway.
“Hey,” he starts, his voice like warm honey. “Uh, I guess I’m gonna play you guys a song.” His attention somehow finds me in the crowd, making me want to squirm on my barstool as I force myself to hold his gaze for another second, making my heart skip a beat. A soft smile flickers across his features, hinting at the confident rockstar everyone in this bar knows him to be. But the look quickly disappears. Hell, if I’d have blinked, I would’ve missed it. I’m glad I didn’t. Because that look? His ghost of a smile? It could keep a girl warm in the middle of a freaking blizzard.
With another quick glance my way, he takes a seat on the barstool and cradles an old, beat-up acoustic guitar in his lap.
Pixie plops down onto the stage, spreading out and yawning as if settling in for a long night as Fender plucks the first notes from the strings of his guitar.
It’s hypnotic. Watching him up there. As if the rest of the world doesn’t matter. As if it all floats away. As if the soft, smooth notes sounding nothing like the harsher, more adrenaline-filled songs from Broken Vows are a lullaby. Something to soothe while casting a melancholic spell over the crowd.
He closes his eyes and leans closer to the mic, the same honey voice rolling over me. And that’s what does me in.
The sadness.
The mention of mistakes. Of sorrow. Of wanting to turn back time, only to acknowledge it isn’t possible, and your mistakes somehow gifted someone their dream. And how you can’t get it back. How it’s selfish to take it back. So you’ll bear the weight of it all. Alone.
He’s mourning.
For his previous life.
And it kills me.
As he hits the final notes of the song, he looks up at me again. His smile is pained. Hell, it’s tortured, but I keep my butt planted where it is, forcing myself to stay seated as I mouth, “Amazing,” back at him.
He chuckles, the sound low and throaty before muttering into the microphone, “Enough sad shit, yeah? Let’s play something a little more upbeat.”
The opening notes of “I Kissed A Girl and I Liked It” by Katy Perry ring throughout the bar, pulling laughter from the audience, and he dives right into the first verse. Pixie falls asleep on the stage, either used to Fender’s playing or meant to be on stage as his sidekick even though it’s a new role for both of them, until two more songs are played.
Someone in the crowd yells at him to take his shirt off, and a few people request Broken Vows’ hits, but he doesn’t acknowledge any of them. He simply plays. Just to play. Some are original songs, others are covers. But one thing’s clear. He was made to be up there. To entertain. To sing. To make people feel in a way only music can.
And he’s rocking it.
A little while later, he wipes his damp forehead with the back of his hand and checks the time on his phone, tucking it back into the front pocket of his jeans. Like we’ve witnessed a solid jam session in our friend’s basement instead of a mini-concert in the middle of a crowded bar.
Not gonna lie. It's hot as hell.
“All right, guys. My voice hasn’t had to sing this much in months, so I think we’re gonna call it a night. Thanks for showing up, though. You, uh, you definitely know how to make a guy feel welcome.” With a little wave of his hand and a final nod to a group of people in a booth near the front of the stage, he pats his leg and calls Pixie’s name. She follows behind him, ready to go wherever he leads her.
And even though I know he’ll probably come over to say hi to me in a minute, I already miss seeing him up on the stage.
Clearly, he belongs there.
11
FENDER
“You killed it!” Maddie practically screeches. I approach the booth where all my friends insisted on sitting when they found out I’d be performing, and she pulls me into a massive bear hug.
Since Sammie’s dating Hawthorne, and he’s the one who set up the performance, Sammie spilled the beans to my friends. She knew they’d want to be here to support me. I’m not mad she told them. I should be excited they’re here. But it feels weird. Like I’d disappoint them if I didn’t put on a Broken Vows show instead of a Fender Hayes show. Like, if I can’t live up to the guy they think I am––the party guy––I won’t be worth it.
And I know it isn’t true. In my gut, I know they love me and want me to be happy. I know they could see me spiraling and wanted me to get help. I know they liked me before the drugs. Before I felt the need to always put on a happy face.
But knowing something in your head and feeling it in your gut are two different things. The latter will take some time, I guess.
Jake and his girlfriend, Evie, each take their turns congratulating me, and Milo slaps me on the back and says, “Good to have you back, Fen.”
I squeeze the back of my neck, caught between the old Fen and the new one. Because being onstage? It felt good. I felt like myself again. It’s a problem, though, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s not a problem. Maybe it’s okay to be me. Just…the new and improved version. If I can help it.
“Yeah. It’s, uh good to be back, I guess.”
“Your new stuff. You write it?” he prods.
I nod.
“It’s good. Different,” he clarifies. “But really good.”
“Yeah, Sonny better watch out. I have a feeling you’re gonna give him a run for his money,” Jake adds.
With a snort, I shake my head. “There’s a reason I left Sonny to write the music for Broken Vows, man––”
“Yeah, so you could keep all the gems tucked away for a rainy day,” Maddie teases.
I throw my head back and laugh, surprising myself as well as the rest of the group. “I dunno about that, but I’m glad you guys liked it. I’m gonna go say hi to a friend. I’ll meet you guys back at the house.”
“Sure thing,” Jake returns.
Maddie adds, “Do you want us to take Pix?”
“My shadow?” I look down at Pixie. Her tail is wagging back and forth as she sits right next to my feet, completely oblivious to the sea of people or how many are probably dying to ask if they can touch her. “Nah. I’ll keep her with me. Thanks, though.”
“Aw, come on. Let us take her home so I can feed her the bacon I saved from breakfast this morning,” Maddie begs. “I gotta make her love me more than she loves you.”
Milo laughs and tugs his girlfriend closer to him. “Should I be jealous, babe?”
“All I’m saying is if your friend ever decides to breed Pix when he gets back, I’m here for it. We’ll leave it at that,” Maddie replies.
With another laugh, I shove aside the reminder of Pixie’s owner, for more reasons than one, and say, “You and me both. I’ll see you guys at home.”
“See ya!”
The place is crowded, and I weave between people, waving at the fans who tell me how excited they are to have me back while ignoring the people who ask where I’ve been over the past few months and why I’m not in Broken Vows anymore.
I can feel Hadley watching me. Watching me juggle the questions and compliments like a seasoned pro. I wish I could read her mind and know what she’s thinking. If she’s impressed. Disappointed. If she can see how exhausted I am from the few mentions of Sonny taking over Broken Vows, or if she thinks I’m overrated and didn’t like my performance. I hope that isn’t the case, because when I was up there? I played for me, sure, but the person who got me to sit down, to strum the first note was her. It was because of our conversation at the vet’s office. It’s because I wanted to know the why behind my love of music. And while I was up on the stage, I think I found my answer. It’s not the drugs. It’s not the high from having everyone’s eyes on you. Okay, maybe a little, but not entirely. It’s the energy. The pull. The connection. And holy shit, did I feel connected to Hadley as I sang. More than I’ve ever felt with anyone in my entire life.
Her mouth lifts in a soft smile as I finally break through the last line of people and plop down in the barstool next to hers.
“Sorry it took so long,” I start.
“Don’t apologize.” She steps off her barstool and squats down, scratching Pixie’s head in greeting. The girl’s short but has curves any guy would drool over, and right now, I can see straight down her top.
Down, boy.
I clear my throat and look at the rim of her empty wine glass instead. There isn’t a lip stain marring it. I don’t know why it surprises me. It shouldn’t. She isn’t one for lipstick. I shouldn’t have noticed that particular quirk either, but… I shake my head and stare at the rows of glasses and alcohol lining the back wall, attempting to get my head on straight.
Keep it together, man.
Just because I played a good show doesn’t mean I can or should jump into bed with Hadley. Sure, sex after a good performance is a great way to get off. But embarrassing myself when I’m not able to finish because of my addiction to drugs isn’t exactly going to end the night on a high note.
Pixie lays on the concrete floor beneath our feet to get comfortable as Hadley stands and slides onto the barstool next to mine, oblivious to the fact I was most definitely picturing her naked a few seconds ago.
“I had no idea I was hanging out with the cool kid,” she tells me, her smile shy. “Did you know there were a pair of girls over here a few minutes ago who were gushing about your abs and were sorely disappointed when you didn’t take off your shirt on stage tonight?”
I hide my smirk behind my hand but don’t bother to deny it. Those were some good times.
“You know, if I was your girlfriend, I’d be jealous,” she teases, her naturally red lips tugging into a wider smile, and it shoots straight to my groin.
Calm the hell down, Fen, I remind myself. It’s only the high from playing. Nothing more.
“Dating a musician has its pros and cons,” I agree while flagging down Sammie from behind the bar. When she sees me, she lifts her forefinger, telling me to give her a second, and goes back to filling a mug full of amber liquid.
“Pros and cons, huh?” Hadley asks. “Like paparazzi and strangers asking you to take off your shirt so they can see your abs?”
“Something like that.”
“So, tell me. Would those be in the pro category or con?” With her elbow on the counter, and her chin resting in her hand, she gives me her full attention, clearly as curious about me as I am about her.
“Paparazzi, con. Strangers wanting to see your abs?” I don’t bother to hide my grin as I casually look her up and down. “Pro.”
She rolls her eyes. “For you, maybe. For your hypothetical girlfriend? Debatable.”
“All right, what do you think would be a pro?”
“If I were the rockstar or the girlfriend?” she asks.
“Both.”
“All right. As for rockstar, I think being able to connect with so many people, to touch them with your talent, and to have them listen to what you’re trying to say is pretty incredible.”
“Says the author,” I point out.
She laughs and tucks her hair behind her ear, a soft blush creeping onto her cheeks. It’s adorable. My hands itch to reach out and run my finger against the light color to see if it’ll darken, but I restrain myself.
“Touché,” she concedes. “I love reading reviews and hearing what people think about my stories. The criticism, not so much, but the ones where they talk about how they couldn’t put the book down or why they named one of their children after my characters?” She shakes her head as if in disbelief. “It’s something else.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “It really is.”
“So there ya go. There’s a pro for being a rockstar and/or an author. The pro for being a rockstar's girlfriend, however…” She taps her finger against her chin without bothering to hide the fact she’s checking me out. Shamelessly. “Being able to take you home at night knowing every other female––and some males––would be going out of their minds with jealousy over you being mine.”
“That’s a turn-on, huh?”
