Broken kingdom

My eyes drop down to the notebook she’s holding. 

Fucking hell. 

These two shit stirrers just don’t know when to leave shit the fuck alone. 

“You write poems?” 

Thinking quick, I swipe my notebook from her hands. “No.” 

Dylan looks at Sawyer. “But you just said—”

“Not a damn word, short stack,” I growl in warning. 

Dragging her gaze around the room, Sawyer shuffles her feet. 

Dylan’s visibly offended. “How come you told Sawyer but not me?” 

“I didn’t tell Sawyer,” I inform her, recalling the time she peeped over my shoulder during a study break back in high school. “Sawyer’s a little snoop.” 

“Hey,” Sawyer shoots back. “That’s not fair. Your poems are amazing and deserve to be shared with the world.” 

Eyes wide, Dylan makes grabby hands. “Gimme.” 

I hold it behind my back. “Not a chance.” 

She pouts. “Come on, Oak. I want to see them.” 

She tries snatching it from me, but I place one hand on her forehead, keeping her at bay. “And I’d like to be able to suck my own dick, but some things in life aren’t meant to happen.” 

Next thing I know she’s launching herself at my back like some kind of spider monkey. “Jesus fucking Christ.” 

I’m so busy trying to wrangle her to the ground, the notebook slips out of my hand. 

Quick on her feet, Dylan grabs it and jumps up triumphantly. 

Then she runs and locks herself in my bathroom. 

“Not cool,” I roar, banging my fist on the door. 

“Hush,” she yells on the other side. “I’m reading.” 

“Just great,” I mutter. 

“They’re really good,” Sawyer assures me. “I don’t know why you hide them.” 

I turn to look at her. “Because they’re—”

“Amazing,” Dylan whispers as she comes out of the bathroom. 

Sawyer’s face lights up. “Right?”

Dylan clutches my notebook to her chest. “It’s like emo crack for the soul.” 

Fuck my life. She might as well chop off my nuts. 

“Gee thanks.” 

“No,” Dylan says emphatically. “I mean that in the best way.” 

She suddenly stops talking and I can practically smell the wood burning from her thinking so hard. 

“Have you ever thought about writing songs?” 

That chicken must have been laced with some good shit because she’s talking crazy. 

“I don’t sing.”

She laughs. “I know. But lots of musicians hire songwriters or buy songs from writers.” Her blue eyes become saucers. “Holy shit.” Her gaze flicks to Sawyer. “Landon.” 

Sawyer practically squeals. “Oh, my God, Landon.” 

Bewildered as fuck, my gaze bounces between them. “Who the hell is Landon?” 

“Landon Parker,” they both shout like a couple of schoolgirls. 

I blink. “That really clears things up.” 

Dylan lets out a groan of frustration. “Landon Parker is this incredibly talented musician. He mostly sings alternative rock, but his voice, along with his piano and guitar skills are so mind-blowing he could sing anything and people would go crazy.” She grins. “Anyway, he’s total indie and not into any of the skeevy shit that comes with stardom because he doesn’t want to be a sellout or have some pop record label turn him into something he isn’t.” 

“Can you get to the point?” I urge because she’s starting to bore me. 

She slaps my arm. “I am.” She blows out a breath. “Anyhow, I reached out to him about becoming his manager and eventually when I open up my indie label, having him come on board. We met a few times, and we’re this—” She moves her thumb and pointer finger centimeters apart. “Close to making it official.” 

“That’s awesome,” I tell her. 

Even though I don’t know shit about rock music, I know she’s always wanted to manage artists and open her own record label. It’s cool as shit watching her dreams come true. 

“I’m really proud of you.” 

She beams. “Thanks, but that’s still not the point.” 

And she’s lost me again.

“Anyway, he’s working on finishing his upcoming album, but he’s stuck on the last two songs and has some writer’s block.” 

I gesture for her to cut to the chase. “Okay, and?”

She points to my notebook. “You can help him. Hell, you guys could sit down and create epic music together.” 

The look I shoot her conveys exactly what I think about that. 

“Yeah…no.” 

Her jaw drops. “What do you mean no?” 

I flash her some teeth. “No, thank you?” 

She grabs me by the shoulders. “Oakley, do you understand that this opportunity might change your life?” Desperation flickers in her eyes. “I know you don’t believe in yourself, but I do.” 

“Me too,” Sawyer adds. 

It’s not that I’m ungrateful for their support, it’s just…I don’t fucking know. 

This shit is foreign as hell to me. Plus, songwriting sounds like it requires a lot of concentration and focus. Not to mention skill. 

Three things I’ve always lacked. 

Hell, I flunked out of my first senior year of high school, and if it wasn’t for Sawyer tutoring me, I would have flunked my second attempt too. 

“Look, I appreciate the offer, really, I do. But I don’t know the first thing about writing songs.” 

It’s best I stick to the only shit I’m good at. 

Sweeping and mopping floors. 

Dylan’s disappointment is palpable. “Okay, but if you ever change your mind—”

“I won’t.” 

I can tell she wants to argue, but fortunately she drops it. 

I swivel my gaze around my apartment. “This visit was nice and all, but I want to get to the gym before it closes.” 

Sawyer and Dylan exchange a glance. 

“I think that’s his way of giving us the boot,” Sawyer states. 

Dylan wraps her arms around me. “I love you, Oak.” 

I return her hug. “Love you, too.” 

I start to back away, but she grabs my cheeks. “I didn’t say it before, but I’m really proud of you. And if you ever need anything, please call me. I don’t care what time it is. I don’t ever want you to feel like you don’t have me, okay? I’ll always be there for you.” 

Well, shit. 

The muscles in my chest draw tight. Dylan and C.J. were the only good things to come out of my father’s marriage with Crystal. 

“I know.” 

After smacking a kiss on my cheek, Dylan ambles to the door. 

Next thing I know, Sawyer is wrapping her arms around me. 

Now I’m convinced they put something in that chicken because these girls are way too goddamn sappy. 

“You have to stop looking at me like that,” Sawyer whispers against my chest. 

“Like what?” 

“Like you broke me.” Her eyes are glassy when she looks up at me. “I chose to take the Adderall, remember?” 

And I chose to give them to you.

It’s something I’ll never absolve myself for. 

I want to rub away the knot of blame forming in my chest, but Sawyer won’t let me go. 

“No one in the world is perfect, Oak. We all make mistakes. The important thing is that you learn from them.” 

“I know.” 

Holy hell do I fucking know. I’m reminded of all my mistakes every single fucking day. 

“Love you,” she utters before unhinging herself from me. 

“Love you too, short stack.” 

Shortly after they leave, I realize my notebook is missing.