Page 68 of Fractured Heart

My longing for them is like a physical hurt. I want to go back, need to go back. But what would be the point? They won’t want me, not after I’ve let them down. That audition is important to them, and they’re going to fail. Because of me.

I don’t know how to fix my song with the guys standing in the wrong spots, singing the wrong lines. Even if I could master the fancy terminology, like stage left and house right, I don’t have enough time to convert one of my better songs into an a cappella performance.

Even if I could, who’s to say that rehearsal won’t turn into a mess, too? I don’t know how to choreograph a performance. I don’t understand ‘symmetry’ the way Silas does. I just wish I could bring the magical song in my head to life.

And then one day their paths crossed

And it was fate.

A love story for all time

Within the castle gates.

“Will you stop that ruckus, girl?” Father shouts from inside.

The front door flies open and I take a stumbling step back, away from what could quickly turn into flying fists.

“Knew you’d be back. You and your whiny voice.” He gestures at me with the beer bottle. “Still a mess, I see.”

If anyone’s a mess, it’s him. His grey Bulldogs hoodie and black shorts are wrinkled, and I don’t think he’s changed clothes or shaved, since the day I left. He reeks of sweat, and his scraggly hair is plastered to his face. I may not have done a lot right in my life, but at least I’d kept Father looking better than this.

“What are you waiting for?” He opens the door wider. “Get in here or get the hell out of my face. Because mark my words, Roonie Hill, if you’re not in this house by the time I count to ten, you are never coming back.”

Chapter 32

A wave of panic seizes me. I know I have to get inside the house before Father changes his mind, before he leaves me homeless, with nowhere to go. Just like the day I left, I’ve only got twenty-three dollars in my pocket. I don’t even have a phone, since I forgot Tate’s back at the apartment; not that I’d feel right taking it.

“Roonie Hill, you get inside. Now!” Father white-knuckles his beer.

I jump. Instinctively, I start to back away and Father’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t play games with me, girl!” He snaps. “I raised you. I took care of you. Put a roof over your head and food in your mouth.” He shakes his head and his tone goes soft. “Go on, now.”

I nod and slip my hand in my pocket. The cold, sharp pieces of my fractured heart dig into my palm, giving me courage, and I step inside.

The house is one big, stinky mess. Beer bottles, half-finished takeout containers, and dirty dishes litter every surface. Spilled and discarded food mars floorboards I’d spent hours cleaning. Stained, wrinkled clothes are strewn everywhere. It’s like a scene from my worst nightmare.

Father grabs his tablet and settles on the couch with a satisfied groan. “Well, girl? You think I’m running a hotel?” He shakes his head. “You want to live here, you earn your keep. So start cleaning.”

I nod and numbly head to the kitchen. There are stacks upon stacks of precariously-balanced dirty dishes. I don’t even bother to change out of my damp clothes before I get to work.

Minutes blend into hours. When I’m done in the kitchen, I move onto the living room, where Father is snoring happily.

I purse my lips. I bet Silas is lounging on the couch back at the apartment. I squeeze my hands into fists as I picture him with his black boots propped up on the coffee table, laughing at my song. He switched up all my harmonies. He moved the guys around because of some explanation about ‘symmetry.’ He’s the reason my song didn’t sound right.

A part of me wants to scream, but I don’t dare wake Father. Instead, I seethe as I quietly clean around his sleeping form.

I may not be a talented songwriter and I may not have gotten into college—but Silas messed up my song. He may not have done it on purpose. He may genuinely think I’d been trying to sabotage him and my princes. But the end result was the same. My song didn’t sound right because of him.

Maybe, if I show the guys what it should sound like, they’ll see it, too.

I take a step toward the front door but hesitate. If I leave now, Father won’t let me come back. And even if I can fix that song, I doubt my princes will let me stay. Silas probably turned them against me, and even if he hasn’t, I bet he’s taken my spot on their couch. I doubt there’s any place left for me.

I glance back at Father, who’s snoring amidst a mess of his own making. The sight makes me cringe. I can’t keep cleaning up after him. Even if it is only fair that I earn my keep until I get a job. And I can’t take any more beatings.

I have to get out of here.

My wallet and phone are in my room upstairs, but the house is old, and the stairs creak. If I try to get them, Father could wake up. He might try to stop me.