My Cone and Only Read online

By the time I got back to Brianna, Andie’s city boy was leaning in close, his hand on her shoulder as he spoke into her ear. I shoved Brianna’s shot at her as I downed mine, trying to quench the burn in the back of my throat.

  The alcohol was finally starting to do its work. Some of the hard edges in my brain were getting softer. My limbs felt looser, and the spiked band around my chest—the one that always tightened when Andie was near—had eased up some.

  My stomach only churned a little when I saw the guy with Andie press his mouth to her neck, right in the exact spot below her ear that I’d always wanted to taste.

  “Did you hear me?” Brianna said, and my attention snapped back to the woman I was allegedly trying to seduce.

  I reached up to twirl a lock of her hair around my finger. “Sorry, I got distracted for a second thinking about how pretty you are.”

  Brianna blushed and repeated her question about whether I’d ever seen some reality TV show she was obsessed with. While she was telling me about this dude on the show who apparently had sex with his Volkswagen Beetle, I caught a glimpse of Andie in my peripheral vision, pulling away from the guy she was with. She wasn’t smiling anymore, and the stiffness of her posture set off all my protective instincts.

  I stayed where I was, keeping my eye on the situation. Andie was more than capable of standing up for herself, as I was certain this fool was about to find out.

  He made an appeasing gesture as he said something to her. Whatever he’d said really pissed her off, because her face flushed bright red and her eyes got that same cold, hard look she and her brother both got when they were about to lose their temper.

  I clenched my hand around my beer bottle as I watched, not even pretending to listen to Brianna anymore.

  Andie said something back to the dude, her jaw tight and her lips drawn in a scowl. He threw his head back and laughed as he replied, which only pissed her off even more.

  “Call me kiddo one more time, shitbird.” Her voice was loud enough to carry. Loud enough that Brianna turned her head to see what was going on.

  Instead of backing the hell off like he should have, the asshole grabbed Andie’s arm.

  “Oh fuck no,” I breathed as he yanked her toward him, trying to pull her into his arms. It was one thing to let Andie fight her own battles, and another to stand idly by when a man laid hands on her like that.

  Blood roared in my ears as I closed the distance between us. By the time I got there, Andie had already stomped the shit out of the dude’s instep and shoved him off her. I put myself between the two of them, holding up my hands in a warning gesture. “You’re gonna want to back the fuck off, buddy.”

  The smug asshole actually had the balls to look annoyed. “I’m trying to have a conversation with the girl, if you don’t mind. It doesn’t concern you, friend.”

  Great. He was one of those dumbasses with something to prove, instead of someone with enough sense to cut his losses and walk away.

  I stood my ground, my eyes boring into his. “Seems pretty clear she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  Andie grasped my arm, her fingernails biting into my biceps. “Forget about it, Wyatt.” She tugged on me, trying to pull me back. “Just leave it.”

  “Yeah, Wyatt,” the city boy sneered. “Why don’t you just walk away?”

  Shaking Andie off, I cocked back my fist and aimed for that smug fucking mouth of his.

  City boy dodged, leaving me off-balance as my arm swung through empty air. He came back at me lightning fast and his fist connected with my face. All that drinking had slowed my reflexes, but on the bright side it also numbed me to the pain. I recovered quickly, aiming for his stomach this time and landing a solid enough blow to double him over. He shoved me while I was getting ready for my next punch, and I shoved him back, hard enough to send him stumbling a few steps.

  He came at me again and tackled me to the floor. The breath rushed out of my lungs as he landed on top of me. He reared back and landed another punch on my face before he was dragged off me by some benevolent bystanders.

  “Goddammit!” My uncle Randy’s voice roared through the ringing in my head. “This is a family establishment.”

  Groaning, I rolled onto my side and squinted up out of my uninjured eye. Andie’s face appeared in my somewhat blurry field of vision, looking like an angel.

  “You’re such a dumbass,” she said, kneeling beside me, and I couldn’t help laughing, even though it made my head ring even more. She touched her fingertips to my cheek, and I flinched at the sudden pulse of pain. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m great,” I mumbled, draping an arm across her legs as I pillowed my head on her lap. My head was hurting so fucking bad, all I wanted to do was curl myself around her until it stopped.

  She laid her hand on my hair and I nuzzled against it, dimly aware of my uncle shouting at the guy who’d manhandled Andie, telling him he was banned for life and ordering someone to throw him off the premises.

  A shadow loomed over me, and I blinked up at Uncle Randy’s angry mustache. “Get up off my goddamn floor.”

  I tried to push myself upright, wavered, and felt Andie insert herself under my arm.

  “Can you walk?” Randy asked. “Or do I need to have you dragged to my office?”

  Andie pressed herself against me, her arm wrapping around my back to lend support, and I managed to get to my feet. “I can walk,” I told Randy. With Andie’s body up next to me like this, I could probably fly.

  “Then get your ass in there and wait for me.” Randy’s eyes flicked to Andie and softened. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, and he gave her a nod back before tilting his head in the direction of his office. The crowd that had gathered began to disperse as Andie guided me toward the hallway next to the bar. When we passed Mariana, she handed Andie a plastic bag full of ice.

  My head was throbbing even more by the time we made it into Randy’s office. Andie dumped me on the long leather couch beneath a mounted set of steer horns, and I laid my head back, closing my eyes.

  “Here.” She sat down beside me, and I flinched when she held the ice to my face. I tried to push it away, but she captured my hand to stop me. “Don’t be such a baby.”

  “But it hurts,” I whined, knowing I was an asshole for enjoying this more than I should.

  “Good,” she shot back, but her hand kept hold of mine, her soft fingertips pressing into my palm.

  Just that simple, quiet connection between us was enough to ease the ringing in my head and make my dick inconveniently jerk to life.

  Until Randy strode into the room, slamming the door behind him, and my dick tried to crawl inside my body. I sat up straight, taking the ice bag from Andie, and prepared to get a dressing down from my favorite uncle.

  Randy sat down behind his old wooden desk and crossed his arms, glaring at me. “What did I tell you about fighting?”

  “Never start a fight I can’t finish.”

  A muscle twitched in Randy’s jaw. “What did I tell you about fighting in my place of business?”

  I attempted to look contrite. “Never do it at all.”

  “Under any circumstances,” Randy added for emphasis.

  I jutted out my chin stubbornly. “Okay, but if you’d seen the way that prick grabbed Andie—”

  “Then I would have alerted my security staff and let them throw him out like they’re paid to. Which is what you should have done.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “I’m sorry too,” Andie said.

  Randy shook his head. “You don’t have a thing to apologize for, Andie. I’m sorry for the way you were treated in my establishment. That kid’s picture has been added to the wall of shame, and I promise you he won’t ever be allowed in the door again.” Randy’s gaze swung back to me with an expression like a raptor that had just sighted a mouse. “Exactly how drunk are you?”

  “Not that drunk,” I lied, trying to keep Mariana from getting in trouble.

  “You know
I can check your bar tab, right?”

  “I was buying drinks for other people,” I said with a shrug.

  Randy sighed and gritted his teeth. “I guess we better find someone to drive you home.”

  “I can do it,” Andie said.

  I swiveled my head to look at her, feeling guilty and elated at the same time. Then even more guilty for being elated.

  “You sure?” Randy asked her, arching an eyebrow.

  “I don’t mind.” Andie turned to look at me with a smile that shot straight to the center of my shriveled husk of a heart. “I’ll take Wyatt home.”

  3

  Andie

  Wyatt fell asleep five minutes after he climbed into my car. I had to shake him awake and pry him out of the passenger seat when we got to his apartment.

  He seemed a lot drunker now that the adrenaline from the fight had worn off. I should probably count myself lucky he hadn’t thrown up in my Jeep. He leaned against me heavily with one arm slung around my shoulders, stumbling slightly as we trudged up the walk to his duplex.

  When we got to his door, I propped him against the wall and held out my hand. “Keys.”

  His eyes had fallen closed again as soon as we stopped walking, and he had a hand pressed to his face like it was hurting him. He plunged his other hand into the front pocket of his jeans and promptly dropped his keys on the ground. “Shit,” he muttered, wincing, and tumbled forward to retrieve them.

  “Whoa.” I grabbed him, shoving my shoulder against his chest to force him upright again. “Let me get those. If you hit the floor, that’s gonna be it. I’ll never be able to move you, and you’ll have to spend the night outside with the possums.”

  Wyatt had a fear of opossums—also known as didelphiphobia—that dated back to an encounter on our farm when he was a kid. They were harmless—beneficial creatures that ate pests, helped clean up messes, and were nearly immune to rabies—but he’d never gotten over the sight of one hissing at him and showing off its impressive mouthful of teeth.

  “I don’t like possums,” he mumbled as I held him in place with one hand while I stooped to snatch up the keys with the other. “They’re like giant rats, but with even more teeth. They have more teeth than any other mammal, you know.”

  “I’m the one who told you that,” I said as I flipped through his key ring looking for his apartment key.

  “That’s how come I know it.”

  I found the right key and jammed it in the lock. “They also have a bifurcated penis.”

  He frowned at me. “What’s bifurcated mean?”

  “It means it’s forked.” The lock was sticky and I had to wiggle it a few times before it opened. “It’s got two heads.”

  Wyatt shuddered as I draped his arm around me and guided him inside. “How do the lady possums feel about that?”

  “Since they’ve got two vaginas, I imagine they find it convenient.”

  Wyatt’s shithole apartment was in real shithole top form. Beer bottles and weed paraphernalia littered the coffee table. Discarded clothes lay on the floor and most of the furniture. The kitchen was full of dirty dishes, and I couldn’t even bear to imagine what the bathroom looked like.

  Speaking of, Wyatt made it all of three steps inside before he groaned, muttered, “Oh, Jesus,” and launched himself at the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

  I heard retching sounds and went to stand outside the door. “You okay?” I asked him during a pause. “You need help?”

  “I’m fine. Don’t come in here.”

  The retching started up again and I left him to it. It wouldn’t be the first time one of us had held the other’s hair back while we barfed, but I wasn’t going to push my way in if he didn’t want help.

  While he was otherwise occupied, I surveyed his apartment with disgust and concern. Wyatt hadn’t ever been much of a homemaker, but I’d never seen his place this bad before. I wondered again what he’d been doing with himself the last few weeks. Based on the state of his apartment, nothing good.

  I loaded his dishwasher and started it running, then picked up the dirty clothes scattered around the living room and dumped them just inside the door of his bedroom. There were more discarded clothes lying all over the room, including a sock hanging from the swing-arm floor lamp, but what caught my eye was an open spiral notebook lying out on the unmade bed next to his guitar.

  My curiosity got the better of me, and I ventured into the bedroom, which smelled like dirty laundry but also unmistakably of Wyatt, a scent that grew stronger as I got nearer to the bed where he slept most nights. The open pages of the notebook were covered with scribbled writing that on closer examination looked an awful lot like song lyrics and chord progressions.

  Wyatt had always told me he wasn’t interested in writing or playing original music. And yet this notebook contained evidence to the contrary. I riffled the pages with my thumb and saw almost every one was filled with verses. There had to be dozens of songs here.

  As I drew my hand back, my eyes skimmed the lyrics on the page facing open.

  Laughter in her eyes and a smile bright as the sun

  I can’t be sure but I think she was the one

  Maybe she could have saved me if I’d let her

  She might have made me a better man

  But our love story ended before it began

  I stopped reading and backed away, a flush of shame burning my cheeks for intruding on Wyatt’s privacy. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t anything that romantic and emotional.

  It was a song about a girl he’d really cared about, from the sound of it. I didn’t have any idea who it could have been, but it wasn’t any of my business. None of this was my business. He hadn’t offered to share this piece of himself with me. In fact, he’d purposely kept it hidden from me. Lied to keep it a secret, even. That was how much he hadn’t wanted me to know about it.

  Still feeling ashamed for snooping, I hurried out of the bedroom and busied myself collecting all the empty cans and bottles from the living room. As I carried them to the recycling bin, I thought about how vehemently Wyatt had always insisted he was happy playing in a cover band and performing other people’s music. How he’d brushed off any suggestion that he should try writing his own songs.

  It hurt that he hadn’t trusted me with the truth. I’d always thought I knew Wyatt inside and out, but he’d kept his songwriting aspirations to himself. Just like he’d kept this girl who’d inspired the song a secret. Maybe I didn’t know him so well after all.

  By the time Wyatt emerged from the bathroom, I’d nearly finished straightening up. “You didn’t have to clean up my shit,” he mumbled, blinking at the apartment around him.

  “Someone does.” It came out more snappish than I intended, and I softened my tone. “You didn’t give yourself another concussion, did you?” I walked over to him and took his chin in my hand, tilting his head down so I could look into his eyes.

  He smelled like toothpaste and soap, which meant he’d been lucid enough to clean himself up, at least. His eyes were clear as aquamarines as they reluctantly met mine. Both pupils appeared normal, but he was going to have one hell of a shiner.

  “I’m fine.” He pulled out of my grasp and sank down in the middle of the couch. Leaning his head back, he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

  I felt bad for him, although only half of his predicament was my fault. The drinking he’d done to himself. I filled a glass of water in the kitchen and got two ibuprofen out of my purse.

  “Here.” I nudged his knee with my leg. “Take these.”

  He accepted them and popped the pills in his mouth. “Thanks.”

  I went back into the kitchen and opened his freezer. It was empty except for a glacier of ice buildup and a few frost-covered pints of King’s ice cream. Wyatt couldn’t stand ice cream, but he’d told me he kept a supply for when he invited girls to his place, because they always expected him to have it because of his name. I supposed fre
e ice cream was a powerful aphrodisiac.

  I walked back to the couch with a spoon and a pint of Thar She Blows! bubblegum ice cream. “Here, this is for your face.”

  Wyatt had closed his eyes again, but he opened his good one to squint at me, and his lip curled when he saw the ice cream I was holding out. “What the hell?”

  “You don’t have any ice cubes or frozen peas, so this is what you get.” I sat next to him and set the ice cream on his knee.

  He took it reluctantly and pressed it to his cheekbone with a wince before his head swiveled toward me. “You don’t have to stay or anything. I’ll be okay.”

  “I don’t mind staying.” I leaned back on his ugly thrift store couch, thumping the spoon against my leg. “If you did give yourself a concussion and you die of a brain bleed in your sleep, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  His lips twitched. “Are you saying you’d actually miss me if I died?”

  I knew he was kidding, but it wasn’t funny to me. Not when he gave me so many reasons to worry about him. “You know I’d be devastated, right?”

  The smile slid off his face and his hand fumbled for mine, tangling our fingers together. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  I did worry about him, pretty much constantly. I worried that he drank too much and smoked too much weed. I worried about his penchant for making reckless decisions and getting into fights. I worried that he never seemed to take anything seriously. I worried that his carefree slacker attitude was just an act to hide the fact that he was aimless and miserable. And I hated that he slept around so much, not just because I was jealous—although there was definitely that—but because it felt like he was intentionally denying himself a chance to be loved.

  I didn’t say any of that though. He wouldn’t listen, and anyway he was probably too drunk right now to remember. Instead, I squeezed his hand and hoped that would be enough.

  “I’m sorry I puked,” he said.

  “It’s okay,” I told him. “Just let me know if you’re gonna do it again so I can get out of the way.”