My Cone and Only (King Family #1) - Susannah Nix Page 0,11

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