My Cone and Only (King Family #1) - Susannah Nix Page 0,68

finger to the St. Christopher medal around my neck. “How long have you been writing songs?”

I tucked her hair behind her ear. “A year or two, maybe? I don’t remember exactly.”

“Why have you been keeping it a secret?” She poked my chest in disapproval.

My gaze skated away from hers. “I don’t know.”

“You can do better than that.” She touched my jaw, drawing my eyes to her again. “Tell me.”

Her soft, searching look acted like a tractor beam, pulling the truth out of me against my will. “I suppose I was afraid I wasn’t any good at it.”

“That doesn’t sound like you. I’ve never known you to be afraid of failure or embarrassment.”

I shrugged, unable to offer an easy explanation. That was what I’d wanted everyone to think, but it wasn’t who I was. I’d only been pretending not to care all this time. You fail at enough things, and failure starts to feel like a part of who you are. It was easier not to put yourself out there and invite more failure. You learned not to try for anything that mattered, because then you couldn’t prove once again to everyone what a useless fuckup you were.

“You’ve always said you didn’t have any interest in writing or performing your own music, and I believed you.” A crease sprouted across her brow. “I used to think I knew everything there was to know about you, but it feels like I didn’t really know you at all.”

“You know me now.” My hand squeezed hers. “Better than anyone else ever has.”

“When I saw that notebook in your apartment and realized what it was…” She hesitated, and my fingers twined with hers. “My first reaction after surprise was hurt—that you’d lied to me all this time, that you’d want to keep something like that from me.”

“I’m sorry.” Guilt twisted in my belly. “I couldn’t tell you. Writing those songs was the only outlet I had for my feelings about you.”

“I get that now.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “I was a little jealous too—of the girl you were writing about.”

I laughed and tugged on a lock of her hair. “That was you, dummy.”

“I didn’t have any way of knowing that, did I?” The happy sparkle in her eyes caused a lump of gratitude to form in my throat.

“You really liked the songs?” I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear her say it again. I’d probably need to hear her say it about a million more times before I got used to it.

“I loved them. They’re all so good. You shouldn’t keep that kind of talent hidden away. You won’t, will you?”

I didn’t answer right away. I hadn’t thought much beyond this moment. Now that Andie knew, there really wasn’t anything stopping me from telling other people.

So why did I still feel so reluctant to do it?

“Wyatt?”

“We’ll see,” I hedged.

“You know what you could do? You could play a solo show at Zelda’s to debut your new songs. You should talk to her about it.”

Zelda’s was a local bar near campus that featured live music every Saturday. Shiny Heathens had played there a couple of times when there was a spot in her schedule that needed filling, but Zelda preferred original songwriters when she could get them. Her place was more intimate and a lot less rowdy than the Rusty Spoke, the outdoor beer joint where we usually played. Andie was right. Zelda’s would be perfect for a solo acoustic set.

But I wasn’t ready to commit to something like that just yet.

“You need to tell the other guys in the band,” Andie said, her voice bright with enthusiasm. “I’m sure they’d be willing to play your songs. And at-home recording equipment’s gotten a lot more affordable. Y’all could produce your own EP and put it up on the internet for sale. You might even be able to get a spot at the Crowder Folk Festival this year.”

My uncle Randy ran the folk festival and booked all the talent personally. But I’d never bothered to ask him about booking Shiny Heathens, just like I’d never asked him if we could play King’s Palace. Like the dance hall, the festival was for showcasing serious musicians and up-and-coming songwriting talent.

“Once you’ve got a whole set list worth of original songs worked out, there’s like a million venues around Austin where you could play. Shiny Heathens could be a real band.”

“We’re already a real band.” An uncomfortable tightness wrapped itself around my chest. This was all