The Copper Valley Bro Code Series: Volume 1, page 6
I grunt, because yeah, Ellie was always making plans. When I’m in high school, I’m going to be on the soccer team. When I’m in college, I’m going to make the Dean’s list. When I go to work for Mom and Dad, I’m going to convince City Hall to hire us to make the building green. When I get married, I’m going to have two-point-four kids and a dog and a parakeet named Sue.
“You know what I’m talking about,” Beck says. “And the thing is…you irritate the shit out of her. So maybe…I don’t know. Just give her something normal. Annoy her until she starts planning on annoying you back. And I know she’s there at that wedding with her dickweed ex too. Drop-kick him for me a couple times, would you?”
I drop a clean plate into the drying rack before it registers that Ellie hasn’t been cleaning her own dishes.
Ellie doesn’t leave messes. She’s too type A for that.
Something is wrong. “You know there’s something really fucked up about asking me to irritate your sister.”
“I wouldn’t trust another soul for this job. Because I know you won’t hurt her. Irritate the fuck out of her, yeah. But hurt her? Not you, man.”
Fucking damn it.
I already did that, didn’t I?
“Are you serious?”
“Everyone’s treating her with kid gloves. She needs to know she can still do stuff.”
“She’s down in town in high heel pirate boots. I think she knows she can still do stuff.”
“Yeah, and I’m just a dumbass egomaniac who models underwear.”
Right. The Ryders know how to put on a face for the world. Doesn’t mean that’s the real story.
“I’m not going to try to pick fights with your sister to make her feel better.” Especially not when she’s just told the bride that I’m her fucking boyfriend.
Which I’m still in denial about, because I’m not spending this week confusing my kid.
But I don’t like how her ex was looking at her.
I don’t want to let him think she’s easy pickings right now either.
Beck laughs. “Like you have to try to irritate her. Just be you. It’ll happen.”
“Why don’t you try to annoy her?”
“Can’t. She’s my baby sister, and she’s hurt. My instinct is to protect and save.”
“You just asked me to annoy her.”
“That’s different. Plus, it was Levi’s idea. Fuck, I thought you two loved each other. I forgot all those times she threw dog poop at you when we were playing volleyball and you tried to help her serve better.”
I can’t believe I’m smiling over that memory, but here we are. “I was honestly surprised the day I heard she actually graduated college without getting arrested.”
“Mom says she never found where she fit in. Toss in teenage hormones and having us for role models, and she was basically doomed. But I think Levi’s right. She always hated you the most.”
“Appreciate that.”
“She can’t go too hard on you. Not with Tucker around. She loves kids.”
And I can’t go too hard on her.
Not with Tucker around.
Kid needs a good role model, not a fucked-up one. Especially since I know his mother’s dating again.
But the only thing I learned about being a good role model, I learned from my buddies’ fathers. Not my own.
“She’s gonna be okay, Beck,” I tell him. “She’s too stubborn not to be.”
“Thanks, man. I owe you one.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Quit being a pain in the ass. And don’t beat my high score on Frogger or I’ll ship you a box of dicks at work.”
“You coming home anytime this summer?”
“Sometime.”
“Swing by Georgia when you do. I need you to show Tucker that all these pillows and cardboard cutouts of you are airbrushed so he doesn’t get body image issues. And bring your baby book. The one with the picture of you swimming in cake with your baby belly hanging over your diaper.”
He laughs. “You got it.”
I hang up and finish the dishes, clean out the fireplace, and take out the trash before settling in to listen to an audiobook in the darkened living room.
Because if Ellie’s coming home tonight, we’re going to talk.
About everything.
7
Ellie
In addition to my brain reeling from trying to keep my story about Wyatt straight all night, my thigh and hip are full-on throbbing by the time Monica pulls to a stop beside Wyatt’s SUV in Beck’s driveway. A single lamp shines in the front window and the porch light glows bright in the dark, starless night. Once she has the car in park, she turns to look at me. “Sorry I didn’t get you home in time to take advantage of Wyatt.”
“Parenting is exhausting. We’ll have plenty of time later. And Wyatt knows I’m here for you this week. Like I know he’s here for Tucker to see the Pirate Festival. It’s just a bonus that we get any time at all.”
Gag me. But she’ll freak more if she knows I’m faking this, and I do not want to distract her from the joy of her pirate wedding week.
She leans over to hug me tight. “Thank you so much for being here this week.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Am I a horrible person if I say I could really like Sloane if she wasn’t dating Patrick?” she whispers.
“Patrick’s going to be your brother-in-law. So probably.”
“I meant the being disloyal to you part.”
“Oh, stop. I have Wyatt. Patrick has Sloane. The world has moved on. Besides, I think I could like her too. Did you hear her story about the patient who kept trying to trade her chocolate bars for tequila? That was really funny.”
“But I’m still on Team Ellie.”
“We’re not on teams.”
“But I’m totally on Team Wyatt. I swear, Ellie, if he turns into a douche too after all this build-up—”
“What build-up?”
“You don’t spend years claiming to hate a man, then screw his brains out, then nearly get yourself killed in an accident and refuse to even admit you screwed his brains out for months afterward, and not have secret feelings for him. You just don’t.”
I gape at her.
“This isn’t about the accident, is it?” she asks, her brow furrowing in the dim light. “Because if he’s doing this because he feels guilty, and not because he’s always been unable to handle knowing that you’re his soul mate, then I might have to slice his balls off. And I don’t want to do that. Not when I think of the trauma to his kid.”
“You are such a nut.”
“And you love me for it.”
I really do. She’s like a female version of Beck. Fun, intentionally obtuse, and sometimes annoying, but always with good intentions, and always there to have your back.
I could do without the inference that Wyatt and I are soul mates though, because while it’s fantastic for a cover story, it’s horrible for my indigestion. “I hope I can be as good a friend as you someday,” I tell her.
“Hush your mouth. Who’s limping around on pirate boots to appease the bride?”
“I’m not limping.”
“You will be when I kick you out of this car so I can go back to town and break into Jason’s room for crazy parrot sex.”
“Crazy parrot sex?”
“Huh. I was going for monkey sex with a pirate theme. That didn’t quite work, did it?”
I give her one last hug before I swing the door open. “I love you, you goober. Go seduce your fiancé until you can’t walk tomorrow.”
“Well, if I must.” She winks. “Help you to the door?”
“No. I’ve got this. You go.”
“And you go have crazy parrot sex too. Understand me? And call me if you need a ride tomorrow. I mean, if Wyatt’s willing to let you out of his sight again.”
I lift the bag of two burner phones I grabbed to keep here, because no guest should ever be without access to a phone. “I should be fine, and my phone will be all dried out by tomorrow night. But thank you.”
After I assure her that yes, I also now have her phone number, Jason’s phone number, and Grady’s phone number written on a piece of paper to give to Wyatt and program into both of the burner phones I picked up at Peg Legs and Planks—yes, the hardware store here sells burner phones—I climb out of her car.
I make it to the front door without limping despite the pain shooting from my knee to my tailbone, but I refuse to let Monica see me hurting. It’s her wedding week, and she doesn’t need to worry over me.
I wave as I push open the door. She reverses in the darkness to head back down the mountain to town, and as soon as I’m inside, I crumple to a heap against the wall beside the door and let out a soft groan.
The bedroom is a long fucking way away. Past at least seven massive floor tiles in the foyer, then down a hallway the length of six football fields, through the door, and a walk from here to China to get to the bed.
Or so it feels.
Five minutes.
I just need five minutes to sit here, kneading my twisted thigh muscle and resting my achy hip joint, and then I’ll be fine.
“Need help?”
I shriek in surprise at the voice coming out of the semi-darkness, and I realize I’m not alone.
Wyatt’s up.
Dammit.
“Just wondering the last time Beck’s maids dusted the floorboards. Plus, you get a totally different angle on that artwork.” I point to a row of prints on the wall outside the kitchen.
“The three-piece selfie of Beck’s nostril?”
“Most people think it’s a cave.”
“Most people don’t know Beck very well.”
He’s barefoot, in cargo shorts and a polo with a military-looking logo on his breast pocket, and when he tucks his thumbs in his belt loops and leans against the wall, my ovaries do a backflip, because yes, Wyatt Morgan is quite the handsome man.
And possibly I shouldn’t have had that glass of wine three hours ago. Clearly it’s still affecting my judgment.
“Overdid it?” he asks.
My eyes narrow and I start to scowl, and then the oddest thing happens.
Instead of narrowing his eyes right back at me, his lips twitch like he’s holding in a smile, he lifts his eyes to the ceiling, mutters, “Dammit, Beck,” and suddenly I’m more curious than I am irritated.
Until he squats down and picks me up, that is.
I yelp and try to twist, but I jolt my leg wrong and I end up gasping for breath and gripping him around the neck instead. “What are you doing?” I grit out.
“Annoying you,” he says as he straightens and moves toward the hall.
He hasn’t shaved. I could try to count his short whiskers if I wanted to. He’s always clean-shaven. Maybe he’s being a pirate this week too.
“You are not welcome in my bedroom.”
“That’s seventy miles away or so, isn’t it? Which part of Copper Valley is your house in again?”
“Quit being a smart-ass.”
“There’s no shame in taking help when you need it.”
“I don’t need help.”
I am such a liar. Every step he takes closer to the bedroom is like a weight being lifted off my shoulders. One less step I have to take…two less…three…
“It’s your boyfriend’s duty to carry you to the bedroom.”
“Don’t even—” I start.
His lips twitch again.
Right there. Right in front of my face. His lips are twitching.
Like I amuse him.
I don’t amuse anyone. Annoy them, yes. It was one of the reasons Patrick broke up with me. Ellie, you’re just…so perfectionist, it’s annoying. I’m well aware that my project managers back home at work are relieved as hell that I’m on vacation, but I also know that having high standards is the only way I’m going to continue my parents’ legacy and grow their business when they retire in a few years.
Which is in a few years.
Not right here.
Tonight.
With Wyatt not even breaking a sweat or straining while he carries me into the master bedroom, despite the weight I’ve gained since the accident.
“Thank you,” I grumble when he sets me gently on the bed.
“You’re not really welcome.”
I gasp in surprise.
He purses his lips together and turns, but not before I see his gray eyes twinkling.
Twinkling.
Like he’s enjoying being a shit.
“I should ask you to fetch my pajamas, but I sleep naked, so there’s no point,” I announce.
“You want a cowbell so you can call me to hang up your dress when you’ve flung it across the room?”
There’s no heat in his words. It’s like we’re playing a game not to see who can be more insulting, but who can be more outrageous.
Because there’s no way in hell anyone would give me a cowbell.
There’s also no way in hell he’s flirting with me, which is the other possibility reeling through my mind.
“I prefer a foghorn.” I bend to tug my boot off, and another splinter of pain makes me suck in a breath.
I really, really overdid it tonight.
Without looking at my face, Wyatt bends over my feet and tugs my boots off, first my right foot, then ever-so-carefully my left foot.
I duck my head, because there’s a sudden burn in my eyes that’s drifting into my sinuses as well. “Please don’t be nice to me,” I whisper. “Not when we’re alone. Though you owe me pretending to be my boyfriend this week, because that was a shitty thing to do to Grady.”
“I just wanted to confirm your feet stink. And they do.”
I shove him without thinking, because that’s what we do. “They do not.”
“I called you.”
And now I want to hit him for real, because the shift in his tone means he did just say exactly what I thought he just said, about exactly what I’ve been afraid he’ll want to talk about, and we are not talking about this. “My phone got busted in the accident. It’s apparently a recurring problem.”
“Beck had you a new phone with your same number sitting by your bed the minute you were conscious.”
“So?”
“So, I tried calling you for weeks.”
I swallow hard, because he’s not taking my easy excuses. And the truth isn’t nice. “I didn’t want to talk to you.”
“You usually don’t. But—”
“No buts. Thank you. I can get my dress.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“All water under the bridge. You were right. It was a mistake. Didn’t happen. Moving on. Okay?”
He takes my chin in his fingers and lifts my face until I can’t help but look at him while he studies me with those intense gray eyes.
His lashes are stupidly thick. They’re not long, but they’re thick. And his nose is slightly off-center, but not in a weird way. Just in a rugged way.
And his lips—
I’m breathing too loud. And he’s watching me too closely.
Like he can see way down deep to the fourteen-year-old girl inside who turned around one day and realized that one of my older brother’s best friends was cute. And a little awkward, and still annoying with the way he always seemed to know everything, but also reliable and familiar but…new.
And dating Lydia Baker, who was smart and pretty and on the cheerleading squad. Not the head cheerleader, but still a cheerleader.
He was seventeen to my fourteen, which was basically illegal, and because I’ve always been that girl who knew everything, yes, I knew he was illegal, and I knew why I got all warm in my belly when he looked at me, and I was also pissed that I couldn’t control my body’s reaction to him.
But I don’t feel like I know anything tonight.
I don’t know who I am.
I don’t know why I’m here.
I don’t know what I want.
Not past the next five minutes, anyway.
It’s not the first time I’ve felt this way.
And the last time ended with me broken.
“Was it my fault?” he asks.
“You weren’t driving the car, Wyatt.”
“But it was my fault you were.”
It wasn’t. He didn’t force me into the car. He didn’t choose my route. He didn’t make me do anything.
He even tried to stop me.
“It takes two. Quit being the martyr.”
“Nobody trusted Beck to give us the truth about how you were doing. And you wouldn’t answer your phone. I was scared shitless.”
“I’m fine. Same old annoying Ellie.”
And there he goes again, seeing right through me. “Yeah. Same old annoying Ellie.”
Fuck. I whimper out a laugh, because it’s so damn normal to have Wyatt calling me annoying that I’m in danger of crying. “Shut up.”
“Annoying, know-it-all Ellie,” he adds.
I reach out to shove his shoulder, but there’s no speed or force behind my hand, and I end up resting it on his bicep instead. “Mansplaining Wyatt,” I whisper.
His eyes are boring into mine the same way they did that night while he plants his hands on either side of my legs. “Planner Ellie.”
“Stick up your butt Wyatt.”
“Refuses to take help Ellie.”
“Refuses to admit anyone else can know how to do anything Wyatt.”
Our faces are drifting closer. This is a bad idea. We’ve been here before, and it ended in disaster. Worse than disaster. I need to shove him away for real.
Or…we need to practice so that on the rare occasions this week when we have to be seen together in public for whatever reason—Shipwreck isn’t that big—we can fake affection.
“Jumps to conclusions Ellie.” His breath tickles my nose.
“Obnoxious—” I start, but I stop when our lips touch.
A shudder races through me, but it’s not a bad shudder. It’s not a good shudder either. It’s my body craving human affection while my mind recoils in fear, because the last time I was here, with Wyatt, his perfect lips rubbing mine, his hot breath lighting up my veins, it literally changed the entire course of my life.
Maybe this is what I need to do.
