Why do I even care?
Another futile effort in my anti-Wyatt distraction plan.
Delilah’s smiling, and I know it’s because she found a new friend in Ashley. I can’t help but steal another glance at Wyatt, drinking in his handsome, tanned face. His broad chest fills out his tank top, and the way his board shorts hang dangerously low on his hips makes me want, want, want. He’s smiling, but his brows are knitted together. Brandon has captured his full attention. I wish I were Brandon. I want Wyatt’s attention. I don’t want a new friend, like Delilah has found in Ashley. I just want my best friend, Wyatt, back and our friendship to remain the same as it’s always been.
Wyatt holds the door open, and we all head inside. The Taproom smells like the ocean, beer, and French fries. Jesse waves from behind the bar. He’s got a white dishrag hanging over his shoulder, and there’s a waitress and a waiter who look around nineteen or so, running from table to table. The bar runs the full length of the wall across from the door. There are two guys sitting in tanks and bathing suits on the barstools. Most of the booths around the room are taken, as are a few of the tables in the middle of the room. I glance out the window that faces the end of the pier and spot another waitress out there, taking an order. I’m surprised at how busy they are, given that it’s only three o’clock.
We follow Wyatt over to the bar, but Brandon breaks off from the three of us and walks to the stage in the back of the room. He disappears behind the black curtain, and while Wyatt’s talking with Jesse, he comes back out with his guitar, drags a stool to center stage, and begins playing. Now I know why he came along.
I love listening to Brandon play. His face changes when he’s playing. All the tight lines that usually surround his dark eyes and the tension he’s carried in his shoulders ever since the day I met him ease. I wish I had my camera and make a mental note to try to get some pics of him playing.
I focus on the tune, and it helps fill the crevices in my mind that Wyatt has been slowly seeping into.
“Cass?” Wyatt touches my arm.
“Huh? Sorry.” I turn and realize that they’re all waiting for me.
“Let’s go into the office and we’ll start to figure this out.” Jesse leads us through swinging double doors into a back room. It’s warmer back here, and it looks like a stockroom, with big metal shelves lined with cans and bottles. The kitchen is off to the right, separated from the inventory by an enormous stainless-steel counter. Dutch, the cook who has worked here for at least three years, wipes his hands on a towel at his waist and elbows two other guys, nodding to Wyatt.
I watch Delilah roll her lips into her mouth and reach for the ends of her hair. I know she’s nervous. But it’s Wyatt’s behavior that surprises me. He’s been open about his father wanting him and Delilah to one day take over the family business, but he’s always sort of laughed it off. Whatever. That’s light-years away. I’ll worry about it when it’s time. Now he’s making jokes about the inventory and hiring big-boobed girls to wear shirts like they do at Hooters to work there. Jesse’s brows are drawn together, and I can tell he’s annoyed that Wyatt isn’t taking this seriously. I thought Wyatt would snap out of his never-planning-a-thing stage and grow up overnight. I guess I was wrong.
Dutch comes around the counter and settles his hands on his wide hips. He’s got a mop of curly brown hair and a beer belly. His sideburns are superlong, almost to the edge of his jaw, and curly like his hair. He has kind of an imposing presence, but that might just be his size. He’s taller than Wyatt, and broader, too, but soft broad, not hard-bodied like Wyatt or Jesse. When he cocks his head to the side and presses his lips together, his green eyes fill with compassion, and when he opens his arms, Wyatt and Delilah walk right in. His arms engulf them. I think Wyatt and Delilah must be soaking in his comfort even more because he’s older than us, around Jesse’s age.
They don’t have parents anymore.
The realization makes me feel even guiltier about how I’ve been thinking of Wyatt. Of course it’s not heat that I feel coming from him. I’ve misinterpreted everything. It must be the need for comfort.
I stop myself from literally bonking my hand to my forehead.
Jesse leans in close to me and turns his back to the others, then speaks in a hushed tone. “He’s in denial, Cass. He’ll get through this. We’re all here for him. Just don’t take what seems like disregard for his parents as anything but what it is. Cold. Harsh. Denial.”
I feel so stupid. Before I can stew on that thought for too long, Uncle Tim comes out of another office. I notice his name on a plaque beside the door and realize it’s his office.
“Wyatt, Delilah.” Uncle Tim opens his arms and Delilah falls into his comfort. As he soothes her, he holds Wyatt’s gaze, then reaches out and pats him on the shoulder. “You holding up okay, Wy?”
Wyatt shrugs. “Thanks for taking care of everything, Uncle Tim.”
Tim’s eyes drop, and he scrubs his hand down his face. “Yeah, well, your dad…” He shakes his head, and his eyes go damp. “I’m sorry you lost them.”
Dutch pulls me into his arms and squishes me against his stomach. He smells like grease and onions, and my stomach growls. I forgot I haven’t eaten today.
“You okay, kid?” Dutch is talking to me, but he’s eyeing Tim as he talks with Wyatt.
“Yeah. I’m good.” Something about the way Dutch asks me makes me think of my breakup with Kyle, and I realize that I haven’t thought about him at all today. Until now. I push the thought away as my stomach growls again.
Dutch touches my arm, eyes still locked on Tim. “I’ll fix you something to eat.”
“It’s okay. I’m not that hungry.” I hate to be an imposition, especially when it’s obviously Wyatt and Delilah who should be getting extra attention at the moment.
“Your stomach says otherwise. You need to eat, sweetie.” Dutch walks back to the kitchen, and I wonder why he’s still watching Tim as he cooks whatever he’s making me. My stomach growls again as we follow Tim into his office. I’m glad Dutch is making me food. I’m famished.
“How do you want to do this?” Jesse asks.
“I went over a few things that I thought of with Ashley earlier.” Delilah pulls a piece of notebook paper from her pocket and unfolds it. She hands it to Jesse, who reads it and smiles as he looks up at her.
“Ashley worked as a manager for a restaurant when she was in school, so she has some idea of what we’ll be doing. Obviously, it’s not everything, but I figured Jesse would fill us in on the rest.” Delilah pauses for a second. This is the Delilah I know. Her confidence is coming back, and even if it’s here for only a few minutes, or long enough for her to deal with today, I’m warmed by it. It gives me hope that even if it’s a long road to healing, she won’t be lost forever.
“Impressive. You’ve hit most of the major things we need to go over.” Jesse hands the list to Wyatt, and I glance over his shoulder and read it.
Inventory
Distributors
Employee schedules
Finances/payroll
Marketing
Difference between off-season and on-season (in all regards)
Emergency procedures (fire, etc.)
Now that Jesse pointed out that Wyatt’s in denial, I feel myself looking at him differently. I guess that’s what Delilah locking herself in her bedroom for a week was all about. I make a mental note to do a little research about grieving. If I understand it better, maybe I can help them, instead of feeling like I’m just floating around trying to put the pieces of this unfamiliar puzzle together.
“Divide and conquer.” Wyatt hands the list back to Jesse.
“There’s a lot to cover, and it’s going to take a while, so why don’t you and Cassidy start going over things with Tim, and I’ll show Delilah the ropes of how we do inventory.” Jesse nods to Tim, who agrees.
Tim is a tall, thin man with short brown hair that’s parted on the side and perfectly combed. Even though I saw him a lot in the days ar
ound the funeral, things were so chaotic I didn’t really see him. Now I study his beady brown eyes and thin lips. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and looks like he hasn’t slept in days. His face is very angular, and he reminds me of Taylor Schilling in Orange Is the New Black, even though she’s a girl. He’s the only one in the place wearing nice pants and a dress shirt, and for some reason he reminds me of Kyle. I try to hide how my whole body bristles.
“There’s no rush,” Jesse reminds us. “If it takes a week or three months, or six. It’s all good. I’d never leave y’all hanging.”
“Thanks, Jesse. Dee? You okay with this?” Wyatt asks.
Her eyes widen when she smiles, and I think she likes the idea of having a project. “Yeah, sure.”
Wyatt still hasn’t made eye contact with me, and in Tim’s office I can’t hear Brandon playing the guitar as well as I could out in the bar. I’m going to have to focus extra hard on the books to keep from focusing on Wyatt not paying any attention to me. This is doubly hard because for some reason I’m not as interested in working with numbers as I used to be. I’m not sure why I’m just realizing this, but wow, this is totally boring work. I could do it in my sleep. I wonder why I used to think it wasn’t. How did I make it through four years of studying accounting? Ugh. Maybe when I found Kyle with that girl, it sparked a fire in my brain and short-circuited it or something, because right now I can’t imagine spending eight hours a day looking at numbers. I could stare at Wyatt all day, though, and looking at Wyatt does make a certain double-digit number come to mind, a very dirty one that involves two numbers that look the same but one is flipped upside down.
I feel my cheeks burn and clear my throat to try to rid my mind of dirty thoughts.
“Wyatt, I know your parents would be proud of you, taking these steps. As always, if there’s anything I can do for you and Delilah...” Tim points to the chairs on the opposite side of his desk. Wyatt and I sit down beside each other.
“Thanks, Uncle Tim. Dee and I appreciate that.” Wyatt drops his eyes to the binders on the desk.
We spend the next three hours going over the processes that Tim uses for the bookkeeping. He shows us QuickBooks, which I used at my previous job, and the way he’s describing his process is all fairly straightforward and simple. I’m sure Wyatt can handle this on his own, and the fact that he’s not looking or talking to me makes me so uncomfortable that I contemplate asking if he minds if I leave. But then I think about what Jesse said. Maybe this new attitude toward me is part of his grieving process. I decide to give it a name, make it another stage of grieving to make myself feel better.
He’s pushing. Wyatt’s pushing me away.
I hate pushing.
The highlight of the afternoon is the steak-and-cheese sub that Dutch made for me. He even remembered pickles, my favorite part.
“Okay, so that’s how it works.” Tim leans back in his chair and folds his hands across his chest.
I’m not sure what we’re supposed to accomplish today, but all we’ve really done is talked about the process. He’s shown us where he records the assets and liabilities and the inventory binders. He spent a lot of time on those binders. But he hasn’t shown us the actual system or the general ledgers.
“Shouldn’t we go over the reports and ledgers so Wyatt understands how to read them?” I look at Wyatt, and he lifts his eyes—for a split second I think he’s going to finally look at me, and my heart speeds up. I hate that it does, but at the same time, he is my best friend, and I’m feeling like I’m outside his circle of friends at the moment. So I allow myself the quickening of my pulse for purely friendship reasons.
But his eyes lift to Tim and his mouth quirks up in a slanty smile. “I trust Tim. It’s not like we’ll be doing the books. I think it’s time for a cold one.”
Just like that, my heart feels like it shatters in my chest. Being ignored by Wyatt is a worse feeling than catching Kyle with another girl. It’s a worse feeling than when I get lonely for my parents, which isn’t often, but it hits me pretty hard sometimes.
As I watch him walk away without as much as a glimpse in my direction, I wonder if his parents’ deaths have changed him—and us—forever.
Chapter Nine
~Wyatt~
I’M PRETTY SURE that drinking myself into oblivion isn’t the best way to deal with everything that’s going on right now, but I don’t care. There’s not a single ounce of me that gives a shit about anything as I down my fifth drink. Well, that’s not exactly true. I care a whole hell of a lot about drinking until I can’t see straight. It’s one of the advantages of living in walking distance to the bar. I know Jesse will watch over Delilah, and now that Tristan’s here with his asshole boyfriend, Ian—and Brandon was right. He is an asshole. He’s been ignoring Tristan and eyeing other guys all night—I know Tristan will watch out for Cassidy.
I slam my glass down on the bar and turn back toward the band. Brandon is onstage with Brent and the rest of their band. He’s totally in the zone. His fingers move adeptly across his guitar strings, and every time they hit a hard note, he thrusts his head forward. There’s a flock of fangirls checking them out. They’ve been playing since eight o’clock. I have no clue what time it is now, but I know it’s time for another drink. I smack my hand on the bar. The hot, part-time bartender comes to mix my drink. I wish I could remember her name¸ but it totally eludes me. Krystal? Kerry? Shit. I can’t remember. She’s hot, though.
She leans over the bar, and her boobs practically fall out of her shirt.
“Haven’t you had enough, big boy?” Her voice slides over my skin. I have no idea if it’s the alcohol or her big boobs, but I finally feel a stirring of something resembling horniness for a woman other than Cassidy.
“Never enough,” I say, and lift my glass again.
She arches a brow, and a smirky I’m-into-you smile curves her lips. She stands up slowly, doing that thing girls do, where they arch their backs and as they turn away they look over their shoulder, giving you a clear shot of their ass and their boobs. Nice.
Tristan sidles up beside me at the bar and elbows me. I turn and lean my back against the bar, like he is.
“Shouldn’t you be careful with the staff, now that you own the joint and all?” He says this with a serious tone that makes me laugh. I have no idea why I’m laughing, but I go with it, because I have no idea why I’m doing anything lately.
“Ian’s an ass.” I nod at Ian, standing over by a booth and talking to a handful of guys and girls. He’s been ignoring Tristan all night, and when Tristan approaches him, Ian still checks out other guys. I don’t know why Tristan is putting up with that bullshit. He’s too soft hearted.
Tristan sighs. “Whatever. I’m not talking to you about Ian when you’re drunk. You can judge him when you’re sober. You should be more concerned with the image you’re presenting to your future staff.”
“Shit.” I turn around and grab the drink. “What time do you get off work Ke—”
“Lori.” The bartender shakes her pretty little head and drags her eyes up and down my body. “I’m off in ten minutes. You think you’ll still be up?”
“Baby, I’m always up.” At least when Cassidy’s around. Hell. The alcohol isn’t stopping my thoughts of her at all.
Charley Hayes, one of my friends and a part-time bartender, sidles up to Lori, narrows her brown eyes, and sets a harsh stare on me. Her brown hair tumbles over her shoulders as she leans forward, grabs Lori’s arm, and pulls her away. “I’ll take care of him.”
I return her stare until she scoffs and throws her dishrag on the bar.
“Really, Wyatt? You’re taking over the bar.” Charley looks at Tristan, who shrugs. “You can’t hook up with the help. It’s wrong on so many levels.”
“Who are you to tell me what’s wrong on any level?” I take my drink and push away from the bar, too drunk to care if I’ve annoyed Charley. Tonight is about getting Cassidy out of my mind, and there’s only one way to do that.
I need to get laid.
I spot Cassidy talking with some guy by the stage. She’s tucking her hair behind her ear. That long, shiny hair that I ran my fingers through this morning. I rake my eyes down her slinky little shorts and tank top, and when she turns away from the guy, I swear for a split second her eyes are searching for me. I smile when they drift in my direction—then pass completely over me and land on Tristan. What the hell?
She turns back to the guy, and I hate how my insides burn at seeing the two of them standing so close. I take a step in her direction—for what, I have no idea. I just know that I want to come between them. I don’t care who he is, but he’s staring at her tits, and I don’t like it. I spin around when a hand touches my arm.
K…Lori.
“We still on?” she asks as she loops her arm into mine.
I’m three steps from Cassidy. If I reach out, I can touch her shoulder, but I remind myself that the best way to get over whatever is going on with me and Cassidy is to get into Lori. Cassidy laughs and then turns toward me. Her eyes land on me and pin me to the floor. Disappointment simmers in her beautiful eyes as her smile fades, and she shifts her gaze away from me.
Fuck it.
I head for the door with Lori hanging on my arm and saying something I don’t hear. Her hand slides up my arm, and she squeezes my muscle.
“Wyatt!” I turn toward the bar, and Tristan and Charley are both looking at me like I’m a total asshole, which is fine. Whatever. Maybe I am one, but right now I need to be. I down my drink, set the empty glass on a table, and head out the door. The minute the cold air hits us, I spin her around and pin her against the side of the building, crashing my lips over hers. I don’t care who sees us, and I don’t care that this feels wrong in about a hundred different ways, when two weeks ago it would have felt like the rightest fucking thing in the world. All I care about is that this girl who’s smashing her tits against me and grinding her crotch against my leg is going to take the pain away. She’ll breathe air back into my devastated lungs and make me forget my parents were stolen from my life and that I’ve somehow turned into one of those messed-up guys who wants to fuck his best friend when I know damn well it’ll ruin our friendship.
Catching Cassidy Page 10