Cannon Read online

  "No, it's not," he says.   "It's your checking-text-messages-you-hate face. "

  "How do you know I'm getting text messages I hate?  Have you been reading my texts?" I ask, my voice going up an octave.   "You can't do that!"

  "Oh my God, relax, Addy," he says, laughing.   "No one is reading your text messages.   Well, the NSA probably is, but that's it.   I was just making an observation.   You've been making that face a lot lately.   You need to chill the fuck out. "

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  "Oh. "  I look down at the most recent text from Jared.

  Srsly, A.   Don't be a bitch.   You knew what you were getting into.   And don't put me in a fucking song.

  That's message number fifteen from Jared over the past week, since I walked out on him at the club.   Four in the morning and he's getting a blowjob in the bathroom of the filthy club he insisted I go to with him and his friends to celebrate his birthday.   But I'm the one who's a bitch.

  I press the delete button.   As if I'd write any song about that douchebag.   Besides, the record label is writing and approving all of my songs; they have been for years.   I'm just the mouthpiece.

  There's a text from my friend Sapphire.

  Hey ho.   Where the F have u been?  Party 2nite.   Call me.

  "Oh," Hendrix says.   "Is that the boyfriend texting you?"

  "Ex," I say pointedly, and turn the cell phone over, face down, as if that will make the messages disappear.   "And it's none of your business. "

  "So it is a text from the ex-boyfriend, then. "

  "What part of none of your business did you not hear?"

  "What did you say?" Hendrix deadpans, cupping his hand near his ear.

  "Hilarious, Hendrix. "

  "You're always complimenting me," he says.

  "Don't take it personally. "

  "That fuckhead better not be texting you," Hendrix says.   He's looking in a binder, pouring over the week's schedule even though I know he already has it memorized.

  "My last bodyguard wasn't this mouthy," I say.   "And he didn't try to insert himself into my personal life. "

  Hendrix turns to look at me.   "Your last bodyguard let you date that shithead. "

  "He didn't let me date anyone," I say, bristling at his tone.   "In case you haven't noticed, this is 2015, not 1815, and I can date whoever the hell I want.   Fuckhead or not. "

  "Not on my watch," Hendrix says.

  "Your watch?" I'm so annoyed I think my head might explode.   "I'm not a child, Hendrix.   And your job description involves being a bodyguard, not some archaic protector of my hoo-hah. "

  "You're my watch," Hendrix says.   "Which means your hoo-hah is part of my watch. "

  "Nobody is watching my hoo-hah," I say, my voice rising.   "Much less my damn stepbrother. "

  Hendrix turns to face me, his eyes narrowed.   "Is that what you think this is about?" he growls.   "Some misguided sense of protectiveness, because I'm your stepbrother?"

  "No," I say, my voice hushed.   The tinted window is up, separating us from the driver, but I worry he can hear every word of what we're saying.   "You're just pissed because you can't have me, and you don't want anyone else to have me. "  The words come out, fueled by emotion, before I can stop them, and I immediately regret speaking them. I clamp my hand over my mouth, mortified.   Why did I say that?  Just when I was bent on ignoring Hendrix I put my foot in my mouth and say something awful.

  Hendrix leans close to me, his mouth near my ear.   "If I wanted you, I'd have you, right here, right now, sweet-cheeks," he whispers.   "Just for your information. "

  I force a laugh, but there's nothing funny about the fact that arousal is coursing through my body.   "Is that so?"

  The car pulls to a stop, and Hendrix walks around to pull open my door.   He leans down and speaks to me softly again.   "That's a fucking promise, Addy-girl," he says, holding his hand out to help me from the car.

  I take his hand and get the same jolt of electricity I always get when I touch him.   "Well, then, it's a good thing that neither of us want each other. "

  FIVE YEARS, SIX MONTHS AGO

  "I don't know how the hell you do it, man. "  Taylor passes the bong to me, as he breathes a trail of smoke through the room.   I hand it to Brandon, bypassing it myself but they don't notice.   We're all too busy watching Addy walk by the guesthouse, dressed in jeans and carrying her guitar.   Addy, who I've been trying to get out of my fucking head since the stupid road trip.   Addy, who's still nice to me after I tell her to get lost because I don't need her damn help swimming anymore, even though that's a lie.   I just don't want her an arm's length away from me in the swimming pool wearing next to nothing, the water trickling over her skin, practically demanding that I follow it down her body with my tongue.   Addy, who tells me she misses talking to me.   Addy, who breaks my fucking heart every time she looks at me.

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  I was relieved when she went on tour for three months, but I was wrong about the whole out of sight, out of mind thing.   I was right about it being worse to be away from her.   It's a million times worse than being around her.

  I've been telling myself that me staying away from her is for her own good.   She has a future, a real one.   And I'm leaving.

  I've been keeping that secret from her.

  "Look at that ass in those pants," Taylor says, punching Brandon in the arm.   "You need to hook a brother up, Hendrix. "

  "That's my fucking stepsister.   Don't be dicks. "

  "I'd like to put my dick in your sister," Brandon says, hooting.   "You know she's a great piece of ass. "

  "Fuck you. "  I stand and cross the room, watching Addy as she crosses the grass.   She's headed out to the place on the other side of the property, this grove of trees where she sits and plays her guitar.   I know that's where she's going because I've watched her sneak out there a million times.   She has a music room inside the house, but she hardly uses it.   No one seems to notice that, except me.

  "Oooh, sensitive," Taylor says.   "Please.   Don't tell us you haven't fucking jerked off to the thought of that sweet pussy. "

  "I said, she's my fucking stepsister," I say, trying to brush it off.   They talk about chicks this way all the time, and it doesn't piss me off like it's doing right now.   Right now, I think I might just murder them both with my bare hands.

  "Stepsister, yeah right," Brandon says, laughing.   "If I were you I'd be buried balls deep in that snatch. "

  "Get out," I say, my voice low.

  "Dude, take it easy," Taylor says.   "Shit, are you on the rag or something, man?  You're acting like a bitch. "

  "I said, get. the. fuck. out. of. here," I repeat, punctuating each word with a careful pause.   My hands are clenched into fists at my side, and I think about punching both of them in the fucking face for talking about Addy that way, but instead I open the door.   "Now. "

  Both of them sit, sprawled on the sofa, staring at me stupidly.   "We didn't mean anything by it, Hendrix," Brandon says.   "Jesus Christ. "

  "Get your shit and leave," I say, watching realization dawn on them that I'm not joking.   Brandon carries the bong with him like it's one of his school textbooks or something, and Taylor shrugs as he passes me.

  "It's not like she's a big virgin or something," he says.   "I heard she fucked that country singer, what the hell is his name?"

  I punch Taylor square in his stupid fucking mouth.

  PRESENT DAY

  Watching Addison sing is like nothing else on earth.   She has one of those voices that makes you stop dead in your tracks, quit whatever you're doing and hold your breath and listen, because you know that you're hearing something special.   You can't hear her sing and not know that with certainty.

  I kn