Page 18 of Last Chorus (A Perfect Song Duet #2)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

wilder

I made a mistake

Tasting you

Before I knew

What starving was

F ifteen feet away, on the other side of Chateau Fontaine’s upscale bar, Evangeline sits with five other famous faces in a horseshoe booth. The lighting is dim, the music loud, and it’s close to two in the morning.

Besides the waitstaff, I’m the only sober person in the place.

The luxury hotel in West Hollywood is the last stop on Glow’s afterparty tour, and thank fuck for that.

I’m exhausted, my senses overloaded to the extreme, and Zander is at the end of his rope from me dragging him all over the city.

Or he was until a few minutes ago. Now he’s flirting with a nerdy-looking dude I vaguely recognize from television.

Evangeline throws her head back in a laugh. I can’t hear it, but I don’t need to in order to know it’s fake.

The bad feeling I had earlier is back with a vengeance.

Something happened after I left the house. I have no idea what, since Lily and Rye have avoided me like the plague all night. But they’ve also avoided Eva. Or maybe it’s Eva who’s been avoiding them.

My gaze narrows on what I can see of Clay’s face.

He’s currently at the bar, his back to Eva’s booth.

He’s chatting with two men—one of them a recognizable music producer—and sipping a bright green martini like a dumbass.

He looks even more smug than usual. Not surprising, since Glow took home two more Grammys tonight and Clay’s deluded enough to think they’re his by proximity.

But I haven’t missed the fact that besides arriving and leaving together, he’s kept his distance from Evangeline all night, too.

“You good if I head out?” asks Zander. A quick glance behind him reveals the blushing actor .

Smirking, I nod. “I’m not going to stay much longer. Thanks for hanging.” Leaning toward him, I lower my voice. “Have fun polishing your new Grammy.”

Zander laugh-groans. “You’re such a loser. Speaking of, have fun with your stalking.”

I roll my eyes and wave him off. When they’re gone, I look back across the room just as a scowling Lily walks in from the other side. I don’t see Rye, but he’s probably not far behind.

I straighten from my slouched position against a wall.

Before I can decide whether or not to approach Lily, she beelines for Evangeline’s booth.

Leaning down, she whispers something to Evangeline, who rears back, shaking her head and laughing.

Lily tries again. This time, she’s able to tug Eva to standing.

It’s immediately apparent that Evangeline is wasted. She stumbles in her high heels. Lily reaches out to help her, but she jerks away and almost falls again. When she finally balances, she does a little bow that makes everyone in the booth laugh.

Lily steps forward again, urgency and worry clear in her expression. She says something that causes Evangeline to frown, and I watch her lips shape the words, “I can’t, Lily.”

After a pause fraught with enough tension that I feel it across the room, Lily spins on a heel and stalks away. Evangeline stares blankly after her, swaying on her feet.

A quick glance toward the bar tells me that Clay hasn’t noticed the drama. But others have.

I’m walking before I’ve processed the thought. Just as Evangeline turns to sit back down, I curl my fingers around her bicep. Startled, she looks up at me with wide eyes.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?”

She nods, her gaze lowering to my mouth. I tell myself I’m only imagining the heat in her eyes, that the increased glassiness is from booze and not lust. My body, of course, decides differently.

Ignoring my suddenly tight pants, I slide my hand down to her elbow and guide her into a nearby hallway. She’s so out of it, she doesn’t comment when I pull her into a family bathroom.

Given the luxury of the attached hotel, it’s no shock the space is huge and spa-like, with a separate seating area, high-end finishes, and mood lighting.

On the double-sink vanity, there are baskets of toiletries and a pitcher of ice water next to a stack of sparkling glasses.

The toilet is off to the right, the partially open door confirming that we’re alone.

I flip the deadbolt on the main door, then steer Evangeline to a leather couch. She sits—or rather, falls— then topples to the side until her cheek is smooshed on a cushion.

Her eyes flutter closed. “Mmm cold. Feels good.”

Swallowing a sigh, I head for the water dispenser and fill a glass. Then I crouch next to her head.

“Can you sit up for me?”

“Nopity nope.”

Despite my frustration, my lips quirk. “Evangeline, come on.”

“Pfft.” Eyes still closed, she squirms, bare legs scissoring until her high heels thunk to the floor. “Thas better.”

She rolls onto her back and stretches with a hum of pleasure, completely oblivious to the fact her silver-beaded minidress isn’t stretching with her. The hem rides so low over her chest, I can see the small mole above her right nipple and a hint of pink areola.

My cock, already stiff against my thigh, pulses in agonized want.

Out of desperation, I snap, “Fairy.”

Her eyes pop open. Glazed, they roam my face before stalling on my mouth. “I thought I dreamed you.”

Jesus fucking Christ, I’m not strong enough for this.

I’m still reeling from the longing in her voice when her eyes suddenly widen. She laughs, the sound soft, throaty, and designed to torture me .

“Remember asking me if I’d ever pierce my nipples?”

The water glass almost slips from my hand. Setting it down quickly on the end table, I look up at the ceiling and start counting down from a hundred. When I get to seventy-three, my balls stop throbbing. At sixty, I find the willpower to lower my gaze back to her.

“Evangeline, I?—”

“Do you remember?”

She’s not laughing anymore. Her eyes are more lucid, the look in them brave but resigned. Like she’s expecting disappointment. Like she’s used to it.

It fucking hurts. Even if I understand why. Even if it’s my own damn fault she’s ever doubted that our time together was as real for me as it was for her.

I’ve never had a chance to explain that by the end of my using—which she had a front-row seat to—I was lucky if I managed to stave off the full brunt of withdrawals every day.

Actually feeling loaded was rare. As weird as it sounds to most people, it hadn’t even been a priority.

If it had been, I would have stuck to drinking.

I have no doubt alcohol would have taken me to rock bottom eventually, just like it did my dad.

Opiates got me there first because they did what alcohol couldn’t.

They turned down the volume on my anxiety and—most importantly—helped me function like a somewhat normal person.

Initially, at least. Until my addiction progressed.

Until I was walking a fraying tightrope of lies, avoidance, and denial.

Until I lost her.

I was a junkie, no question. Enslaved to my physical craving and mental dependence. But the times I was impaired enough to forget a single moment from that month of my life?

Zero.

Maybe someday I’ll be able to tell Evangeline everything. Maybe it will matter to her, or maybe it won’t.

But at least I can fix one misconception right now.

“I remember asking more than once. You finally told me that if I shut up about it, you’d let me take you to get pierced on your twenty-fifth birthday.”

She looks away, flushing and blinking fast. Probably remembering the other part of the deal, just like I am—that if she went through with it, I’d owe her twenty-five orgasms. And ice cream.

My thoughts are sluggish, bloated with memory and desire and regret. When she grabs my hand, I don’t understand what’s happening at first. And when I finally do, I’m incapable of resisting as she guides my fingers to the peak of her breast.

Fuck me sideways.

Even with all the beads on her dress, I can feel the metal beneath. Adjusting her grip, she guides the tip of my index finger from one side of the petite barbell to the other.

I’m concentrating so hard on not nutting in my pants that when she speaks, I barely register her soft, forlorn voice.

“Everyone’s mad at me. You should be, too. I’m… I’m not a good person. I used to be one, I think. Was I, Wilder? A good person? I’ve been trying to remember, but all I can really remember is you. What we were. What we did to each other.”

There’s a delay while my bloodless brain processes the words. Then I’m suddenly, acutely clearheaded. Slipping my hand from beneath hers, I sit back on my heels and heave air into my lungs.

Evangeline turns her face toward the back of the couch. A thick section of her pale hair falls off the edge and lands on my thigh, light as a feather and heavier than lead. I clench my hands to keep from touching it.

“S’ okay,” she whispers. “I wouldn’t want me anymore, either.”

“You have no idea—” I clench my teeth to hold back the rest. Nothing I say is going to land right now. Chances are she won’t even remember this conversation tomorrow.

I reach for the water glass, determined to at least have her drink some before I decide what to do.

I don’t want to send her home with Clay, especially without knowing whether or not it’s safe for her.

But Lily and Rye are ignoring me, and I can’t exactly carry her out of here myself. Not without serious consequences.

A sudden vibration in my back pocket threatens my grip on the water again. I put it down for the second time and yank my phone out, sighing in relief when I see a text from Rye.

Rye

Not avoiding u on purpose. Shit went off the rails after u left. Been trying to keep Lily calm all day. Headed back to house now

Wilder

Wtf happened?

He types, and types some more. In the interim, I lean forward to peek at Evangeline’s face. She’s passed out and drooling.

Finally, Rye’s texts come through.

I stuck my foot in my mouth in the limo. Said something about Eva being in Seattle this summer to record. Clay was like “haha what? No, she’s not.”

Eva got so pale I thought she was gonna pass out. Clay told her to explain herself in this super psycho voice. I almost put his face through the window. I can’t explain it. My skin was legit crawling from the look he gave her

We tried all night to get her to talk about it and come home with us but she wouldn’t. Lily finally lost it. I had to get her out of there before she went postal

My adrenaline skyrockets, my muscles quivering with the desire to break Clay’s bones. When I look down at Evangeline, a different need rises. One just as implausible, just as reckless. But far more appealing.

I want to carry her out of here and straight to the airport. Fly her home. Lock her in my house. Never let her out of my sight again.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “Fuck. Fuck.”

Clenching a hand in my hair, I look wildly around the bathroom.

Three things I can see. Three I can touch. Three I can hear.

Inhale. Hold. Release.

My phone buzzes again.

U there? Pls tell me you haven’t left the party

I haven’t. With Eva in a bathroom. She’s trashed and passed out on a couch

Thank god. Don’t let her leave with Clay ok? I’ll drop off Lily and come back. We’ll figure something out

K. No way in hell she’s leaving with him

I toss my phone to the floor.

Eva stirs. “Wilder?”

“I’m here.”

Unable to help myself, I stroke the hair off her forehead and temple. Her eyes are still closed, but tightly, as though she’s in pain.

“Need you to know something…”

I lean closer to hear her faint voice. “Yeah?”

“You weren’t a footnote. You were the title of my favorite book.”

Her whole body tenses.

Then she lurches toward me and vomits all over my lap.