Page 19 of Last Chorus (A Perfect Song Duet #2)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

evangeline

T he second I wake up, I remember how much I hate alcohol. My mouth tastes like a trashcan, my stomach is on a boat, and my heartbeat thuds in my eyelids.

Rolling away from sunlight that burns my face like a chemical peel, I search blindly for a pillow to put over my head.

After a few seconds, I give up with a groan of defeat.

Even if by some miracle I was suddenly the type of person who could fall back asleep easily, the ache in my bladder would negate the option.

Nevertheless, opening my eyes is a mistake. For several reasons.

First, my eyelashes have glued themselves together in retribution for me not taking off the eight pounds of mascara I wore yesterday. By the time I force them to part, my eyes are stinging and watering.

Second, I can no longer ignore the fact my bedroom is south-facing and doesn’t get direct sunlight—the kind blasting on my back right now.

And lastly, the man sleeping in an oversized armchair beside the bed, clearly having kept an eye on me all night, is not Clay.

Wilder’s arms are crossed over his bare chest, his head propped awkwardly on what looks like a bunched up T-shirt.

His long legs, encased in plaid pajama pants, are crossed at the ankle on an overturned luggage case.

Dark hair falls artlessly over his brow.

His lips are slightly parted, his breathing deep and even.

My physical misery now has a challenger—absolute panic. They go to war as I sit up too fast and almost hurl. Cold sweat breaks out on my body. Swallowing bile, I look around and recognize the style of the room. I’m back in the Santa Monica house.

What the hell happened last night?

As if waiting for the mental cue, flashbacks unfurl like a row of middle fingers eager to extend a fuck you to what’s left of my mental stability.

What happened in the limo. Surviving the red carpet and Clay’s touches through sheer willpower.

The cool satisfaction in his eyes when I sat down after Glow’s final win.

Changing in a hotel room and dodging Lily’s attempts to talk.

Avoiding her and Rye the rest of the night.

Laughing and pretending everything was fine. Drowning my despair with alcohol.

My memories melt somewhere between Lily’s final attempt to speak with me and Wilder’s hand on my arm as we walked somewhere.

My panic reaches new heights, manifesting as a high-pitched note in my ears.

I scramble off the bed, almost eating floor when my feet are momentarily caught in the comforter.

My tangled, product-encrusted hair whips around my face as I dart erratically around the room.

In the attached bathroom, I locate my dress—damp for some reason—hanging over a towel rack. But my clutch is nowhere to be found.

I run back into the bedroom.

“Wilder, wake up! Where’s my phone?”

He jerks upright with a grunt, then winces and grabs his neck. “Shit. Why are you yelling?”

His sleep-roughened voice arrows right between my legs. Before I can recover, he stands, visually punching me with the mouthwatering sight of his bare upper half.

No one should have that many abs. It’s not natural.

Wilder’s rapidly clearing eyes scan my face, drop down my body, then snap back up. He drags a palm over his mouth, his brow pinched. Air leaves his nose in a short burst.

That’s when I realize I’m wearing a thong under one of his T-shirts, which just so happens to be soft, thin, and white, and that the sun is behind me. Not only can he see how tightly my thighs are squeezed together, he can see everything else, too.

Another flashback hits. Mortified, I slap my hands over my face and shake my head, not caring that the violent movement magnifies the pounding in my skull.

“Please, please tell me I didn’t make you touch my nipple.”

He coughs over a sound suspiciously close to a laugh. “You totally did.”

“Why didn’t you lie?” I wail.

Now he’s for sure laughing. “I make an effort not to these days. Besides, you were shitfaced. It’s not like I took it as an invitation.” He pauses. “Do you remember anything from after that?”

I slowly lower my hands, turning my back to him at the same time so I can stay sane. “Not at the moment, no. Why? What else do I need to be humiliated about?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he says, quick and firm. “I just wondered if you knew how you got here.”

I shake my head. Panic creeps back in. “Do you know where my phone is? I really need it. ”

I listen to the familiar sound of him pulling on a shirt, then his soft footsteps approaching me. They pause a few feet away.

“Your phone is in the kitchen, but before you bolt, listen for a sec. Everything is okay. After you passed out, Rye and Lily came back to the party. Lily stayed with you while I went outside to meet my driver. Rye found Clay and told him they were bringing you here. He was fine with it.”

Too relieved to acknowledge the edge in his voice, I whisper, “Thank God.”

His following sigh is weighted with intent. A whole different level of anxiety ripples through me, shortening my breath.

“Evangeline…”

Turning fast, I dart around him toward the bathroom. “About to pee my pants, sorry!”

After closing the door and locking it, I brace my hands on the vanity and try to catch my breath.

My body shakes intermittently, cramping with so much tension that my bladder has gone into hiding.

The mirror tells me I look as bad as I feel.

My bloodshot eyes are ringed by melted makeup.

A section of my hair sticks up in defiance of gravity, the rest flattened and tangled in chunks.

My skin is grayish-white, my lips bloodless.

There’s a soft thud on the door that I instinctively know is from Wilder’s forehead meeting the wood. Sure enough, his low voice slips around the frame and curls into my ears.

“I know about what happened in the limo. Why you got so drunk.”

Another thud.

“This might make you hate me again, but I have to say it. Juggling lies, partitioning off parts of yourself, avoiding the truth screaming in your gut… it’s no way to live.

I should know. I also know how scary it is to break free of the bullshit and let it all go.

Feels kind of like jumping without a parachute. But you can take your life back.”

There’s a long pause. My stomach churns, and it’s not from the hangover this time. I can feel what’s coming, sense it in the same way you smell ozone between lightning strikes.

Because no matter how drastically storms have altered our topography as adults, the structure of us as children still stands.

Within those unassailable walls, Wilder remains my silent protector and reluctant hero.

Challenging me to be brave even as he tries to shelter me from pain.

And always, always finding me when I’m lost.

“I’ve broken promises to you, Evangeline. I broke us . I’ll never forgive myself for it. I don’t expect you to forgive me, either. But you have to know… even if you don’t want me to be, I’m in your corner. Forever. That’s one promise I will never, ever break.”

There’s a final thud of his forehead on the door before his footsteps move away.

I don’t know how long I stand there unmoving, covered in goosebumps and staring blankly at the door. It could be a minute or ten before Lily knocks and tells me she’s leaving a change of clothes on the bed, and that I’ll find toiletries, including ibuprofen, under the sink.

Her calm voice cracks the plaster on my limbs. I open the door, stalling her retreat from the room.

“I’m sorry, Lily. For so much. The Indigo meeting and what I said to you after. Shutting you out. Being a shit friend and godmother. I’ve never wanted to leave Glow. I’m not leaving Glow. I just…”

My voice hits an emotional blockage in my throat.

Her chin quivers before firming. “I’m sorry, too. I haven’t been a good friend to you, either. I was too wrapped up in my own life to see what was going on, and I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

“W-what are you talking about?”

But I already know. I fucking know because like Wilder said, it’s the truth screaming in my gut. The one I’ve been terrified to face for longer than I can admit to myself .

“I’m talking about Clay. He’s abusive. Some part of you must know that.”

My chest tightens, burning. More pieces of the walls I’ve been dismantling rip free, falling and shattering. Tears fill my eyes. Suddenly dizzy, I grab the doorframe.

Then I force out probably the hardest words I’ve ever had to speak.

“I know.”

Lily’s expression softens, the sympathy in her eyes half balm, half acid on my heart.

“Leave him, Eva. You can do it. We’ll help you. Anything you need.”

Panic rises again. I break out in a sweat. “I-I want to. I… I’ve tried. I’m trying. Please believe me. I’m sorry.”

She closes the space between us and wraps her arms tightly around my waist. “It’s okay.

I understand. I love you, and when you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be here.

” Stepping back, she wipes tears from her cheeks.

“Right now the only thing you have to do is shower. Please. Between your pits and your breath, I’m about to pass out. ”

I laugh, sniffing back tears. “Ugh, you’re right. It’s so bad.” Another memory abruptly appears, and I groan in embarassment. “I puked on Wilder, didn’t I?”

She nods, failing to hide her amusement. “A few times. I cleaned you up and got you out of your dress, though. In case you were worried.”

I nod, wincing. “I’m remembering now. Thanks for doing that.”

“Sure. I would have stayed up with you, too, but I literally couldn’t keep my eyes open, and Emma…”

“No, no. I completely understand.” I laugh weakly. “I can’t believe Wilder babysat me all night. What alternate dimension is this?”

She smirks. “A good one, trust me. Just wait until you try his French toast.”