Page 23 of Last Chorus (A Perfect Song Duet #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

wilder

TWO MONTHS LATER

S oft music floats amidst the voices and laughter at my dining room table, cutlery and glasses clinking in an irregular but melodious percussion line.

I never thought I’d be someone who hosts and enjoys dinner parties, but here we are.

“That was phenomenal, Wilder.”

I raise my water glass toward Jax’s wife. “Thank you, Shannon.” Then I give my bandmate a pointed look.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. The student has surpassed the teacher. Great lasagna.”

“Pastitsio,” I say with a smirk .

“Just accept it, bro,” chides Eddie. “He’s been in another league for years. Do you even know what a béchamel sauce is?”

After a beat of silence, Eddie’s girlfriend, Holly, asks what we’re all thinking. “How do you know what a béchamel sauce is?”

Laughter rings out. After some good-natured grumbling, Eddie admits he has no idea how to make béchamel. He points at me. “Blame him. He made me watch cooking shows almost every night of our tour last year.”

I chuckle. “I made you, huh?”

He grins. “Okay, maybe I got sucked in by how cutthroat they are with all the challenges and shit.”

“Damn,” says Holly with an exaggerated sigh. “I was really hoping you were dropping a hint about cooking me dinner for our anniversary next month.”

Eddie gulps. “Oh shoot, I ruined the surprise.”

More laughter fills the air. Over Holly’s head, Eddie sends me a beseeching look. I make him sweat for a few seconds, then nod. He relaxes and slings an arm around a smugly grinning Holly.

As the merriment fades and everyone finishes eating, the back of my neck begins to tingle and tighten—the first warning sign that I’m nearing my limit on socializing. Before long, my mind will start losing clarity, my skin will grow sensitive, and the assorted sounds around me will grate.

Glancing discreetly at my watch, I’m surprised and gratified to see it’s nearing ten o’clock. I made it almost four hours—a new personal record.

I push back my chair. “Who’s ready for dessert?”

Soft fingertips land on my forearm, and Aubrey’s blue eyes sparkle up at me. “No way. You’re not allowed to do anything else.”

I relax back into my chair, hoping she doesn’t notice that my smile is a little forced. When I told Jax that Zander and his date couldn’t make it, he took it upon himself to invite Shannon’s sister. Despite suspecting ulterior motives, I didn’t have a good reason to say no.

As far as Jax knows, Aubrey and I are friendly acquaintances. It’s not like I could tell him we hooked up at his and Shannon’s wedding last year or that I regretted it almost immediately.

“I concur,” says Shannon with overly bright enthusiasm. “The chef should relax.”

Jax stands. “Eddie and Holly, if you guys want to grab dessert, we’ll clear the table.” A second of silent but painfully obvious communication passes between the couples, then they’re all moving.

I swallow a sigh. “Thanks, guys. ”

When Aubrey makes a weak attempt at helping, Shannon chirps, “Stay, sis. Keep Wilder company.”

The moment we’re alone—or as alone as we can be with the kitchen ten feet away—Aubrey whispers, “She failed out of afterschool theater club.”

My lips quirk. “I think they all did.”

Her laugh dances nervously. “You’re probably right. I’m glad we have a second, though, so I can thank you privately for being so… not awkward with me tonight. You’re a good guy, Wilder.”

I shrug, smiling vaguely. “No reason for awkwardness.”

Mentally, I’m chanting, Shitshitshit.

With a deep breath, she pivots further in her seat. Her shoulder grazes mine while her knee taps my thigh. There’s no way I can pull away without being super obvious about it, and my head is already too fuzzy to think of some way to defuse the intent I see in her eyes.

I try not to grit my teeth as she leans even closer to me. “This is me shooting my shot. Any chance you’re ready to reconsider the no-dating rule?”

This— this is why sleeping with Audrey was a giant mistake. She’s kind, genuine, and charming. At the wedding last year, we talked for hours before she invited me to her hotel room. But when I woke up the next morning and saw her sleeping face, all I felt was a mix of regret and disappointment.

Through no fault of her own, the seed of connection I’d felt the night prior was gone. Shriveled before I could even consider planting it.

She sees the truth in my eyes, her hopeful expression falling. I open my mouth to fumble through an it’s not you, it’s me explanation, but the chime of the doorbell cuts me off. The sound is so unexpected, I startle and recoil from Aubrey. She looks away, her face flushing.

Jax asks, “Are you expecting someone?”

Already halfway to standing, I sense rather than see Aubrey shrinking in her chair.

“No,” I say quickly. I grab my phone off a nearby shelf and frown at the screen. “They’re supposed to text me before letting people through the gate after dark.”

“Ohhh, someone’s getting fired,” Eddie sings.

Holly giggles. “Stop. It’s probably that weird neighbor. He saw our cars and wants to party.”

Shannon chimes in, “The guy who showed up at the barbecue last summer?”

Eddie laughs loudly. “I forgot about him! Didn’t he just walk right into the backyard and help himself to food? ”

“Yes! Then he talked Zander’s ear off for an hour about aliens until Jax finally got him to leave.”

Between one moment and the next, I cross the line into overstimulation, the chorus of voices melding into an abrasive buzz. In lieu of telling everyone to shut the fuck up so I can think, I clutch my phone and walk swiftly toward the hallway.

“I can answer it,” offers Jax as I pass the kitchen.

“I’ve got it,” I force out.

Halfway down the hallway, the chatter fades enough to no longer feel like the sensory equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. I stop beside a window and lay my palm on the glass.

Inhale. Feel the cold. Exhale. You’re fine. Just tired. Breathe.

My heartbeat eventually retreats from my temples, the tightness in my lungs releasing.

Leaning my shoulder on a wall, I pull up the app for my doorbell camera.

If Holly’s correct—and she probably is—I have no intention of opening the door.

My neighbor, Herman, is a single retiree with a habit of showing up uninvited and ignoring cues to leave.

He’s also an absolute wacko obsessed with conspiracy theories, who occasionally forgoes pants and underwear because they chafe .

The video feed is slow to load. I wince in anticipation of Herman’s cold-shriveled dick and balls. But when the image clears, it’s not Herman.

An unfamiliar woman stands at the bottom of the porch steps, her back to the camera. Shoulder-length light brown hair, a winter coat, shapeless cargo pants, and sneakers.

Torn between curiosity and apprehension, I keep staring. Ten seconds later, she seems to pull herself straighter. Then she walks into the darkness.

On her third step, my breath stalls in my chest.

Then I’m running.