Page 32 of Last Chorus (A Perfect Song Duet #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

wilder

We were wasting time

Racing to hold steady

So either leave me here

Or kiss me already

I play a small, morose melody on the piano, then sigh and look at my phone. It’s propped on the shelf against sheet music, my mom’s face visible on the screen.

“I’m almost positive she was crying when she left the room. What if I royally fucked up?”

She shakes her head, curls swaying around her shoulders. “You did the right thing, Wild. For both of you.”

“I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about the look on her face when I told her my limits. She was hurt. What if she actually does want…” I finish the sentence silently.

Me.

Maybe she wants me .

The possibility is too big to hold, too close to my longest-held dream to consider as a real possibility.

Gleaning where my head went, my mom says gently, “Maybe she does want more, but you need to remember what she’s been through and her mental state right now. I love Eva, and my heart breaks for her, but I won’t tell you not to protect yourself.”

I nod for her comfort, knowing that my so-called boundaries are performative bullshit. I’m trying to bulletproof myself with Styrofoam.

There’s no way to protect myself from this, from Evangeline. I’m in love with her. I always have been and always will be. The only thing I’m really doing is preparing for the pain when she leaves.

My mom continues, “I haven’t been exactly where she is, but I do know what it’s like to have your foundation cracked and your sense of self turned upside down. She doesn’t trust her own feelings right now. Even if she wants to. ”

Wind lashes rain against the nearby windows. The lights in the studio flicker.

“Shit. I forgot to call someone to fix the generator last week.”

“I thought your dad looked at it,” she says with a knowing smile.

I roll my eyes. “I stopped him before he took the whole thing apart and started Googling.”

From somewhere behind my mom, my dad says, “I totally could have fixed it!”

She laughs. “Sure you could have.”

His face appears beside hers, whiskey-colored eyes locking on mine.

“For what it’s worth, I agree with your mom.

I know it wasn’t easy setting boundaries with Eva, but it was the right choice.

It’s the selfishness paradox of recovery—we stay clean and sober by learning how to be of service to others, but we can’t show up for anyone unless we’re first selfish about our recovery.

Unfortunately, sometimes that means going against our own hearts. ”

He gives my mom a weighted look. She smiles softly, and he kisses her forehead.

“You did something like this?” I ask, stupefied.

His eyes return to me. “In the same wheelhouse.”

My mom laughs lightly. “We weren’t even technically together, but he preemptively dumped me because I was in the way of his sobriety.”

I gape as my dad grimaces. “Keep in mind I’d just been hit by a car, broken most of my bones, and was on a steady drip of painkillers.

And before that, I’d been on the verge of relapsing.

I loved your mom, but I knew I couldn’t give her what she needed.

I had to fix my shit—physically and mentally—before I felt worthy of her. ”

She strokes his cheek, then turns to me. “He did what he had to do to protect us both, which is what you’re doing now. Sometimes you and Eva remind me a lot of your dad and me—it took a while for us to be on the same page.”

“At least it wasn’t seven years,” I mutter, and she winces in sympathy.

The lights flicker again, this time staying off for several seconds. I grab my phone and stand. “I have to go.”

“Be careful walking back to the house,” she says, big eyes filled with worry. “Love you.”

My dad squeezes her shoulder. “We trimmed all the trees around the paths last fall. He’ll be fine. Love you, son.”

“Love you guys.”

After I make sure the computer and lights are all off, I slip my feet into the dirt-speckled rain boots I left by the door and shrug into a raincoat.

Neither matter much the second I step outside, as nothing short of a hazmat suit will keep me dry in these conditions.

We’re at the tip of the island and the winds are merciless, driving the heavy rains in gravity-defying directions.

I’m forced to hold a hand over my eyes to keep it from blinding me.

Despite it being the middle of the day, the sky is so dark the solar lights along the main path have come on. They’re dimmer than usual given the lack of sunlight today, but their glow guides me as I jog toward the house.

Right as I reach the back door, the single light I left on in the kitchen goes out.

I let myself into the mudroom and shuck off my jacket and boots.

It’s almost as loud inside as it is outside, the rain pounding on the glass over the dining area.

But there’s a stillness, too. A quietude that unnerves me.

My hair drips onto my shoulders and my pants are wet and heavy, but neither sensory irritation registers as I walk quickly toward the stairs and take them two at a time.

Evangeline’s bedroom door is open, enough light coming through the windows for me to see it’s empty.

The sight of her duffel and guitar case at the foot of the unmade bed should reassure me.

Instead, my heart rate triples. I was in the studio for a couple of hours.

She said she was going to nap, then take a bath.

Did she already wake up, or did she decide on a bath first?

Dear God, please don’t let her have fallen asleep in the water.

I tear into my bedroom, the space notably darker due to the thicker tree line on this side of the house. When I see the closed bathroom door, panic destroys any semblance of propriety. I pound on it once before swinging it open, my eyes snapping to the extra-large soaker tub.

Water sloshes as Evangeline jerks upright, a hand slamming against her chest. “Mother of pearl!”

My relief is so heady my knees almost buckle. “Sorry. The power went out, so I wanted to check on you. When you weren’t in your room, I freaked out.”

Thanks to the abundance of white tile and the massive skylight over the tub, I can clearly see her confused expression—and the moment it clears.

“You thought I fell asleep and drowned.”

It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. She doesn’t sound angry, at least.

“My brain is hardwired to jump to worst-case scenarios,” I admit, my voice still shaky from the offload of adrenaline. “You should have seen me the first few times I babysat Emma. I was an absolute wreck. I’m not much better now, honestly.”

Her lips tug upward. “Helicopter parent, huh?”

“Probably worse than your dad,” I say wryly.

Smiling wider, she sinks back into the water. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine. I had a lovely nap, and now I’m soaking up the ambiance of the storm. Water’s still hot if you want to join.”

My system resets from anxious to aroused in a second flat. Evangeline giggles as I rip off my clothes.

“Damn,” I hiss as I lower into the water. “Are you trying to burn your skin off?”

“Scalding is the only acceptable temperature for a bath,” she says primly. “Besides, it’s not as hot as you think. You’re just cold.”

The stinging fades in a matter of moments, encompassing warmth melting tension from my muscles.

“As usual, you’re right.”

She gives me a smug smile and leans her knees to one side. “There, now you can stretch out.”

I take advantage, extending my legs and sliding down to dunk my head under. When I come back up, I make a face. “How much salt did you put in here?”

“Um, the whole bag?”

I laugh, wiping my stinging eyes. “No wonder your hair is dry. By the way, did you actually say ‘mother of pearl’ when I came in or did I hallucinate that?”

“Sure did,” she says with a smile. “It’s a Lily-approved cuss word. I’m actually kind of impressed with myself for using it spur of the moment like that.”

“Very impressive,” I say drolly.

She whips a foot out, presumably to kick me, but I grab it and start massaging.

Revenge instantly forgotten, she offers me the other one as well.

Humming happily, she closes her eyes and drops her head back.

I’m extra grateful for the extended length of the tub when the position elevates her off the bottom, giving me a mouthwatering view.

“How are you feeling?”

“Right now? Amazing. Don’t stop. Oh, right there.”

“Are you trying to torture me?”

She smirks. “Maybe.”

“Brat.”

The foot I’m not massaging slips up my thigh. I think the movement is unintentional until her toes brush purposefully along my stiff cock.

Her smile widens. “I hope that’s not left over from breakfast.”

“A brat and a menace.” I release a slow breath, my hand tightening reflexively on her foot. “How sore are you? ”

Even in the low light, I see her breath quicken and her already flushed skin turn a darker red. Her eyes open, the gray one so dilated it’s almost as dark as the other.

“Turns out I’m not nearly as sore as I thought.”