Page 35 of Last Chorus (A Perfect Song Duet #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

wilder

Your fingertips left marks

Living bruises I didn’t feel

Until I heard them like a heartbeat

Reminding me you were real

I open my parents’ front door and wave Evangeline inside ahead of me. The hallway is empty, but the sound of a large gathering floats to our ears from the back of the house.

“I’m starting to think this is a bad idea,” she mutters.

“A little late for second thoughts, Fairy. Besides, we’ve been cooped up for almost two weeks. It was either this or an ambush—and trust me, one was coming. This way we can leave whenever we want. And it’s a party. There will be cake. You love cake.”

“Ugh, stop it. I’m fine. This is fine. Everything’s fine.”

When she still doesn’t move, I give her a nudge between the shoulder blades. She snarls at me. I smile back until she sighs and trudges inside.

Hiding my relief, I follow.

The last two weeks have been incredible. They’ve also been super fucking intense. We haven’t written one song—we’ve written an album’s worth. We’ve talked and laughed and fought and fucked until our bodies literally stopped working. There have been countless moments of solace, softness, and peace.

But despite the intimacy of our renewed friendship , she still won’t talk about Clay or her trauma. Not when she wakes me up thrashing in her sleep in the throes of a nightmare. Not when she comes back from what I call her Empty Place, where she shuts down and withdraws with a thousand-yard stare.

Even worse than the Empty Place, and happening with increasing frequency, are the times she erupts out of nowhere. Her tears, guilt, and negative self-talk afterward are slowly killing me, as is the fact nothing I say seems to make it any better.

I’ve never felt so close to her before. Or so far.

The emotional strain is affecting me. Not kissing her. Not telling her I love her. Not knowing whether I’m a stop on her journey or the destination. Not knowing what she needs but suspecting more and more that it isn’t me…

We both need a distraction.

Halfway down the hallway, Evangeline glances aside at a mirror. She makes a face and halts, pulling the tie from her hair and fussing with the strands.

“You look beautiful.”

I brace for an angry denial, but when she meets my stare in the mirror, her eyes are soft and sad. “I should have washed it again this morning.”

I slip my hand up her back and curl my fingers around the nape of her neck.

Her hair is soft on my skin—and a lot lighter than it was two weeks ago.

It’s now more of a honeyed blonde. She hates it.

If it weren’t for me, she’d be in the shower twice or more a day, trying to speed along the fading process of something called toner.

“I washed it for you yesterday,” I murmur, dragging my lips over the back of her head and inhaling. “And I have hair-washing rights for the rest of the week.”

Her lips shift into an almost smile. “I still think you cheated.”

“Nope. You just suck at Gin Rummy.”

She snorts .

“There you two are!”

We turn to see our moms walking toward us, both of them beaming. I gently squeeze the back of Evangeline’s neck, bending to whisper, “If you get overwhelmed, hide in my bedroom.”

She nods subtly. The moment my touch leaves her neck, a practiced smile slides over her face, her eyes lighting up. She rushes forward to hug both women, then she and Sophie walk arm in arm down the hallway and vanish around the corner.

A pointed throat clearing brings my attention to my mom. Before she can voice the concern I see brewing in her eyes, I pull her into my side.

“I’m okay, Mom. I’ve honestly never been this happy.”

She makes a soft, sympathetic sound. “Or this sad.”

I grunt as the words land. “That too.” I give her a squeeze, then let her go. “Thanks for putting this together.”

She smiles. “Of course. We’re missing a lot of the crew, but that’s what you get with a bunch of twenty-somethings in the mix. All the old folks are here, though.”

Emma’s distinctive screech carries down the hall before tapering into a high-pitched giggle. A chorus of adult laughter follows, including Evangeline’s. A knot inside me releases.

My mom adds with a grin, “And the star of the show. Come on, let’s go see everyone.”

My phone vibrates. Glad for the excuse to have a few seconds alone, I pull it from my pocket. “Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

With a squeeze of my arm and a soft smile, she walks away. I lift my phone to my ear as I turn and veer into what used to be the piano room.

“Shelley? What’s up?”

My publicist’s voice is sharp as ice and freezes me mid-step.

“I just got off the phone with one of my media contacts. You were right.”

I sag against a bookshelf. “Fuck. How much time do I have?”

“Monday morning.” She pauses. “Most major entertainment outlets.”

Frissons of anxiety skitter up my legs, wrapping spiked tendrils around my chest.

Two days.

Since that lunch in Los Angeles four months ago, I’ve known this was coming. Clay was never going to go down without a fight. His ego is too big, his pockets too deep, and he hates me almost as much as I hate him .

But I thought I’d have more warning. More time to prepare.

As panic roars in my ears, I realize he must have found out Evangeline was with me.

There’s no way the leak came from the security guard who let her through the gate, so she must have picked up a tail somewhere in Seattle.

Maybe when she landed or at her parents’ house.

Hell, for all I know, there was a telephoto lens on the speedboat we saw when we were on the beach last week.

I remember thinking it was strange when it slowed as it passed.

Chances are I’ll never know. This is Clay’s hometown. Between his shady contacts and his father’s, it was only a matter of time.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. He’s calling my bluff.

The reckoning is here.

“Wilder?” Shelley’s tone tells me it’s not the first time she’s said my name.

“I’m here. What’s the angle?”

“What you thought it would be.” For the first time since meeting Shelley eight years ago, I hear a tremble in her voice.

The first zings of anger heat my blood. “Is fact-checking not a thing anymore? Everyone’s willing to publish whatever stupid rumor will sell more ad space?”

She hesitates. “He went to the press himself. It’s an interview. My source is trying to get her hands on it, but I’m not hopeful.”

I clench my teeth so hard pain blooms in my temples. “Fucking figures. He’s made a career off convincing people of lies.”

“I promise you, Wilder, we’ll fight this with everything we have. The second we get off the phone, I’m sounding the alarm. Cease and desist letters will be sent within the hour. It might stop them.”

We both know it won’t stop them all, or even most. Especially if the story was juicy enough to be grabbed by multiple outlets. That means whatever is coming was deemed as having enough merit to risk defamation suits. It means he’s already convinced people.

Shelley knows as well as I do that no matter what she does, no matter how good my lawyers are or how aggressive our defense is, I won’t escape unscathed. And that means Evangeline won’t, either.

I look across the room at where the Steinway used to sit, now occupied by cozy armchairs. My vision blurs. In the distortion, I see two kids huddled on the piano bench arguing about a song bridge.

The fire in my blood flares hotter.

“Call Anita Allman and make sure she knows what’s coming. Tell her what I told you last month.”

“Wilder— ”

“No,” I interject firmly. “Her job is to protect her client, not me.”

She huffs in frustration. “Fine, but we both know it won’t be up to her. And from everything you’ve told me about Eva, she’s not going to let you take a fall to save her own face. Neither will Lily Aoki—you’re her kid’s godfather, for Christ’s sake.”

“I know,” I assure her. “All I need Anita to do is stall them from making any statements for a few days.”

In the following pause, I imagine her eyes narrowing to slits behind her glasses. “Is this about the hint you dropped last month? If you have ammunition up your sleeve, now’s the fucking time to share it!”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s not my information to share. I’ll be asking someone else to put their neck on the line. I’ll talk to them today, but I need you to proceed like we don’t have a smoking gun.”

Shelley’s exhale crackles in my ear. “Fine. Sorry for snapping. Keep your head up, okay? A lot of people have your back. In fact, I think you’re going to realize just how loved you are.”

My throat thick, I say, “Thanks, Shelley. I’ll get back to you soon.”

As I end the call, movement snaps my head toward the hallway. My dad’s eyes lift from the phone to my face. He frowns in concern .

“I only heard the end. Is it happening?”

I nod. The tiny movement is an earthquake, cracking my control. My next breath is a strangled gasp. He rushes forward right as my legs give out, catching me and lowering me to my knees. He guides my head down, a warm hand on my back.

“Breathe, Wild.”

He counts for me, breathes with me, until the worst of the dizziness passes. I lift my head, still shaky and slightly nauseous.

“It’s over for me, Dad.”

“You don’t know that,” he says gruffly.

“What I know is to not underestimate Clay Eaton.” I shake my head with a resigned sigh.

“As fucked up as it sounds, I don’t even care about losing my career.

Not for my sake, at least. And as hard as it will be for all of us, the guys will recover.

They’ll move on. All I really care about is how it will affect Evangeline.

Whatever Clay is about to throw at me will follow me no matter what.

I can’t protect her from it—from me. Once again, I’m going to fuck up her life. ”

My dad’s eyes burn with intensity. “I had a similar mindset once. Martyrdom with a side of victimhood. You know what it got me? Almost dying in a car accident and losing your mother.”

I stare at him in shock; he smiles grimly.

“Trust me, Wilder, women don’t want our protection—at least not the kind where we decide what they can and can’t handle.

What they want is to be invited to fight our battles beside us.

” He clasps my shoulder, placing his other hand over my heart.

“Who you shouldn’t be underestimating is Evangeline .

Stop treating her like she’s fragile when she’s always been your greatest source of strength. ”

The words resonate, sending chills down my body. Whatever expression I’m wearing lifts my dad’s eyebrows.

“What? Did I say something profound?”

My laugh is closer to a wheeze. “Something like that.”

“Good. Oh, one more thing.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out what I call his talisman: a vintage pocket watch that was a gift from his first sponsor before he died. He grabs my hand and puts it in my palm. “I want you to have this.”

I look down at the watch, my fingers tingling. I’ve never seen him without it, and holding it feels surreal. Like I’m staring at a vital piece of who he is.

“I can’t take this. No way.”

“Then consider it a loan. You can return it when you don’t need it anymore.”

My thumb grazes the surface his own has worn smooth over time. A painful memory floats forward of him sitting beside my hospital bed, head down, thumb moving in circles over the metal.

“How am I supposed to know when I don’t need it anymore?”

He smiles serenely. “Sounds like a you problem.”

With a rough laugh, I press the catch at the base near the silver chain. The case pops open, revealing the familiar off-white face with thin, black Roman numerals, the hour and minute hands forever stuck.

“Thanks for the broken watch.” The emotion in my voice outweighs the sarcasm.

“That’s the point,” he says with a squeeze of my shoulder. “Nothing’s perfect, Wild. All of us are a little broken. If we let go of trying so hard to make everything work the way we want it to, we get to see how beautiful that brokenness is.”

I smirk. “Twice a day, at least.”

“Smart-ass.”

He stands and offers me a hand. I let him pull me to my feet, then close the watch and tuck it in my pocket.

“I’m going to find somewhere more private to call Kendra.”

He nods, pulling me in for another tight hug. “We’re with you, son. Don’t forget that.”

“Thanks, Dad.”