Page 7 of Last Chorus (A Perfect Song Duet #2)

I huff a humorless laugh, and his gaze shifts to the lights of downtown.

“I’m ashamed to say it took me a while to see what was happening.

Clay is really good at camouflaging control as care.

Better than my ex, that’s for sure. But after months of perfect behavior, he started slipping up when I was in the room.

Making comments about her diet, clothing, who she was spending time with. ”

“What the fuck,” I whisper, but Martin doesn’t seem to hear me, his gaze turned inward.

“Eva started second-guessing herself over the littlest things. Withdrawing from me, from Lily and Rye, and relying on Clay’s opinion for everything.

” His haunted eyes find mine. “She doesn’t see it because she can’t.

He spun his web around her so slowly she didn’t notice, and now she’s wrapped up tight.

Dependent on him. I don’t know what to do. ”

Mud replaces blood in my veins, making my heartbeat sluggish. I stare at the lights of downtown, wavering like a mirage—like my entire reality.

This is a lot fucking worse than I thought. Than Lily and Rye thought. And Sophie and Matt’s distress suddenly makes a lot more sense.

“I just spoke to Lily and Rye a few days ago,” I murmur. “They’re not fans of Clay’s, but they have no idea it’s as bad as you say. ”

Martin hears my unspoken question. “When Clay came into the picture, Lily was about to pop out a baby. She was nesting and shit. I was around Eva a lot more.” His mouth pinches with guilt.

“When I saw them in Seattle last year, before I quit, everything seemed great. Eva seemed great. I convinced myself it was all in my head, that I was projecting my own trauma onto her. And I stupidly let it go, forgetting how good these motherfuckers are at playing the long game.”

Dipping his chin, he makes a choked sound.

“I didn’t even know Eva moved down here until I read it online.

She hasn’t returned my calls for months.

When I saw her tonight, I wanted to throw up.

She looks unwell. There’s no spark in her eyes.

And that dress and those heels? Come on.

My Eva would never. God, I don’t know what to do. ” He covers his mouth, muffling a sob.

Bouncing thoughts coalesce into a roiling mass of fear. My scalp prickles in warning right before vertigo hits. I swing forward, bracing my hands on my knees.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

Miraculously, my panic stalls at a rolling boil instead of overflowing into a full-blown attack.

“Oh God, are you okay? Shit—I’m an idiot. I was already planning on calling Lily tomorrow, but then I saw you…” He makes a shrill, distressed sound.

“I’m okay,” I grunt .

Martin pats my back. Hesitant, light taps like he’s afraid I’ll take a swing at him. The thought brings a burst of caustic hilarity, which in turn dials my anxiety down another notch.

Waving him off, I straighten my spine one vertebra at a time. When I’m upright, I dig my fingers into my hair, clenching them and concentrating on the slight burn until my mind clears.

“I’m really sorry, Wilder. I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you. Especially since?—”

“I’m fine. Just got dizzy.”

He doesn’t look convinced but thankfully doesn’t continue his thought, which I’m sure was something along the lines of, Especially since there’s nothing you can do or say to help her because she can’t even stand to look at you .

My breath hitches in my still-tight chest. “I’m only here in the first place because you’re not the only one worried about her. So I came to see for myself. What you’ve said is a lot to take in. What I saw is a lot…” I trail off, unable to put words to the tangled knot of guilt and worry inside me.

“Hey. This isn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

I’m surprised for the few seconds it takes for me to remember he heard me speak at the convention.

I might not have said Evangeline’s name, but I shared candidly about the guilt I carry—will always carry—for hurting the girlfriend I loved deeply.

And like my sobriety, Evangeline’s and my shared history is an open secret.

I look away from the knowing glint in his eyes.

“Left down the main hallway. Second door on the right.” Martin’s voice is low, vibrating with sudden fervor. “I left her wrapped in a blanket on the bed and half-asleep. I’ll run interference if I see Clay.”

My head whips toward him. His brows lift expectantly, an unmistakable challenge in his eyes.

I bark a disbelieving laugh. “Are you for real? She literally fled when she saw me. Better that I bring what you’ve said to her parents, to Lily and Rye, and they?—”

“Maybe you’re right,” he interjects, his expression torn between worry and conviction. “But can you really leave without trying?”

I huff and drag a hand through my hair again, no doubt making it even more chaotic than usual. “Think you know me, huh?”

His lips twitch. “Pretty much.”

I look at the house, at the door leading inside.

To her.

“Fuck it.”

As I stride away, Martin calls, “Thatta boy!”

I flip him off over my shoulder, his startled laugh swallowed by voices as I part the crowd with my steps.