Page 14 of First Verse

“You’re a piece of shit, Wild. I love Eva like a sister. She’s my best friend in the whole world. I thought you were my friend, too. I thought you wereherfriend.”

When I don’t say anything, he shakes his head slowly. His anger drains away, replaced by pity. My skin crawls.

“You’ve always been a moody fuck, but the last year has been off the scale. Get some help, man. None of us want to see you crash and burn.” He spins on his heel and stalks into the hallway, yelling back at me, “Burgers are ready, asshole.”

Tossing my keys to the floor, I flop back onto the bed and press the heels of my hands into my eyes. A mistake I realize too late as Eva’s delicious scent invades my nose. I hold my fingers to my face, breathing her in until I can’t stand it anymore. Then I sit up and grab my phone, shooting a text to Christine to cancel.

Maybe I didn’t mean to hurt Eva physically, but I definitely meant to shock and hurt her emotionally when I said that vulgar shit and called Christine right in front of her.

Rye’s right.

I’m a piece of shit.

Muted footsteps in the hallway bring my head up. Twisted anticipation dies suddenly when Matt Sullivan appears. One look at his face tells me I’m about to get my ass handed to me. While I’m not worried that Eva ran downstairs and told her dad I fingered her, shewason the verge of tears when she left my room. Matt knows I’m the reason his daughter was crying.

I open my mouth.

“Don’t bother, kid,” he says, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing muscular, tattooed arms. “Shut up and listen. I came here to thank you.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

A mirthless smile curves his lips. “Eva’s been thinking about leaving the band since before you signed to Indigo. She stayed for you, to support your dream. You know something else? The music she makes alone sounds nothing like Night Theory. It’s fucking good, though. Got this dark, electro-pop vibe.”

She makes music without me?

“Anyway,” Matt continues like he didn’t just shatter a fundamental pillar of my reality. “I don’t know what you did to make her finally cut the co-dependent cord between you guys, but regardless of your motives, it was the right thing to do. You feel me?”

I nod numbly.

“Also—and this is important, so open your punk-ass ears—I’m not happy Eva’s hurting, but in the long run, it’s a good thing. Because you and I both know you’re not it.” I’m confused until he adds, “She deserves more than you’re capable of giving. On every. Fucking. Level. Wanna know how I know?”

My stomach churns at the implication he’s aware that whatever Eva and I are, it’s more than friends. Unable to hold his stare, I lower my head. Knowing it’s futile, I still quip, “No, thanks.”

“Tough shit,” Matt says lightly. “I know because looking at you is like staring into the past. But unlike all the idiots on the outside, I’m not implying you’re Julian 2.0.”

I look up, stupidly hopeful.

His blue eyes spear me. “You’re ten times worse. Stay the fuck away from my daughter, Wilder.”

“Jesus Christ,” I hiss, rubbing my face—again, a mistake, because all I smell is his daughter’s pussy. At least my windows are all open, and my jeans are black, so he can’t see the wet spot she made.

Matt knocks his knuckles against the doorframe. He turns to leave, then pauses. “Final piece of advice?”

“Sure, why not,” I say bitterly.

“You’re a helluva songwriter and musician. Maybe even better than your dad, though I’ll deny it if you tell anyone I said that. But if you keep treating the people who love you like currency, you’re gonna go bankrupt. And when that happens, all the fame in the world won’t be worth a damn thing.”

With a final nod, he disappears.

“Whatever,” I mutter to myself. “That makes no fucking sense.”

Except the longer I sit here thinking about the fact Evangeline makes her own music just fine without me, the more sense it makes.

I’ve been using her for years, since the first song we made together. Sucking away at the bond between us, treating her like a commodity to be consumed. All for my benefit. To make my dreams come true. Not hers—never hers. I don’t even know what her dreams are, having always assumed they aligned with mine.

When was the last time I asked her anything about herself? Does she want to pursue a solo music career? Go to college? Why does she rent that crumbling house and never buy shit for herself when she has a giant trust fund?

A shaky feeling overtakes my body as I realize the one person I thought I knew better than anyone might actually be a stranger. What I thought was solid ground is crumbling under my feet.

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