Page 19 of First Verse

“You hate the song, don’t you?”

His voice is warm and deep and dark. Both achingly familiar and shocking. An uncomfortable, spinning feeling consumes me—a blurring carousel of longing, resentment, and nostalgia.

“No.” I clear my throat. “No, not at all. It’s phenomenal.”

“Liar,” he whispers.

Against all common sense, my lips quirk. How many times have we spoken this script? Hundreds.

“Finished art is arrested progress,” I tell him. “Time to let it go.”

He says his line. “I don’t know how.”

And I finish it. “Write another song.”

He’s silent for one second. Two.

“Do you hate me, Fairy?”

My heart races. My face tingles. I drag my knuckles over my cheek, finding it hot to the touch.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he says, then hangs up.

CHAPTERSEVEN

wilder

Crossing the sidewalk, I yank open the passenger door of Rye’s SUV and hop inside. When he just sits there, gripping the steering wheel so hard it looks like he’s trying to shape it into a square, I slap the dash. He jolts and turns to me with panicked eyes.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“She’s going to kill me.”

I scoff and finish buckling my seatbelt. “Come on. She won’t even know I’m there.”

“What about your parents? My parents?Her parents?Half the crowd is going to be people we’re related to or friends of people we’re related to. Plus, have you seen your Instagram account today? You have ninety thousand followers. Oh, and one of your videos went viral last night. God only knows why—you’re eating a fucking burrito. But you seriously think no one will recognize you?”

I grimace at the potential truth of what he’s saying. “I’ll keep my hood up and stick to the back of the club.”

“It’s not a big club!”

Rye tugs at his earlobe, a lifelong tell that he’s perilously close to a meltdown. They were epic when he was a toddler. I have no interest in seeing one from a two-hundred-and-twenty-pound former high school linebacker.

I make my voice calm and even—not difficult given the pill I took thirty minutes ago. “Like I already told you, I’m not trying to fuck up her night. I know she doesn’t want me there. If I have to listen from the freaking bathroom, I will.”

Rye nods a few times, relaxing marginally. Reaching into the backseat, he produces a beanie and tosses it in my lap. “Wear this. And don’t look directly at her. I know it’s been a while, but I doubt her Wilder-radar is broken.”

Warmth spreads through me at the words, but I shake it off. Probably the Oxy kicking in, which I’m now regretting swallowing. I’ll need to be careful to avoid my dad, who will take one look at my pinned pupils and lose his shit. But I wasn’t thinking about seeing him—I was thinking about staying calm in a crowded room. Mostly, though, I was thinking about seeing Evangeline and dulling my reaction to her.

“Thanks for doing this,” I murmur as I put on the beanie, pulling my sweatshirt hood over it.

Rye grunts and finally puts the car in gear. “I used to tell Eva all the time she needed to learn how to say no to you. I should take my own advice.”

There’s a pinch in my chest, but I ignore it and punch his bicep. It’s like hitting a brick. “It’s going to be fine, man. Trust me.”

“I trust you as much as gas station sushi,” he mutters.

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