Page 30 of First Verse

She wants a reaction. My jealousy. Possessiveness. Sometimes I pretend I feel them for her sake because while I don’t love her, I’m not a complete dick. But I can’t pretend tonight. I can’t feel anything but my need.

Bending forward, I brush a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Be safe,” I tell her.

“You too,” she whispers.

She walks away, her head held high, off to find an unsuspecting man or couple to keep her entertained. I wait thirty seconds, then follow, weaving through the throngs of people in search of a white-blond head. When I don’t see Evangeline in the living room or on the deck, I swallow a surge of trepidation. Has she left? Did she leavealone?

When I see Michael Dresden chatting up a brunette on a couch, I breathe a sigh of relief and pull out my phone to text her. My fingers hover over the screen.

What the fuck am I supposed to say?My girlfriend says I can fuck you, so are you down?

I rub my forehead.

“Wild! Did you see Eva?”

I turn to find Eddie and Jax approaching me from the deck, matching grins on their faces. The brothers look so similar they’re often mistaken for twins—or they were until Eddie adopted his signature neon-green mullet last year.

“I did,” I say, my fingers curling around my phone.

“It was so good to see her, right?” asks Jax. “She said she’s already getting calls from venues after that writeup from Illoka.”

Eddie nods rapidly. “She’s killing it. We have to catch her next show.”

I like Eddie and Jax. They’re great musicians, low-drama roommates, and all-around decent guys. I’ve even forgiven Eddie for kissing Evangeline before me.

But right now I want to strangle them both.

“I’m actually looking for her. Any idea where she is?”

Jax’s expression falls. “Sorry, man. She just left. Said she was tired.”

Eddie laughs. “She still hates parties.”

A knot of tension inside me releases.

I slip my phone in my pocket, then clap my hands to their shoulders. “Can you hold shit down here? Kick these fuckers out before dawn?”

Eddie blinks in confusion, but he’s thankfully too buzzed to put two and two together. Jax, on the other hand, raises a knowing eyebrow.

“Sure,” he says dryly.

Eddie lifts his beer in a salute, turning away from us to shout, “The Thompson brothers are in charge, assholes!”

There’s a chorus of laughter and cheers. Jax rolls his eyes. Someone cranks the music higher, and under Eddie’s encouragement, the entire living room turns into an impromptu dance floor.

I nod at Jax, then slip away in the chaos.

CHAPTERELEVEN

evangeline

Within twenty minutes of arriving home, I’m curled on my couch in pajamas, a cup of steaming tea on the coffee table, my Kindle in my hands. Everything is exactly as it should be. I’m relaxed. Alone. My peace restored.

No one will ever know that when I got home, I ran around like a crazy person turning on every light, opening every closet and door, until there were no more shadows.

What happened tonight—what almost happened—has gone the way of all my other memories of Wilder. Locked in a box, chained closed, and thrown into the Mariana Trench of my mind.

I refuse to go back to the dark place I was in after I left the band, when dwelling on the loss of him and everything we’d shared felt like slow suffocation.

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