Page 35 of First Verse

There’s nothing remotely normal about my voice this time.

“Oh, honey.” She sets the box down on a drafting table. “Come sit.”

With no reasonable excuse not to, I drag myself to the armchair and collapse into it. Mom pulls over her rolling stool and settles in front of me. Grabbing my hands in hers, she leans forward until we’re eye to eye.

“It’s the new song, isn’t it? I’m sure it brought up a lot of complex feelings.”

“Um, yeah.”

She leans back an inch, her brows lifting.

I screw my eyes shut. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You just lied to my face.” There’s amusement in her voice. “You haven’t done that since you were four and tried to convince me the cat coveredhimselfin pink marker.”

Slipping my hands from hers, I rub my face. “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t really lie. The song did throw me for a loop.”And started this mess.

When she doesn’t say anything, I make the mistake of looking at her calm, compassionate face. My defenses crumble.

Cheeks burning, I whisper, “He came over Friday night.”

Her eyes widen and flicker to the left side of my neck. Specifically to the spot where I piled concealer over a hickey. My skin crawls. I’m hoping it’s a prelude to spontaneous combustion.

“Oh,” she whispers, then sits back, blinking fast. “Oh.”

I groan, dropping my head back to stare at the ceiling. “It was a mistake, Mom. It was—” I choke, my eyes stinging.Perfect. Mind-blowing.“I hate him so much.”

There’s a long pause. “You don’t hate him, sweetie.”

“It’s just us. You and me. Like it’s supposed to be.”

As his words whisper through my mind, I finally allow myself to feel them. My gut clenches, my heart pounding in thick misery. Tears push against my closed eyelids, forcing their way through my lashes.

“You’re right,” I concede, angrily swiping wetness from my cheeks. “What I hate is that he changed. I wish I knew what happened my senior year. One day he was the Wilder I’d always known, and the next day he was different. Like he had a… a poison inside him that spread so slowly I didn’t notice until it was everywhere. I think that’s the worst part—the guilt. I feel like he needed me to help him, but I didn’t even know something was wrong until it was too late. I lost him before I knew he was slipping away.”

My mom makes a soft, sad sound. She grabs my hands again, squeezing hard.

“Listen to me very carefully, Eva. You’re not responsible for anyone else’s mental health. The road Wilder is on is his to walk. We all worry about him, Rose and Julian especially. But they know there’s nothing they can do but provide support, set boundaries, and be there for him if he decides he’s ready for a change.”

My lungs atrophy, turning my voice brittle. “What are you saying?”

She sighs, her head briefly bowing. When it lifts, determination and sorrow shine in her eyes. “What changed back then was Wilder started having debilitating panic attacks. He refused to see a therapist or consider medication. Rose thinks he started using drugs to manage his anxiety and that over the years his using has progressed.”

Shock erupts from me in a breathless laugh. “What? No. I mean, sure, he smoked a lot of weed back then.”We both did.“And I’m sure he drinks and stuff now, but he’s always been super careful because of his family history…” I trail off at the unchanging expression on her face. My spine stiffens further. “He’s not an addict, Mom. He wasn’t loaded on Friday. I would have known.”

“Maybe not,” she says softly, but I can tell she thinks I’m being naive.

Maybe I am.

Was he on drugs?

The idea nauseates me.

I jerk to my feet, forcing her to push back the stool. “I have to go.”

“Eva, please?—”

“No! He’s not a fucking addict!”

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