Page 55 of First Verse

“Yes. Mostly online.” I take a hurried gulp of cooling coffee, then voice a thought I haven’t even told Lily. “I’m not sure I’ll keep going after this semester, though. We have the meeting with Indigo on Monday and if we sign?—”

“Whenyou sign.”

“When we sign,” I amend with a smile, “so much will change. I guess it all depends on the contract, the size of the advance, timeline for an album, how fast they want us on tour…” I trail off.

“The advance is going to be a lot.” His voice is soft and careful. “Based on the fact Donovan himself showed up last night and salivated all over you two, I’m guessing mid six-figures.”

My jaw drops. “What? No way. We’re unknowns.”

“You’re not, though,” he says with another tug on my hair. “Before you think I’m talking about who you’re related to, let me put it to you this way—no matter how close Donovan and your dad are, he’s a businessman first. He wouldn’t sign you at all if he didn’t think you’d make him truckloads of money.”

“Yeah,” I say vacantly. “Logically, I know that.”

I don’t realize I’m chewing on my thumbnail until he gently pulls my hand from my face.

“Come back, baby.”

My eyes jerk to his. He holds my gaze in a way only he can, with a magic that makes the world stop. “You can’t change who your parents are or that some people will automatically attribute your success to nepotism. It’s a shadow we can’t escape. You have to learn to ignore the negative noise.”

“Is that what you do? Ignore it?”

He smirks. “My music speaks for itself. Anyone who says I don’t deserve what I’ve earned is just jealous.”

My laugh blends with a groan. “Still an egomaniac, I see.”

He chuckles, then sobers. “I know it’s going to be hard for you to hear this, but you and Lily aren’t run-of-the-mill talent. You’re the Holy Grail—young and attractive, with a unique and commercially viable sound. I’m confident in Night Theory’s staying power in the industry, but in a hundred years we’ll be forgotten. Glow, on the other hand, has the potential for immortality. Your sound might very well shape a new generation of artists.”

At my horrified expression, Wilder laughs and kisses my forehead. “So cute. I can’t wait to remind you of this moment twenty years from now when I’m putting up yetanothershelf for your awards.”

Before I can even begin to process either of his predictions—my success, our longevity—he continues, “Back to what to expect after Monday. You’re right to think your life will change fast. The pressure will be on immediately and it’ll be intense as fuck. The landscape has changed even in the last few years, too. There’s so much more to do now. Social media is probably the most demanding and time-consuming, at least when you’re starting out. Then there’s a million small networking events, random shows, last-minute festival slots they maybe give you twenty-four hours’ notice for… and in the midst of it, recording an album, writing the next one, rehearsals, tour planning—” He stops suddenly, misinterpreting my blank expression. “Sorry. You already know all this.”

“I don’t, actually.” My skin prickles as I drain my mug, then slip off my chair to refill it. With my back to him, the next words are easier. “After leaving the band, I sort of disconnected from everything music and industry-related. I didn’t write songs for a year. Barely touched a guitar outside of giving lessons. For a while, I even thought I’d never go down this road again. Then I met Lily and it just… happened. My passion came back. I’m excited again. But I’m also freaked out because it feels overwhelming in a way it didn’t before.”

When he doesn’t say anything, I turn to find him staring at his lap with an expression I can’t read. Sensing my attention, he looks up.

“I’m glad you found Lily,” he says softly.

I study him, reading the tension around his eyes, and make myself address the elephant that has stomped into the room. “Are you? Glad that I’m making music with someone else?”

His chest rises sharply. “Yes. It would have been a tragedy if you gave up music.” He smiles, but a veil of sadness lingers in his eyes. “I guess everything happens for a reason.”

“Maybe,” I say mutedly. “It’s scary, though.”

“What is?”

A lump rises in my throat. I swallow it and avoid his eyes. “Doing it without you.”

His chair scrapes over the floor as he rises and comes to me. My mug is pulled gently from my hand and set on the counter. His arms enfold me, warm and solid.Midnight rainstorms.I lean against him, clinging shamelessly.

“You won’t have to do it without me,” he says into my hair. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry if I overwhelmed you. Next time tell me to shut up.”

I shake my head but don’t speak, afraid if I open my mouth all my fears will spill out. About the future. Abouthim.About the darkness I can’t see but worry hovers outside the light of this moment.

Wilder lifts my face in his hands. Sunlight streaks through a nearby window, turning his eyes into my favorite kaleidoscope of green, gold, and brown.

“I couldn’t write, either,” he murmurs. “That’s why the album took so long. Eventually I stopped fighting myself and wrote for you again. You may not have been next to me, but you were inside me. Every note, every word. You’re still my muse, Fairy.”

Lightning streaks down my centerline. My breath hitches.

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