Page 6 of First Verse

He thinks Rye and I are idiots for not taking advantage of our parents’ money; we think he’s a hypocrite and a snob. If he was only that, maybe this would be easier. But he’s also the most complex, beautiful, insanely talented person I know.

Dropping onto the couch beside me, he cradles his head in his hands. I steel my heart against the dejected curve of his shoulders. The sad fact is I can’t be certain if it’s an act or not.

At least he doesn’t seem to be drunk or high.

“Ihaveforgiven you for what happened in Vegas,” I say hesitantly. “But forgiving isn’t the same as forgetting. I can’t do it anymore. I’m tired of being your babysitter, of making sure you don’t run out of condoms, disappear for hours at a time, or choke on vomit?—”

“I get it,” he interrupts, hands falling as he straightens and faces me. “I got caught up in the bullshit. I’ll slow down. I promise.”

My heart pounds so hard my mouth tastes like pennies. I want to believe him—so, so badly—but it’s too late. If all we did was write songs and perform together, it might be another story. But that’s only a small part of the life we’ve chosen, and the insanity of the last two years has sucked the joy from it. From me.

Now that the rollercoaster of signing to a label, recording our debut album, and our first official tour has finally slowed, I want off the ride. Even if it means blowing up the most intimate, maddening, ecstatic partnership I’ve ever known and probably ever will. Even if I’m passing up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to have my music in millions of ears. Those are risks I’m willing to take—that Ihaveto take.

It’s a simple matter of survival. Thanks to the magic we make in the studio, the line between my head and heart is already blurred where he’s concerned. I have to get away from him before I cross the point of no return.

Falling in love with Wilder Ashburn will destroy me.

“I hope you do slow down,” I say carefully, “but I can’t be your conscience anymore. I want a life that’s mine, not one that’s an extension of yours. You and I both know the label will bend over backward to find you another keyboardist and backup vocalist. The album is taking off, and the tour created a ton of buzz. Besides, Night Theory is your baby, not mine. You’ll be fine without me.”

Desperation twists his features. The hand closest to me twitches like he wants to reach for me. But he won’t. He never does—sober, at least.

“Is this about the attention I’m getting? The spotlight? I wanted you to do lead vocals on half the album, but you refused! Fuck it—let’s rerecord. Take my guitar, take my mic. You can have whatever you want!”

“No.” Pain claws at my chest, propelled by the real agony on his face. “They don’t want me, Wilder. They never have. The label, the fans, they want you.Your voice, your presence. They need you.”

“But Ineedyou,” he grinds out, his unique, spotted irises flashing with fury. “You’re my fucking muse, and you know damn well I’m yours. Nothing will ever compare to us, to what we make together. You and me—we’re musical destiny. So you can’t leave me. You can’t. We’re endgame, Evangeline. We’re forever.Youpromised.”

I suck in a breath, heat blooming in my chest and face. Tears prick my eyes, my heart breaking and overflowing at the same time.

Those words… they’re weapons and he knows it. He knows all about my confusing feelings and he’s using them against me. There’s no mercy in his eyes. No remorse. Only anger and calculation.

“Fuck you,” I choke out.

His gaze sharpens and darkens. “If that’s what it takes, then let’s go.” He reaches for the hem of his shirt, lifting it enough for me to see a swath of taut, golden skin and a trail of dark hair.

“You’re unbelievable,” I snarl, leaping off the couch and knocking my shin against the coffee table in my effort to put space between us. I stalk to the front door and pull it open, ignoring the throb in my leg, the throb in my chest.

“I’m leaving the band. I’d really hoped we could handle this like adults, but I should have known better.”

He rises and moves around the couch, his eyes tracking me like a predator. I stand my ground even when he veers toward me instead of the door. Even when he towers over me and his intoxicating scent surrounds me. It’s not bodywash. Not cologne. Justhim, like he was born with a midnight rainstorm in his cells.

The heat from his body breaches my robe, sinking into my still-drying skin. His gaze drops to my mouth and my breath hitches. Ribbons of heat curl and twist in my belly and lower.

I hate that after everything I’ve seen, everything I know about him, my body still betrays me like it’s done for the last four years. Ever since I walked in on him getting a blowjob from Christine Buchanan, a girl he went to high school with. Until that moment, I’d been able tomostlyseparate his physical allure from my attraction to his mind, his soul. But when he’d looked at me standing frozen in his bedroom doorway, Christine’s head bobbing in his lap, and his eyes flared with something I’d never seen directed at me before, that boundary was erased.

I’ve been fighting a losing battle since.

“I hate you,” I whisper.

“No, you don’t,” he says huskily. “And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You want me so fucking bad and you can’t handle the fact I haven’t taken you.”

He steps even closer, his chest grazing my robe as his other hand pushes the front door closed. The soft click makes me flinch.

I scream at myself to move, but I can’t. Right now, I hate us both. Hate what we’ve become. But most of all, I hate that he’s right. I want him, and I can’t handle that he doesn’t want me back.

I’m powerless to protest when he grabs ahold of my messy bun and jerks it so that my head falls back. He doesn’t touch my skin—his unspoken rule—but he doesn’t have to. He’s all around me, his nearness caressing every inch of my body. A hot, prickling sensation shoots from my scalp, pulsing down my back to settle between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together, but it only makes the ache worse.

All I can do is stare up at him, silent tears of anger and misery pooling in my eyes as he lowers his mouth toward mine.

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