Page 63 of First Verse

“I’m not sick,” I assure him. “I just…” I trail off, my gaze bouncing around the familiar, cluttered room. Over assorted instruments, amps and mics, bookshelves of sheet music, bundled cords and the ancient whiteboard.

A soft pain spreads through my chest. When I look back at Micah, I see he feels it, too. And he knows.

“You’re leaving?” he asks in a cracked whisper, all traces of bravado gone.

I nod and clear my tight throat. “I am.”

His thoughts play clearly across his face—panicked reasoning, then relief—so I’m not surprised when he asks, “Where are you going? My mom will totally drive me. Or if you’re, like, moving to another state, we can do online lessons, right?”

My smile hurts, not because it’s forced but because it feels like the rest of me: happiness eddying against the cliff of unavoidable loss.

“Actually, I signed a recording contract with Indigo Records yesterday. After next week, I’ll be taking a hiatus from teaching.”

His jaw drops. “Indigo Records? Holy shit! That’s amazing.”

I laugh even as I wag a finger at him. “No cussing. And thank you.” I glance at the clock over the door. “We have twenty minutes left, so let’s use them. We can talk more about it when your mom gets here.”

Unsurprisingly, my words fly in one ear and out the other. “This is so freaking cool. I’ll know someone famous. Will you hook me up when I’m older? Introduce me to people? I can’t wait to tell my friends at school. They’re gonna flip.”

Biting back a smile, I say as sternly as I can, “Let’s focus, Micah,” but a sudden knock on the door undermines my effort. Micah grins at me as I sigh and call out, “Come in.”

The owners’ daughter, Molly, pokes her head inside. A student at the nearby University of Washington, she works the front desk occasionally. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes shining with a manic light as they veer from Micah to me.

“You have a visitor,” she stage-whispers.

I frown. “I’m in the middle of a lesson. They can wait or leave a message.”

She expels a breathy giggle and glances at Micah again. “Actually, he said he’s here specifically to sit in on your lesson. And Ireallythink Micah would like him to.”

Understanding hits, knocking my stomach down an elevator shaft.

Wilder.

I haven’t seen him since Sunday morning. He was still sleeping when I left for brunch at my parents’ and was gone when I got home. He later texted to tell me he would be rehearsing late. We’ve exchanged sporadic texts for the last two days, a fact I’ve shoved in a mental box along with the nagging fear that something changed Saturday night. That what we shared—which made me feel closer to him than ever before—had the opposite effect on him.

Even if I’dwantedto confront him about the sudden distance between us, there’s been no time to do so. Yesterday was a whirlwind. Lily and I spent the morning with my dad and his lawyer, prepping for the meeting at Indigo. After the meeting—which went exactly like Wilder said it would—we met my family, Rye, and Lily’s dad for a celebratory dinner that lasted several hours. By the time I got home, all I had the energy to do was shower and pass out.

Wilder did call me this morning, but I was listening to an online lecture for one of my classes. And even though I had time before work, I didn’t call him back. I’m not entirely sure why.

Now that he’s physically here, suppressed emotions roar through me. Uncertainty. Anxiousness. Yearning. I want to see him almost as much as I want to hide in the nearby supply closet.

“So? Can I show him back?” asks Molly.

I look at Micah, his confused but curious face making the decision for me. I nod at Molly and she disappears.

“What’s going on, Ms. Sullivan? Who’s here?”

Instead of answering, I reach over and switch on the amp his guitar is plugged into. A soft, crackling hum fills the air as the door opens again.

Wilder walks inside with his battered guitar case, looking like dirty sex from the toes of his boots to his inked arms, faded Misfits T-shirt, and jeans that fit so well they should be outlawed for the sanity of humankind.

I can’t control the wave of heat that spreads from my chest, pooling and pounding in my head and between my legs.

He flashes me a look so carnal I have to fight not to squirm on my stool. Thankfully he glances away just as fast, approaching Micah with an easy grin.

“Hey, man,” he says to the boy whose face has gone slack with shock. “I was wondering if I could join you for a bit?”

CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE

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