Page 7 of First Verse

“We made a pact,” he murmurs, his breath tickling my lips. “Are you asking me to break it?”

I swallow hard, remembering the night we swore to never cross the physical line. It wasn’t long after I caught him with Christine. We were sitting on his bedroom floor with our guitars. We’d just written our best song to date—the same song that would eventually get us noticed by a scout from Indigo Records. We hadn’t known it then, of course, but we still had that feeling of achieving something impossible. Capturing lightning in a bottle.

We were grinning at each other. I don’t know who kissed who first, but I do remember him jerking away seconds after our lips touched. I remember the panic in his face as he jumped to his feet and started pacing, his voice shredding all the joy of the last moments.

“We can’t. No. That didn’t happen. We’re not going out like that, Evangeline. How many incredible bands have broken up because they couldn’t keep sex separate from the art? Too many. We can’t risk it.”

Reeling from his tirade, I hadn’t protested when he made me swear we’d never kiss again. Never touch. Never, ever fall in love.

One more promise made.

One more nail in our coffin.

Now, I summon the fraying threads of my dignity and snap, “I don’t want anything to do with you. You disgust me.”

His lips curl mockingly. “Oh yeah? That’s not what your pupils are telling me, or that pulse in your pretty neck.” His gaze drops over my chest, dragging along the sliver of skin between the robe’s lapels. When his eyes lift back to mine, they’re blazing with derision. “If you’re so horny, why didn’t you go home with Eddie? Or did he not pop that sweet little cherry yet?”

A flash of shock gives way to rage. “He did,” I lie. “My first time was perfect.”

His nostrils flare, his jaw flexing, eyebrows drawing together.

Lost in the chaos of us, I laugh bitterly. “What—you thought I was going to stay a virgin forever while you screwed every groupie over eighteen?”

His fingers tighten in my hair, sending more fiery bolts across my scalp. “He doesn’t deserve you,” he growls. “I don’t, either. But if you need me to fuck you, Evangeline, I will—if that’s what it takes to prevent you from throwing away our future. But I’ll never be your boyfriend. I’m more than that stupid label, and you’re more than that, too.Weare more than meaningless physical release.”

Something inside me breaks—the final piece of me that was holding onto impossible hope. A fresh swell of tears makes tracks on my face as I look up into eyes that no longer feel like a safe haven.

“Get out,” I whisper, my voice thin but unyielding.

His lips part as he sucks in a breath. His fingers spasm, releasing my hair, and I take a swift step back.

“Evangeline.” My name trembles in the air. “Please. I’m sorry. Just tell me what you want.”

“Get out of my house, Wilder. And leave the key.” My voice is strong now, as cold and hard as my newly fossilized heart. “Whatever we were is done. We broke it. It’s time to move on.”

With sluggish movements, he dips a hand in his back pocket and holds up a silver key. I snatch it from his fingers, then wrench open the front door. He walks past me, stalling on the threshold.

Not looking back, he says softly, “Maybe you’re right—maybe we’re broken. But we’ll never be done, Evangeline. Never.”

The second his foot is out of the way, I close and lock the door, then throw the key into a nearby bowl. Then I walk to the kitchen where my phone is charging on the counter. Adrenaline makes my fingers shake as I type a text and send it.

Fuck you Rye. I can’t believe you told him

My phone rings in my hand, a picture of Rye on the screen that normally makes me smile. His eyes are crossed, his tongue out. I jab the red X to decline the call. Seconds later, the device buzzes with a series of texts.

I’m so fucking sorry

Did you talk to him? What did he say?

Are you okay?

I suck. I’m sorry

After an internal war that lasts close to a minute, I sigh and text him back.

I’m fine. It’s done. I’ll see you at the barbecue tomorrow

I throw my phone back on the counter and drag myself to the couch, where I collapse and finally, finally let the last two years pour out of me in sobs.

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