Page 82 of First Verse

At the end of the day, a rock musician addicted to drugs isn’t nearly as sensational as the dirt I have on the Eatons.

And she knows it.

* * *

It isn’tuntil we’re back at Evangeline’s house, showered and curled up on her couch with a movie on, that she asks the question I’ve been expecting and dreading.

She would have asked the second I dropped the bomb of who Clay’s sister was on her, but before she could, Rye and Lily found us. The women couldn’t leave before saying a round of goodbyes and thank yous. Then we had to collect their instruments and belongings from the suite and wait for a valet to bring our cars. By the time Evangeline was buckled into my passenger seat, she was half asleep, and within five minutes she was out.

Between the half-hour cat nap and a shower when we got home—during which me washing her hair turned into desperate, slippery sex—she’s now sleepy but lucid. I’ve been pretending to watch the movie while counting down the final minutes of my reprieve.

“What did Kendra want?”

“To start a fight,” I say with a sigh. “She thrives on stirring shit up and causing a scene. When I didn’t take the bait, she gave up.”

Even shittier than lying to Evangeline is the knowledge I brought tonight on myself. The only reason Kendra was at the showcase at all was because of me. Four days ago, I reached out to her under the pretense of clearing the air and apologizing for how abruptly I dumped her. The real reason, however, is currently buried in my sock drawer at home.

Because I’m a worthless addict.

I fuckingknewit was a mistake to call Kendra, just like I knew she wouldn’t believe me when I told her I didn’t want anything from her but pills. In her messed-up head, we’re perfect for each other. She doesn’t see our relationship as having been toxic because she’s never known anything else. But even knowing that talking to her would bite me in the ass, I hadn’t been able to stop myself.

My dad’s sobriety books say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.

Bullshit.

The second I admitted it to myself, the line I’ve balanced on for years disappeared. I’ve fallen to the bottom of a well I dug myself, and every pill I take drops another bucket of sludge over me. I’m going to drown in the poison of my own making; it’s only a matter of time.

So far, I’ve been able to avoid appearing visibly high around Evangeline, but my willpower wanes every time I lose the daily battle with myself. Every time I tell her I have to go home for a bit, or run an errand that doesn’t exist. Every time I lie to her and to Jax, who still thinks I’m sober.

In the mere seconds of silence as I wait for Evangeline to speak, I see a future wherein every scrap of goodness in my life burns away. Because I’m too weak to stop lighting matches.

“Is that how you met her? At an industry event because her stepbrother and father are entertainment lawyers?”

Despite how little I want to talk about the Eatons, I’m relieved at the distraction from my thoughts.

“Stepfather,” I say, struggling to keep the disgust out of my voice. “And yes. Conrad Eaton gets invitations to everything. He’s the guy everyone hates to need.”

“Huh. I’d never even heard of the Eatons until tonight.”

I twirl a strand of her clean, damp hair around my finger. Focusing on physical sensations—the slight friction of individual hairs, the scent of her shampoo—I can almost,almost, ignore the burn beneath my skin.

“Consider yourself lucky.”

She rubs her nose against my chest and sniffs me, an adorable habit that makes me feel like the luckiest asshole in the world. I doubt she even knows she does it, and I’ll never draw attention to it for fear of her stopping.

“What’s so bad about them?” she asks on a yawn.

I shift in discomfort. I don’t want to lie, but I also don’t want to give her nightmares.

“Wilder?”

Her voice is more alert, and I wince internally. “They do all the usual shit for artists—negotiating contracts, licensing, copyright issues—but they’re also criminal defense attorneys.”

Evangeline sits up and frowns at me. “You’re being vague on purpose.”

“Because I don’t want to upset you.” Her frown deepens, and I sigh in defeat. “Remember when we were looking for a lawyer to negotiate our contract with Indigo four years ago? Eaton and Associates came up as an option, and I asked my dad about them. He warned me off them pretty forcefully. He didn’t tell me anything specific, but I’ve heard enough since then to figure out why. Conrad and Clay aren’t known for their integrity.”

Knowing she won’t stop digging until I give her something concrete, I make myself continue.

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