Page 83 of First Verse

“There’s a reason I didn’t want you anywhere near Michael Dresden. Why whenever we’re in the same place, the guys and I keep a close eye on him. Last year, two women came forward with evidence he drugged and assaulted them. Within a month, the charges were dropped and both womenjust so happenedto move out of state. Clay was his lawyer.”

Her lovely face twists with dismay. “My God.” She pauses, and I can almost feel her mind working. “Kendra told you that?”

I nod. Kendra told me more, too. Like how Clay sent private investigators to harass and bully the women until they folded and fled.

Evangeline tucks her head under my chin. “That’s so horrible. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say you’ll stay away from that family.”

She nods. “I can’t believe Clay seemed so normal. What a creep.”

She yawns again, so hugely her jaw cracks.

“Come on, Fairy. Let’s get you to bed.”

She hums in agreement but doesn’t move.

Grabbing the remote, I turn off the movie we weren’t watching, then help her to her feet. Eyes half-lidded, she sways until I wrap an arm around her waist. She melts against me with a sigh, nose buried in my shirt.

“I love you, Wilder,” she mumbles. “I’m going to love you forever. Just like we promised.”

The words hit like a gut punch, stealing my air. Tears burn my eyes. Another bucket of sludge hits my head, burying me in more darkness.

Addict.

Liar.

Loser.

“I love you, too,” I choke out. “Forever.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE

evangeline

Despite having never painted toenails in his life, Wilder handles the tiny nail polish brush like he does chords on a guitar—with focus, confidence, and an annoying level of innate talent. He’s almost done with a second coat of the dark, opalescent blue polish. A warm hand cradles my ankle, occasionally sliding up to massage my bare calf or squeeze in chastisement when I move.

Sunlight diffuses through the glass slider behind him, bringing out hints of umber in his dark hair. Outside, newborn leaves glisten on the trees and bushes in my backyard, the memory of winter fading more with each passing day. The daffodils are in full bloom, a river of white and yellow confetti along the fence.

Soft music plays around us. My Kindle sits forgotten on my lap as I cradle a mug of coffee and watch the most incredible man I’ve ever known carefully paint my toenails. A man who spent yesterday afternoon helping me iron out lyrics and melodies for three new Glow songs, then insisted on cooking me dinner—which wasn’t even burned—and having me for dessert. The same man who woke me up this morning with back-to-back orgasms. Who followed me into the shower because he has a thing for washing me. Who made me coffee before rummaging under my bathroom sink for acetone, cotton balls, and nail polish because he noticed my pedicure was chipping.

It’s not even 10:00 a.m. and I want this every Sunday for the rest of my life. I wanthimfor the rest of my life.

“Come to brunch today.”

I don’t know who’s more surprised by my sudden words. We both freeze; his fingers briefly tighten on my foot, then relax. With a final swipe of blue on my pinkie toe, he caps the polish and sets it on the coffee table. As his eyes lift to mine, I brace for disappointment.

“Okay.”

“I completely understand—wait, what?”

He smiles slightly, giving my ankle another squeeze before gently relocating my foot to the floor. “Okay, Evangeline. I’ll go to brunch at your parents’ house.” He glances at his watch. “You normally leave around ten-thirty, right?”

I close my gaping mouth. “Really? You’re really okay with coming?”

He gives me a dry look. “Am I excited to face your dad? Not even a little bit. But I don’t want to keep our relationship a secret anymore. Not from your parents or the public. And if we don’t do it now, I’m not sure when we’ll be able to. The album drops in two weeks and we announce the tour two weeks after that. Our team thinks we’ll sell out fast and they’re already prepared to add dates on both ends. We could be on the road as early as the third week of May.”

My ears ring. He might be gone before my birthday. “That’s like… five weeks from now.”

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