Page 2 of Last Chorus

“We’re fine, thanks,” Sophie replies.

They follow me silently down the hallway, but as we enter the heart of the house, Sophie gasps. “This is absolutely stunning, Wilder.”

The open-concept living space is dominated by huge windows along the back wall that showcase a private beach and water beyond. The view is framed by the assorted pines and deciduous trees that crowd the six-acre property. One particular tree snags my gaze like it always does. It stands alone, thick trunk supporting a multitude of long, crooked branches, pale and bare for the winter.

A sycamore.

Sophie turns to me with a bright smile. “Rose showed me before and after pictures, but they didn’t do this place justice. You guys did an amazing job.”

A smile comes more easily this time. “Thank you. I’m pretty proud of it.”

With my touring schedule, it took close to three years to finish the remodeling since my dad and I were committed to doing most of the cosmetic workourselves. I’m more proud of this house than I am of my career success. It’s my sanctuary, the first place where I’ve felt completely at home since I was a child. More than that, though, it’s a physical embodiment and affirmation of the effort I put into rebuilding my life on a solid foundation.

Matt walks past us, his gaze trailing over the arched ceilings, sunroom-inspired dining space, modern kitchen, and adjacent living room. He doesn’t say anything as he veers toward a couch and sits. Posture rigid, he stares blankly at the waterline. Sophie trails after him, perching at his side and taking one of his hands in hers.

My skin buzzes as I follow and settle on the opposite couch. It takes conscious effort not to mirror Matt’s tension. I keep my arms relaxed, my hands folded loosely over my stomach.

No amount of breathing is going to help my heart rate at this point, so I do what’s sometimes necessary and simply sit with the discomfort.

To my surprise, it isn’t Sophie who breaks the silence.

“You’re probably wondering what we’re doing here.” Matt laughs shortly, dragging a hand through his pale hair.Herhair.

Since he’s cutting to the point, so do I. “I am, yes.”

His throat moves. “I owe you an apology.”

I wasn’t aware I was fidgeting until his words sink in and every muscle in my body stills.

Sophie gives him an encouraging nod, and he continues, “I’ve said some really fucked-up things to you over the years. Things you didn’t deserve.”

Is this why they’re here?The notion relaxes a knot inside me. Maybe this isn’t what I was afraid of, after all.

Smiling slightly, I tell him, “Nah. I definitely deserved them.”

Matt studies my face, then smirks. “You definitely did.”

Expression aghast, Sophie smacks his shoulder. Matt chuckles. Surprising everyone, including myself, I join him.

Sophie glances between us, mystified. “I think what my husband is trying—and failing—to say is that we’re extremely proud of you and the man you’ve become.”

A surge of embarrassment makes my voice gruff. “Thanks, Sophie.”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Matt jokes before sobering. He pins me with a stare. “In all seriousness, Iamsorry for the things I said. You needed support back then, but I was too caught up in my head to give it. I’ll always regret that. I’m grateful you made it through, Wilder.”

The gravity of the moment settles on my shoulders—not the heavy, clawed feeling of the past, but a light, comforting shroud. Goosebumps roll gently down my arms, and an old, internal scar fades.

“I appreciate that,” I murmur.

Sophie squeezes Matt’s hand, her eyes glassy as they shift to me. Her chin trembles, then firms. “For what it’s worth, we know you didn’t mean to hurt our daughter.”

I’ve barely processed her statement when Matt adds, “We know you loved her very much.”

Surprise forces air from my lungs too fast, leaving me dizzy. I lift my gaze to the ceiling, seeking an anchor, and see a knot on one of the beams. In the lumpy, imperfect circle, I find a modicum of calm. And in that calm is an instinct I can no longer ignore.

Lowering my gaze to Evangeline’s parents, I ask the question that’s become a nonstop irritant the last two days.

“She’s not okay, is she?”

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