Page 38 of Last Chorus

“Never mind,” I say quickly. “Stupid question.”

Obviously Wilder left to meet his bandmates. It’s notlike he could have ridden with us, arrived at the event with us.

The sense of loss I feel is completely irrational. So is the fact it lingers until Clay arrives. Then shame takes centerstage inside me, followed swiftly by a dance of irritation and hurt when he says, “I thought we agreed on the cream chiffon dress, not this Morticia Addams shit.”

I pull away from him, glad Lily and Rye are saying goodbye to Emma down the hall.

“For fuck’s sake, Clay. This is vintage Versace.”

His eyes flash and narrow, but before he can say anything, Lily and Rye return. He’s immediately all gracious words and smiles. My irritation simmers as we file out to the limo. When Lily heads for the bench behind the driver, I take the seat beside her. Clay’s reaction is brief—a clenched jaw and searing glance—before he starts talking sports with Rye.

What happens next is my fault.

I’m not paying enough attention to the conversation, focused mostly on quelling my internal chaos as I gaze out my window at passing scenery.

Then Rye says, “I had no idea you were into baseball, man. We should catch a few Mariners games this summer.”

“This summer?” echoes Clay.

I whip my head around, but it’s too late.

Rye smiles and nods. “You’ll be coming up with Eva, right? God knows we’ll barely see them the first few weeks they’re in the studio. Plenty of time for us to catch a game or two.”

My body flashes cold, every muscle locking, my mind blanking.

Clay’s laugh is a harsh, truncated burst. “What are you talking about? They’re not recording this summer.”

Lily sucks in a shocked breath.

Rye’s eyes dart to me. He blanches, then coughs. “I mean, I, uh—just some wishful thinking on my part. Wouldn’t that be cool?” No one acknowledges the obvious lie.

If I were braver, if I had a voice at all right now, I’d tell Rye this isn’t his fault. I’d take accountability. Come clean to Clay, to my friends, all three of whom I’ve wronged.

For weeks, I’ve offered and omitted pieces of myself as needed. All to maintain a laughable facsimile of control over my life. Now Clay knows I’ve been lying to him, and my friends are probably confused as hell.

“Explain yourself, Eva. Right. Fucking.Now.”

Scratch that—now they know something is seriously wrong with my relationship. For the first time in front of them, Clay has dropped all pretense. His voice oozes somuch menace that I flinch, Lily gasps, and Rye turns toward him with a furious glare.

Before they can come to my defense and make everything a thousand times worse, I force my numb lips to move.

“Later.” I gesture weakly to his window.

Clay glances outside to see that we’re nearing the arena. For the rest of the short drive, he stares at me and seethes.

No one says a word.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

wilder

I made a mistake

Tasting you

Before I knew

What starving was

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