Page 44 of Last Chorus

I laugh, sniffing back tears. “Ugh, you’re right. It’s so bad.” Another memory abruptly appears, and I groan in embarassment. “I puked on Wilder, didn’t I?”

She nods, failing to hide her amusement. “A fewtimes. I cleaned you up and got you out of your dress, though. In case you were worried.”

I nod, wincing. “I’m remembering now. Thanks for doing that.”

“Sure. I would have stayed up with you, too, but I literally couldn’t keep my eyes open, and Emma…”

“No, no. I completely understand.” I laugh weakly. “I can’t believe Wilder babysat me all night. What alternate dimension is this?”

She smirks. “A good one, trust me. Just wait until you try his French toast.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

evangeline

Four ibuprofen and washing my hair three times in the world’s longest, hottest shower bring me most of the way back to the land of the living. Fresh clothes and minty breath do the rest. I’m still hungover, my eyes aching and limbs weak, but at least I’m clean.

Dressed in a pair of stretchy black leggings and a baggy, faded T-shirt from Glow’s first tour, I venture out of the bedroom. I make my way through the quiet house to the kitchen, where I find Rye sipping coffee. When he sees me, he stands and gestures to a stool at the island, then moves to the oven.

I sit, murmuring thanks as he sets a warm plate of thick, browned brioche slices in front of me and slides three small bowls my way. Powdered sugar, maple syrup,and fresh blueberries and raspberries. Despite lingering queasiness, my stomach growls.

I pop a berry in my mouth. “Where is everyone?”

“My mom took Emma down to the beach for a bit, and Lily’s showering. Coffee?”

“God, yes. Thank you.”

He pours me a cup, topping it with half and half before sliding it my way. I take an eager gulp as he hops back onto his stool.

“And where’s… the chef?”

Rye’s smile doesn’t reach his exhausted eyes. “He went to see some friends.”

I glance at the clock on the oven. “Before nine on a Monday?”

He takes a sip of his coffee, avoiding my eyes. “Wilder went to a meeting, Eva. The sober kind. He should be back soon.”

Realizing I’m drowning my plate in syrup, I hastily set the bowl down. “Oh. Well, it was nice of him to cook breakfast.” We both wince at my too-cheerful tone. Thankfully, he doesn’t comment.

I distractedly cut into my French toast. Did Wilder go to a meeting because of me? I hadn’t considered that dealing with me drunk might have been triggering for him.

Of course it was, idiot.

My appetite fades, but I make myself take a bite.

“Holy shit,” I mumble.

Rye snorts. “Right?”

I chew and swallow. “Are you guys still going to Disney today?”

“As much as it pains me to say it, yes. Leaving in thirty if you want to join.”

“I’d rather stab myself.”

He smirks. “Wilder said the same thing.”

I swallow another mouthful. “Did he seem okay? When he left?”

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