Page 46 of Last Chorus

Wilder says quellingly, “Enough.”

“I’m sorry, Eva.” Rye’s voice is muted, his following steps swift as he leaves the room.

Then it’s just us. Wilder and me. But there’s none of the sparkling warmth I felt yesterday or this morning. No connection or comfort in his presence. No childhood bond or tentative new friendship.

I’m still alone.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

evangeline

“Don’t bother trying to explain, Wilder. Just leave me alone.”

I load the condiment bowls onto my plate, then grab my mug and carry everything to the sink.

Wilder,being fucking Wilder, ignores my demand, following and leaning a hip against the counter a few feet away. Refusing to look at him, I turn on the hot water, then grab a sponge and squirt too much soap on it.

I hate that he doesn’t tell me not to wash the dishes.

I hate that the last two years have proven to me, over and over again, that he and Clay could not be more different.

Yes, Wilder hurt me when we were younger. Both with his words and actions. In the months before I leftNight Theory, he was a total dick, and his behavior afterward was atrocious. Then, after ignoring me for three years, he seduced me on a false premise of honesty. Overwhelmed me with mind-blowing sex, intimacy, and promises of forever. All while he lied about his drug use, a fracture of trust that shattered my heart and tainted every second of our time together.

But in spite of being an asshole intermittently from nineteen to twenty-five, Wilder has never,not fucking once,made me feel as small, empty, and worthless as Clay.

“Will you look at me?” he asks softly.

I shake my head and keep scrubbing. The dishes are clean, but I can’t make myself stop.

“I’m sure this won’t be a surprise to you, but I’ve always felt different, even as a little kid.”

His voice is just loud enough to be heard over the faucet. I pour more soap on the sponge and keep scrubbing.

“In some ways, it was probably natural for me to compare myself to others. To look for a place I fit. But my units of measurement were wrong. I was comparing my insides to everyone else’s outsides. They never matched, so I invariably felt less than.”

I still don’t look at him, but my hands stop moving. Against my will, every part of me is listening.

“I have so many memories of watching you, Rye, and the other kids playing, laughing… I wanted to be a part of your joy, but my own conviction that I wasn’t good enough held me back. It happened in school. With Night Theory, too. In focusing on how different, how alone I was, I suffocated myself with shadows of jealousy, self-loathing, and fear.”

I didn’t notice him move, but he’s suddenly so close his chest brushes my shoulder. Heat spreads from the contact, radiating down my right side. I suck in a breath on reflex, inadvertently saturating myself with his scent. A hint of coffee beneath mint. A whisper of soap over his natural scent, that improbable fusion of dark forest, rain, and lightning.

A muscled, tattooed arm reaches into the sink. His fingers close around mine, squeezing them and the sponge I’m still holding. Suds explode, thick and silky.

His lips graze my temple. “I think it’s easy to forget we’re all just human. Inherently fallible. We think admitting weakness makes us weak, but it’s the opposite. Only the strong admit their failings and confront the deeply uncomfortable work of growing.”

A thumb wedges itself against my palm, rubbing slow circles. Gasoline hits the fires inside me, detonating in my chest, my face. Between my legs. My head empties, overwhelmed by the sensation.

I stop breathing as he shifts to stand behind me, then gasp as his other arm slips beneath mine to cage me between his body and the sink. His second hand joins the first, both of them now spreading slick bubbles over my hands and up my wrists. Strong thumbs knead tiny pressure points. Calloused fingertips enclose and twist around mine.

My breaths are staccato, my heart galloping, my pussy throbbing.

“Wilder?”

“Yes, Evangeline?” His teasing tone is so unexpected that it takes me a few seconds to answer.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Am I not being obvious enough? Here, let me fix that.”

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