Page 56 of Last Chorus

Before my brain decides to meander downTraumatic Memory Lane, I splash my face with cold water. Then I brush my teeth, moisturize, and finger comb my hair until I stop looking like I was drowned before being electrocuted.

Wilder still cares about me. I know he does. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have run after me. Nor would he have stopped me from leaving.

That his relief manifested as anger was no surprise. Everyone who loves me is acting the same way right now. I know they’re not angryatme—even Lily, who has every reason to be. Beneath their anger is helplessness, and beneath that is their fear for me.For my safety, my mental health, my future.

The way I unplugged and disappeared certainly didn’t help. It scared the hell out of everyone. But I don’t regret going. It was necessary.

Regardless of my tan, my time in Baja was anything but a vacation. With Martin’s unfailing support, I started deconstructing and processing the last two years. It was fucking exhausting. A nonstop emotional spin cycle of sadness, rage, numbness, hilarity, confusion, manic hope, and sluggish depression. It took a week for me to actually break down and let it all out. I cried for three days straight.

When I woke up on the fourth day, I felt it for the first time—the reason I’m here. Another crossroads.One that was always inside me, hidden behind the bricks I’d routinely stacked in front of it. I did my best to ignore it, but as weeks passed, it only grew clearer. Larger.Louder.Until I could no longer resist its call.

It doesn’t matter what I interrupted tonight or what might have happened. Nor does it matter that Martin might be right and this is too much, too soon.

What matters is that time is running out.

To forgive.

To repair.

To remember.

I’m pulling backthe covers on the bed, about to surrender myself to the lengthy process of falling asleep, when there’s a soft knock on the door.

My heart yaps, adrenaline flooding my body.

“Evangeline?”

With no denial buffering me anymore, the sound of my full name on his lips weakens my knees and shortens my breath.

I glance down at myself and wince at what I’m wearing: a pair of my brother’s old sweatpants and a Breaking Giants T-shirt I stole from my dad. But looking like a slob is what I get for leaving Baja for the Pacific Northwest’sversion of spring. Somewhere in Seattle, there’s a storage unit with all my stuff, but the details are buried among the thousand other emails I’ve ignored for the last two months.

Running my hands through my hair one more time, I move to the door and open it. I’m still not ready for the impact of him standing right in front of me, close enough to touch in flannel pajama pants and a soft gray T-shirt. His hair is brushed back, wet from his own shower. Dark bristles shadow his jaw and neck.

A magical forest lives in his eyes.

A midnight rainstorm brews in the air around him.

My, “Hi,” is embarrassingly breathy.

Wilder’s gaze travels around the room, pausing on my guitar case before returning to me. He smiles softly.

“Hi back. I wanted to make sure you were settling in okay. Do you have everything you need? Enough blankets? Towels?”

“Yes. I’m perfect. Super great. Your water pressure is godlike. Towels were fluffy. Ten out of ten.”

His eyes flare with amusement. I mentally slap myself and pray my tan hides the heat crawling up my neck.

“Sure you’re not hungry? I have leftovers I can heat up. It’s no problem at all.”

“Positive, thanks. And thanks again for letting meinvade your space. I’ll keep out of your way as much as possible.”

“Not necessary.” White teeth capture a corner of his lower lip, scraping gently before he clears his throat. “If you’re up before me tomorrow, feel free to eat and drink whatever. Or if you want to wait, I usually make breakfast around nine.”

I blink fast, my eyes burning. “Thank you.”

A dimple deepens on his cheek. “Please stop saying thank you. Just treat the house like it’s yours. There’s a studio out back, too. Used to be a guesthouse. You can get in with the key the guard gave you. There’s a piano out there and… stuff.”

He shifts on his feet. Scratches his jaw. Looks down the hallway and all around me but notatme. And even though I can hardly believe it, it finally sinks in.

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