Page 79 of Last Chorus

PART FOUR

bridge

bridge: a section of a song that provides contrast, variety, or tension.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

wilder

Your fingertips left marks

Living bruises I didn’t feel

Until I heard them like a heartbeat

Reminding me you were real

Iopen my parents’ front door and wave Evangeline inside ahead of me. The hallway is empty, but the sound of a large gathering floats to our ears from the back of the house.

“I’m starting to think this is a bad idea,” she mutters.

“A little late for second thoughts, Fairy. Besides, we’ve been cooped up for almost two weeks. It was either this or an ambush—and trust me, one wascoming. This way we can leave whenever we want. And it’s a party. There will be cake. You love cake.”

“Ugh, stop it. I’m fine. This is fine. Everything’s fine.”

When she still doesn’t move, I give her a nudge between the shoulder blades. She snarls at me. I smile back until she sighs and trudges inside.

Hiding my relief, I follow.

The last two weeks have been incredible. They’ve also been super fucking intense. We haven’t written one song—we’ve written an album’s worth. We’ve talked and laughed and fought and fucked until our bodies literally stopped working. There have been countless moments of solace, softness, and peace.

But despite the intimacy of our renewedfriendship,she still won’t talk about Clay or her trauma. Not when she wakes me up thrashing in her sleep in the throes of a nightmare. Not when she comes back from what I call her Empty Place, where she shuts down and withdraws with a thousand-yard stare.

Even worse than the Empty Place, and happening with increasing frequency, are the times she erupts out of nowhere. Her tears, guilt, and negative self-talk afterward are slowly killing me, as is the fact nothing I say seems to make it any better.

I’ve never felt so close to her before. Or so far.

The emotional strain is affecting me. Not kissing her.Not telling her I love her. Not knowing whether I’m a stop on her journey or the destination. Not knowing what she needs but suspecting more and more that it isn’t me…

We both need a distraction.

Halfway down the hallway, Evangeline glances aside at a mirror. She makes a face and halts, pulling the tie from her hair and fussing with the strands.

“You look beautiful.”

I brace for an angry denial, but when she meets my stare in the mirror, her eyes are soft and sad. “I should have washed it again this morning.”

I slip my hand up her back and curl my fingers around the nape of her neck. Her hair is soft on my skin—and a lot lighter than it was two weeks ago. It’s now more of a honeyed blonde. She hates it. If it weren’t for me, she’d be in the shower twice or more a day, trying to speed along the fading process of something called toner.

“I washed it for you yesterday,” I murmur, dragging my lips over the back of her head and inhaling. “And I have hair-washing rights for the rest of the week.”

Her lips shift into an almost smile. “I still think you cheated.”

“Nope. You just suck at Gin Rummy.”

She snorts.

“There you two are!”

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