Page 98 of Last Chorus

He looks up at me, his expression anguished. Fine hairs lift on my arms, my awareness narrowing to the pain in his eyes. Though a breeze teases strands of my hair against my cheek, I can’t feel the tickle. Nor do I register the wood beneath me, the white-knuckled grip I have on the tumbler and flower stems, or the air trapped in my lungs as I hold my breath.

“The thing is, Eva, I’d never experienced true grief until your mom and I lost your older sister to a miscarriage. And I’d never felt real fear until the day I foundout Sophie was pregnant with you. From the moment you were born, I’ve been terrified of something happening to you. When you were a baby, I’d watch you sleep to make sure you didn’t stop breathing, then pass out in the morning when your mom woke up. As you grew up, the fear ebbed and flowed. Some ages were easier than others.”

I stare at him, completely blindsided but also… not. He’s always been protective of Hunter and me, but especially me—to the point it became a running joke among my friends. At varying times, I’ve appreciated and resented him for it. But while I’ve always suspected the loss of my older sister had something to do with his status as a worrier, I had no idea the underlying fear was so extreme.

He continues hoarsely, “It got really bad after you moved out at eighteen. I’d wake up in the middle of the night freaking out that something was wrong. More than once, your mom had to stop me from calling you or driving to your place to make sure you were okay. She eventually bullied me into talking to a professional.”

Despite the gravity of the moment, my lips quirk. “You mean she casually suggested it?”

His eyes crinkle as he nods in concession, but his expression swiftly sobers.

“I started seeing someone again a couple of yearsago. They’ve helped a lot. I’m not perfect yet, but I’m working on it. All that is to say, I’m sorry for being a controlling, overbearing ass of a father. I’m sorry for not being strong enough to fight the fear that told me I had to shelter you from a world that could hurt you, even if it cost me your trust. All you ever needed was my compassion and love, and I…” His eyes redden, tears welling. “I failed to give you what could have actually protected you.”

The words drop inside me like boulders, the ensuing ripples spreading and illuminating my father in a new and profound way. Moreover, I see myself and so many others inside him, our experiences different reflections on the same water. And for an instant, I also glimpse something bigger than all of us.

I seelove—the complexity and potency of it. The brilliant light it casts and the shadows that light naturally creates.

Trust. Tenderness. Peace.

Guilt. Worry. Fear.

I set down the tulips and my coffee, then grab my dad’s hands.

“You know what I remember about growing up with you as my dad? Nature walks, making forts, and epic scavenger hunts. The countless times you read me another book when I asked, even though it was past mybedtime, and all the funny voices you did for different characters. I remember your endless patience when teaching me how to swim, how to play guitar, how to drive. I remember how much we laughed—you made me laugh so, so much. Mostly, though, I remember feeling safe.”

Tears spill down his cheeks. Down mine, too. I squeeze his hands harder.

“You are and have always been exactlythe father I need. I’ve never once doubted that you loved me. Don’t you see? You did protect me, Dad. I’m here. I’m okay—more than okay, actually. I’mhappy.And a huge part of why is that I finally found my way to something you taught me was possible. The ultimate prize on your greatest scavenger hunt.”

“What’s that, pipsqueak?”

Emotion overwhelms me. I don’t fight it, instead letting it emerge as a tear-soaked laugh.

“Joy, Dad. You showed me the way to joy.”

CHAPTER FORTY

wilder

The piano bench creaks as I sit with a huff and check my watch for the tenth time in the last five minutes. Unfortunately, I’m once again shown that my racing thoughts haven’t affected the rotation of the planet, which continues at a snail’s pace.

What the hell is taking so long?

Before leading the people I roped into Evangeline’s first birthday surprise to five different, memorable-to-us areas on the property, I made sure they knew to keep each visit to ten minutes or less. Matt texted me over two hours ago when he saw her approaching him from the house, but I haven’t heard from anyone else. Has she seen Martin yet? Rye and Lily? Her mom and Hunter? My parents?

Unable to stay still, I spring to my feet and start pacing again.

If all she had to eat was the muffin I left for her, she’s likely starving by now. I should have had everyone give her little snacks instead of flowers. Or flowers first, then a snack when they gave her the next clue.

Pausing near a couch, I press the heels of my hands into my eyes and groan. Maybe this was a bad idea. Just because she used to never shut up about her dad’s scavenger hunts as a kid doesn’t mean they’re still important to her.

I should have stuck with French toast and orgasms for her birthday morning and kept with my original plan of a surprise dinner party tonight. The party is still happening, but at this point I won’t have enough time to make the focaccia from scratch.

Five minutes later, I’ve walked around the studio another few times, reworked the grocery order in my head, and am halfway through scripting an apology for fucking up her birthday when the door of the studio swings open.

My stomach does a backflip.

I spin around.

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