8. Evangeline
CHAPTER EIGHT
evangeline
I n the passenger seat of my car, Lily lowers her phone to her lap after reading the article for the five hundredth time since it landed online yesterday. I’m pretty sure she has it memorized at this point.
Her royal blue hair sways in my peripheral vision as she shakes her head in lingering disbelief. “ The Alex Iloka. I can’t get over it.”
“It’s pretty surreal,” I agree, throwing a quick smile her way and an even quicker glance at the navigation screen on my dash. There are three more miles before I have to change lanes for a left-hand turn, but I put on my blinker anyway and merge over while no one is beside me.
I’ve freaked out over the article plenty myself, but right now navigating the dark, wet roads takes precedence. I’m hyper focused and ultra-defensive, my eyes swiveling between mirrors and the windshield, my palms damp on the wheel.
According to Rye, my aversion to driving at night is merely another trait in a long list proving I’m an old woman in a twenty-three-year-old’s body. I tried explaining astigmatism once but got nowhere, probably because it was a flimsy excuse and he knew it. My astigmatism—if I even have one—is minor and nowhere close to the real reason, which is so embarrassing I’ve never told my best friend.
I’m afraid of the dark and have been since I was a little kid and got lost in the woods during a camping trip. Unfortunately, the phobia didn’t fade as I grew up. It matured right along with me.
I almost wish darkness were still synonymous with monsters under the bed. It seems simpler, somehow. Now the threat is both bigger and more nebulous. The danger of the unknown and its hidden potential for shock and pain. Plus spiders.
Most days, I manage okay. The fear is easier to ignore when I’m with others, and when I’m onstage it doesn’t bother me at all. I generally feel safe at home, too. As long as I take precautions, I’m even fine using my hot tub at night—although I still freak out occasionally and sprint soaking wet into my house.
But no matter where I am or who I’m with, I can’t sleep without multiple nightlights. I won’t check the mailbox at the end of my driveway if it’s close to sunset. And I absolutely hate driving at night.
The only reason I’m behind the wheel right now is because I don’t trust a stranger to drive us. That, and I volunteered to be the designated driver so Lily can unwind. Between her full-time job and classes, she deserves a night to let loose and celebrate.
Her sudden, giddy laugh makes my lips twitch. “You know what I can’t get over? How we had no idea he was there. Just did our thing, totally oblivious.”
“Same.”
Especially since my first thought after reading the article was a cynical one—that someone had pulled strings on our behalf. Despite knowing Alex’s reputation as strictly unbiased, I’d immediately called my dad and grilled him. He swore he had nothing to do with the critic’s presence in the audience and even called the Ashburns to confirm they didn’t overstep, either. I’ve since accepted that it was dumb luck. He’d been there to see the headliners, The Remnants, and happened to show up early.
“If we had known,” I say dryly, “would we have made it onstage?”
“Definitely not. We would have been too busy puking.” Lily groans, palming her stomach. “Actually, even thinking about it in hindsight makes me want to hurl.”
I smirk. “That’s from the shots you did before we left. Told you they were a bad idea.”
“I know,” she whines. “I’m just really nervous.”
“You’re gorgeous and fierce as hell. Now eat the granola bar I hid in your purse.”
She grabs it with a laugh. “Thanks, Mom.”
I roll my eyes, then glance at the navigation screen. Seven more minutes until we arrive at the party The Remnants invited us to. Lily’s nervous because she has a crush on their drummer, Tyler, after chatting with him last weekend and texting with him all week. I know she’s anxious, too, about the party itself. It’s not at a club, bar, or in someone’s cramped apartment like we’re used to, but in a private home in a nice neighborhood.
The Remnants and their ilk definitely aren’t our usual social circle. To use Alex Iloka’s metaphor, they’re at least a dozen rungs ahead of us on the success ladder. While only a few years older than us, the men are full-time musicians with a label, four albums, and two international tours under their belts. Their sound is a little too niche for music charts or consistent radio play, but they have a rabid fanbase who think they’re the second coming of Depeche Mode.
I’m nervous, too, but for different reasons. I haven’t been to a party like this in three years and never without Wilder, Eddie, and Jax. It’s a weird feeling. An almost vulnerable one. I won’t have a clear purpose like I did before—Lily isn’t Wilder. I won’t need to babysit her so she doesn’t do anything crazy or downright dangerous.
The thought should bring relief but instead leaves me unsettled, a feeling that intensifies as I turn onto a darker, residential street.
Lily finishes the granola bar and tucks the wrapper back in my purse. “Are you excited to see Michael again? That man looked at you with boners in his eyes after our set.”
My stomach flutters at the mention of The Remnants’ lead singer. “First off, ew. Second, I guess? Maybe? I don’t know. He may not even talk to me.”
“You’re delusional. I think you should go for it. He’s hot. Those dark eyes? The smile?” She fans herself.
I side-eye her. “You sure you’re interested in Tyler and not Michael?”
She grins. “I can appreciate a good-looking guy, but you know I prefer the teddy-bear types. Perfect example: Rye Henderson. Now there’s a bear I wouldn’t mind pawing my underwear off.”
I almost miss a stop sign, slamming on the brakes at the last second. Thankfully, there are no other cars around us.
“Dude,” I moan.
Lily giggles. “Sorry.”
“I’ll never understand your obsession with Rye,” I grumble as I slowly accelerate.
“That’s because he’s basically your brother and incest is gross,” she says flippantly, then peers out the passenger window. “Whoa, take a look at these houses.”
Stately homes line the curbs, two- and three-story facades gleaming from the rain. Custom exteriors and manicured front yards glow beneath artfully placed lighting—and not the kind you buy from a hardware store and shove in a ground, either, like the ones all over my tiny front yard.
Lily’s next laugh is shrill. “I had no idea we were headed to rich- rich territory. How close are we to the water?”
I swallow another surge of uneasiness. “A few blocks.”
“I think I see the party,” she murmurs, leaning forward in her seat. “Dang, that’s a lot of people.”
We’re still a block from our destination, but the street ahead of us is lined with cars on both sides. To avoid having to circle around—or worse, attempt parallel parking in the dark in front of spectators—I pull against the nearest empty curb and park.
As I turn off the car, Lily says in a small voice, “I’ve changed my mind. Let’s go back to your place. Hot tub and movies and bad tequila.”
“Aw, honey.”
My own nerves forgotten, I unbuckle my seatbelt and grab her cold hands. I’m one of the only people she allows to see beneath her tough exterior, and it doesn’t happen often. On the rare occasion it does, there’s only one way I know to help her—summoning the version of myself who grew up in a house like these, who walked the red carpet at the Grammys when I was eleven, and who isn’t easily intimidated.
“We can leave, sure. Or we can walk in there like we belong, which we do , and give it twenty minutes. If no one impresses us, we’ll bail. Just because we were invited doesn’t mean we owe anyone our presence.”
She cracks a smile. “I love it when you do the diva voice. I’m sorry, Ev. I know you don’t even want to be here. You’d be in pajamas by now.”
I nod. “Truth.”
She laughs. “Fine, fine. If you can do it, so can I.” With a sharp inhalation, she straightens and unbuckles her seatbelt. “You’re right. We belong here. I’m an alchemist on a new-music frontier, and you’re a powerhouse frontwoman. We’re basically famous now.”
After tucking my purse in the trunk, I lock the car, slip my keys and phone into my jacket pocket, and join Lily on the sidewalk. Worries forgotten, she links her arm with mine and propels us swiftly toward the split-level mansion.
We pass a few small groups loitering outside and approach the oversized front door. A massive deck facing the water sits a level above us to our right, packed with people talking, smoking, and laughing. Beat-heavy music punches into the damp air through open glass doors behind the crowd.
Inside is the same story—people, people everywhere. Even with Lily’s arm against me, I feel exposed. Off-kilter. A few smiles and nods are aimed our way, but I don’t recognize anyone.
“This place is insane,” Lily whispers, and I nod.
I hate to admit it, but I’m impressed. The style of the home is a classic for the area, but it’s been fully remodeled into a contemporary-modern masterpiece. I can’t imagine the mortgage payment this close to the Sound. No doubt there are mountain views, too.
We walk up a short rise of stairs into the crowded living space that leads onto the deck. The first thing I see—besides more people—is the massive wall opposite us. My jaw drops as I take in the colorful, graffitied mural that spans the entire space from the baseboards to the high, beamed ceiling. Within the mostly abstract design are whorls of distorted musical notes and skewed instruments.
I instantly recognize the style of the artist who did the murals at Side Stage.
An artist I personally know.
“Whoa,” Lily says with quiet awe. “That’s a Riv original. Do you have any idea how much that probably cost?”
“A lot more than we can afford.”
Unless they did it for free.
My stomach does a slow, downward roll, my skin prickling as I turn my head sharply to look around the room. I scan the crowded couches, deck, and nearby kitchen. When I don’t see who I’m looking for, I release a slow breath.
I’m being paranoid. This isn’t Wilder’s house. It’s simply a weird coincidence that his nineteen-year-old brother, River, graffitied an entire wall when I know for a fact he rarely takes commissions for private homes.
“Lily! You made it!”
The shout turns us toward the deck, where Tyler breaks away from a group of guys. He weaves his way toward us, a huge smile on his face. As Lily’s body relaxes against mine, I have a sudden suspicion I’ll be leaving alone.
She confirms it with a whisper in my ear. “I’ll text you when I get home?”
I smother a pang of disappointment and smile. “Sounds good.”
“You’re the best.” She hugs me before hurrying to meet Tyler halfway. He waves at me; I lift a hand, then watch them until Lily gives me a thumbs-up behind her back, signaling that I’m officially dismissed.
I normally love her independence. I’m a lone wolf as well, so it works for us. But right now I wish I’d had the courage to be as honest with her in the car as she was with me. I could have told her I’m not as confident as I pretend to be. That it’s been so long since I was a part of this scene, I’m not sure how to act.
With a mental sigh, I decide to give myself a tour of the house. Maybe I’ll run into Michael or someone I know, or maybe I’ll cut out early and head home to work on songs. Despite the prospect of driving alone in the dark, I’d actually prefer the latter.
Plan in place, I turn and take a step… right into a tall, broad-shouldered body. My face hits the middle of a hard chest, which rises on a swift inhale. I jerk back, but it’s too late to prevent his midnight storm scent from invading my nose.
Steeling myself, I look up into narrowed, freckled green eyes.
“What are you doing here, Evangeline?”