Page 37 of First Verse

Despite the still-bare branches of the maple above me, green stalks are pushing through the soil along my fence. In a few weeks, white and yellow daffodils will bloom. I’ve always loved this time of year—the first yawn of spring—but for the first time, I can’t connect to the symbolic beauty of new beginnings. All I see is barrenness.

Dropping into a chair, I take a few sips of chamomile.

Then I make the call.

Rye answers on the second ring. “Yo! Good timing. Just got in the car to head home from Casey’s. I can’t wait for you to meet this girl, Eva. She’s super cool. No crazy vibes at all.”

“Is this a different Casey from the one you dated before Anna?”

There’s a telling silence, then a deep groan. “Shit. Oh, fuck me. Her name is Kelsey. I totally called her Casey this morning. No wonder she gave me that weird look.”

I try not to laugh, but it’s impossible.

“What am I going to do?” he whines.

“I’d start with an apology. Was it a first date?”

He makes an affirmative sound. “I was going to be a gentleman and drop her off at home, but then she dragged me in⁠—”

“Got it,” I say quickly. “If it was a first date, she might accept an apology. No promises, though. Getting her name wrong after spending the night gives major fuckboy energy.”

He laughs, unoffended. “Anyway, what’s up? How was the party on Friday?”

I lean back to stare at the bare branches above me. “It was at Wilder’s house. Is that why you suddenly had last-minute plans?”

“Uh, maybe?”

I sigh. “You don’t have to pretend you’re not friends with him, Rye. I don’t care about that. I’m calling because I have a question. After you answer it, we’re going back to never talking about him. Cool?”

“Cool.” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Eva. We were in the studio for months⁠—”

“It’s fine,” I interject. “My question is about Wilder and his girlfriend. Do they have an open relationship?”

This time the pause is so long that if it wasn’t for the background hum coming from moving tires, I’d think he’d hung up.

When his answer comes, his voice is uncharacteristically serious. “They both sleep with other people. But I wouldn’t even call it a relationship. It’s super fucked up. They don’t even like each other. Why are you asking? What happened?”

I open my mouth, but before I can speak, he explodes.

“Oh, shit! He seduced you, didn’t he? That motherfucker. Were you drunk? Do I need to beat his ass? I knew I should have gone with⁠—”

“Rye, chill!”

He falls silent, but his breathing is harsh through the line.

“I wasn’t drunk, okay? I went home early and he showed up at my house. We slept together. It was consensual. He left. The end.”

Memory seizes me.

Wilder buttons his jeans and buckles his belt, bare chest and arms flexing with the movements. I know I have to get up to lock my door behind him, but I need another minute. I’m not sure my legs can hold me yet.

“You really have no idea,” he murmurs, heavy-lidded gaze dancing down my body.

I sit up, dragging the sheet with me. “About what?”

Avoiding my eyes, he grabs his shirt and pulls it on, then slips his feet into unlaced boots. His socks are tucked into a pocket.

Finally, he looks at me. “Be stronger than me. Block my number. Don’t open the door if I knock.”