Every Breath After: Part 1 (Lost Boys, #3)

by Jessie Walker

It’s just the two of us, alone for the first time since some hotel in New Jersey a couple weeks back.

I’ve got mine angled toward him, my mouth inches from his ear.

Not now, not after⁠—

We pull away from each other in perfect synchrony, putting what feels like an ocean of distance between us, just as Ray Montgomery rounds the corner.

Clearing my throat, I blink a couple times, composing myself before turning and facing Ray head-on.

Why would Mason need to compose himself to face Izzy's dad over her reappearance? He is composing himself because he is upset over Jeremy's reaction after they finally had gotten somewhere.

I’m acutely aware of Jeremy shuffling away from us. When he appears in my line of sight, over Ray’s bulky shoulder, he’s standing hunched with his shoulders up by his ears, and his arms pressed tightly against his sides, hands buried in the pockets of his black jeans.

This scenario is not one I ever imagined. The one with Jeremy walking away. The one with my heart in my throat. The one where it feels as if I’m being physically ripped apart as two timelines converge.

“Beauty means nothing, if you’re ugly in here.” She presses a hand against my chest, over my heart. “Be kind to people, and you’ll be the handsomest, prettiest boy of all.”

husband,” Izzy says, pouting. Mommy laughs,

Find what you love and let it kill you.’”

I trip up. Get too in my head. I’m so busy trying to perfect the beginning, that I never even see the end.

He could never love me in the way I crave so desperately…not in this timeline. Not in this universe. Our stars are only ever meant to exist from opposite sides of the sun burning brightly forever between us.

We’re seventeen. It’s ridiculous that we have to decide our entire lives so young.” He winces. “No offense,” I mutter. “No. It’s… You’re not wrong,” he says into a nod. “It is kind of ridiculous. To think we’ll still be the same people we are five years from now.”

Like flocks to like. Only the whispers in his head, clawing around his airway, aren’t born of fears of being perceived the wrong way. Whereas I can barely stomach people looking at me sometimes, Mason’s got a touch of the opposite. He’s terrified of people looking away. Of being left alone.

He’s beautiful. Try as I might to tear myself away, I can’t… Not when it hits me—really hits me—that this is all I’ll ever have of him. That this is the only way I can watch him, with my heart cracked open, and him no more the wiser to it. Because his heart’s too busy beating for someone else, so loud it drowns out anyone else’s. Drowns out mine. In a rhythm that was never meant for me.

“And then someday, there will be this guy, and he’s gonna come along and-and push all the right buttons. You’re gonna fight it. Be stubborn as always. But fuck, he’s gonna fall so hard. And you’re gonna fall so hard right back, because…because he won’t give up. He’ll never rest until you let him in.” A sniffle reaches my ears, and if I’m not imagining things, he burrows deeper against my chest, like he’s again trying to make himself small…but this time, small within my arms. “This boy—this man… he’s gonna treat you the way you deserve, better than you think you deserve. He’s gonna give you the world even when you insist you don’t want it. Because as low maintenance as you try to be…” I say roughly, a low chuckle threading my words, “you’re not.” A startled laugh croaks out of him, scraping hotly over my neck “And you shouldn’t be. You should have ridiculous standards and expectations, and settle for nothing less than everything.”

I’m not sure why she tried so hard to love something more than she actually did—maybe it had to do with the whole piano thing, and what’s expected of her.

Wincing at the bitter thoughts racing through my head, I shove them back and remind myself to be nice, plastering what I hope comes off as a friendly smile when he approaches.

Hope. It’s a vicious fucking thing. Like love—like death—all it does is take and take and take. We’re put on this earth for no other purpose than to be ravaged.

How do I make you believe the sober truth about drunken lies How do I turn sorrys into never agains, when I can’t be certain I won’t keep fucking up in the end? Oh, how I wish you could invade my mind Crawl under my skin Feel my heart beat in the cradle of your hands You’d have to know I’d let you, I’d do just about anything for you

The center cannot hold. The voice in my head sounds suspiciously like Jeremy, and my mouth dries considerably, my knee starting to bob. “Just a line from a poem I like. ‘Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.’ Basically means that, no matter how hard we try to maintain control and order, chaos will inevitably get its turn. There is no one without the other. Things break and start anew and break again. It’s inevitable.”

“Two things can be true at once, Mason. But something will always come along and tip the scales eventually.”

Worry about the breaths that come after, not the ones already wasted.

you and I both know that if she were here, I wouldn’t even be an option.”

Try as I might to stifle it down, hope pokes its masochistic little head out.

“‘Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast.’” His whispered words seem to carry on the winter wind gently blowing through. I frown. “What was that?” “It’s from a poem called ‘Desert Places.’ Robert Frost.”

“So,” I say, “uh, where’s⁠—” “Over there,” Waylon says, kicking his chin at some spot behind me. Straightening, I turn, following his gaze. Oh. He thought I was asking about Ivy. I start to say, “No, I meant…” only for my voice to trail off when I spot a second figure. She’s not alone.

Waylon knows. He knew Jeremy would be there and that's why he was asking Mason what had him so nasty.