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

by Jessie Walker

I kissed a guy for the first time last night. Like, a real kiss. One with tongue and wandering hands and dry humping. TMI? Well, come down here and complain about it. Anyway, his name was Bash. We met at a party. He asked me out…but I said no. The kiss fucked with me a bit. It felt good…really good…made me want more…just not with him

Another birthday, Iz. You bet your ass I’m playing the dead twin card for extra drinks tonight.

He’s also still in love with my dead sister, whose birthday just so happens to be today as well… and he’s likely losing his shit just like every year, and I’m… Fine. Totally, a-okay, fine.

Pushing up into a seated position, I reach over, clutching his shoulder, and I tell him with all the seriousness in the world, “I hate him.” He smiles sadly, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.”

MASE FACE I know today sucks. But this is your day too, always has been, and always will be. And for that, I still love today. Because it means you exist.

Brb throwing myself off a cliff

Is sex always so…mechanical? Or is it just me? I bet sex with Mason wasn’t mechanical. Totally should not have said that. But what are you gonna do about it?

Will Foster, our friend from when we were kids, moved back and started working at the bar.

MY BABY <3 I KNEW HE WAS COMING BACK SOON

There’s a responding moan, deep and drawn out, and oozing of pleasure. It’s as strange and foreign to me as it is familiar. And there’s absolutely zero denying who it is, or what I’m listening to right now.

I am horrified right now. My jaw is in hell

Hang up. Hang the fuck up now.

Yeah, that

“Yeah, baby, that’s it. Ride my⁠—” I yank my phone away and slam End so hard, the phone tumbles out of my hand, skidding across the floor.

Broooo

there’s no denying—no running away—from the fact my jeans suddenly feel a size too small.

What do you say after overhearing the guy you’ve known your whole life, moaning and pleading for some guy to fuck him harder?

Try "I'm jealous"

Jeremy mumbles something I can’t make out. It’s muffled, as if he’s talking away from the phone. Perhaps talking to⁠— “Is he still there with you?” I all but growl.

The way I'm hiding behind my fingers from secondhand embarrassment

“Because friends don’t get all pissy and growly when they find out the other’s having sex.”

I’ve never once given a shit who Waylon’s hooking up with. Sure, I hope he’s using a condom and not being a dumbass…but it’s different. He’s⁠— He’s hooking up with girls.

Oof, Mason (also false)

Note to future me: TURN PHONE OFF WHEN HAVING SEX Also, don’t talk to Mason when you’re drunk If I never have to hear him growl and get all protective over me like that again, it’ll be a moment too soon. My poor hand. Pretty sure I’ve developed carpal tunnel. YEAH, YEAH, LAUGH IT UP I’m just grateful I never had to hear you guys doing it. I’m pretty sure I would’ve died.

To be loved by Mason Wyatt would surely be a death sentence. The weight of it would crush me.

“Will!” I frown, and turn my head to look over my shoulder, following Mason’s gaze to where a guy with dark blond hair and deep blue eyes weaves his way through the crowd, making his way toward us. Will.

Ugh my man, my man, my man

when two cups sloshing with blue swamp-like liquid are thrusted at us, halting us mid-step.

Hahaha I remember this from the first book

“Better to just swallow it. You do know how to do that, right, Will?” Ivy says, smiling that caustic, sharp grin of hers, before whirling away and returning to wherever she came from.

God I love Ivy

Why do I feel like he’s hiding something?

Only that he's hopelessly in love with Will

His features bunch, eyes searching between mine. “Mase…” “What?” “He’s not her.”

“Shoulda been me.”

Glassy amber eyes the color of the richest bourbons lift to mine. “S’all my fault.”

better off…me ’stead a her……died…s-sorry, Mase, so sorry…”

“Wish it was me…” His words taper off into a silence so heavy, so profound, I’m helpless to avoid what comes next.

</3

And now he’s given me no choice but to confront them. Confront this. Reality. Because if it’s not this one, where Izzy’s gone…dead… It’s the one where it’s Jeremy, who I’ve lost instead—Jeremy, who’s been missing; Jeremy who’s dead. And I⁠— I can’t. I can’t. I—

Izzyizzyizzy, I chant inwardly, desperately, as I slam a hand over my mouth, muffling a sob—a shout—I don’t even fucking know. She’s dead. She’s dead.

I know what happens next :(

Will watching Waylon from across the room, concerned. “He’s not ready to admit it… I think he’s struggling more than he’s letting on.” More flashes of the two of them. The long looks, the teasing smiles from Will, the flush to Waylon’s cheeks before he scowled and walked away…

Waylon’s not… He can’t be… No. No fucking way.

Yes fucking Wayyyyy

What did I do? What the fuck did I do? Because for the first time ever, that I can recall… He left me on read.

I can’t help but wonder if the same could be said if it were Izzy still here instead of me. Would they have held on longer? Given up sooner? Who knows? Would Waylon still avoid this house? My parents? Doubtful. Would Mason resent them for trying to move on, for accepting my death so easily? Maybe. But he’d have Izzy, so…

Izzy was the glue, not me. I’m just the consolation prize. The spare. The unprepared understudy.

His words aren’t slurring…not yet…but I know, I know. He relapsed.

:'(

I drove to the liquor store. Bought a handle of vodka. Drove my ass across town to a place I told myself I’d never go. Plopped my ass down in the cold, damp grass, broke the seal, cheers'ed my dead girlfriend, and took a sip.

</3

Izzy’s tombstone is nothing more than a pointless slab of granite with empty platitudes engraved in it. Beloved daughter. Beloved sister. Beloved friend. Because, you know, who she was to the living is far more important than who she was as her own person.

My vision tilts, blurring, a roar filling my ears as the words before me distort, taking new shape, new meaning… Beloved son. Beloved brother. Beloved friend.

Nooooo I'm sick

But that’s where it ends.

Oh I sob

In my head, she’s frozen at seventeen. I suppose we both are.

Relieved. I’m relieved it wasn’t Jeremy.

Why I called Jeremy Montgomery of all fucking people… I don’t know. I don’t even remember making the decision to do it. I just… Wanted him. Needed him.

God, no wonder he wishes it was him instead. He’s had to watch me fall apart over and over and over again… Fall apart over her… Not just me, but his parents too. Waylon…

Repeatedly, we’ve thrown our grief in his face, not realizing what it would do to him. This is Jeremy for fuck’s sake. The boy who, for as long as I’ve known him, has always felt like something was wrong with him. The boy who once told me how he feels like a burden. The boy who’s always fought so hard to melt into the background, so no one would spare him too much attention.

I can’t help but notice just how…fuck, how gorgeous he is. Not that he hasn’t always been pretty. It’s why his life was hell growing up. Too pretty for a boy. Too soft. Too fucking gentle and kind… This is just the first time it’s really fucking hitting me, that he’s not just beautiful… But that I find him beautiful.

“That’s…that’s all I said? That I wished it was me?” I stare at him. That’s it? That’s all???

“Are you seriously gonna tell me you haven’t thought the same?” he rushes out so unexpectantly, I freeze, the lip of the bottle paused against my waiting mouth. “That you didn’t wish it was me instead?” His voice trembles, but grows stronger, louder as he continues, “That you didn’t think it⁠—” I whip around so fast, he flinches back. “No. No, I fucking didn’t.”

“I didn’t even let myself consider the possibility until you brought it up the other night,” I practically shout,

I’m all in his space, and his face is clutched in my hands. And he’s soft, so soft. But sharp too. Angular. Boy, boy, boy. Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy. Wide, startled eyes stare back at me, and I’m vaguely aware of his arms falling at his sides, the bottle slipping from his grip. “What⁠—” I yank his face to me⁠— “Shut up. Just. Shut. Up.” —and crush my mouth to his, smothering his gasp.

I bring my trembling fingers to my lips. They still tingle. Jeremy blinks rapidly, pressing his hands to his chest, like he’s trying to slow his heart. “Mason?” he says, staring into me with so much confusion, so much fear, so much… Want. So, so much want. And I just⁠— I can’t. I can’t stop this.

His mouth opens, hands reaching out at the same time I rush him. Like two stars thrown on a collision course, racing at warp speed across the galaxy, we crash into each other in a white-hot explosion that rattles the universe. Shaking me to my core. Lips fusing. Fingers clutching.