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Between dropping out mid-semester and quitting football with no warning, and the fact I all but ignored their calls and texts for weeks in the wake of Zayne’s death, I guess it didn’t take much at all to burn what bridges were left.
“I don’t want to go back there.” Not back to college where Zayne’s ghost haunts the campus. Not back to my parents who don’t seem to know what to do with me. Not to the city where the memories of who I was cling to every nook and cranny, reminding me of what I lost. “I don’t want to go back,” I reiterate my earlier statement.
Leave. Right now. You don’t belong here. A memory tries to fight its way to the surface—one I haven’t let myself think about in years. Cold hazel eyes glaring down at me. A curled lip sneering unforgiving words. Dark, dark hair, and pale, gaunt cheeks. The taste of blood on my tongue, bitter and sweet.
It shouldn’t matter, the knowledge that Waylon McAllister is still here, the closest he’s been to me in ten and a half years. It shouldn’t be this shocking and world-flipping and borderline nauseating. But I guess the whole out-of-sight, out-of-mind thing only works so long as the matter at hand isn’t being thrown right in front of your face. He’s here. I’m back in Shiloh. And Waylon. Is. Still. Fucking. Here.
Waylon McAllister might as well be a stranger to me now, but he wasn’t always. And some part of me still feels a sense of loyalty to that boy I’d once move fucking mountains for. The boy I took it upon myself to protect, only for my actions to shoot me point-blank in the ass.
I tell myself this has nothing to do with Waylon. The angry boy with the black hair and green-gold eyes. I mean, so what if a small, miniscule part of me is dying to see what he looks like now? So what if it feels like my heart is literally going to explode at the thought of actually seeing him again?
Time does this weird stretchy thing as my eyes finally, finally collide with a pair of dark blue eyes I haven’t seen in over ten years. Eyes that have haunted me for far too fucking long, and all I can think is...No. Nonononono— “...remember Will?” My heart grinds to a stop. Lungs constricting. Will Foster. Will fucking Foster. What. The. Fuck.
As if I didn’t just watch the boy who once meant everything to me—the boy I never actually let myself believe I’d see again—storm off with hardly a second glance. A boy who is now all grown up, with toned muscles and tattoos and a sexy fucking nipple piercing that just begs for my teeth.
Yeah, they were inseparable back then. All three of them were, but especially those two. Even at only ten years old, it was obvious to everyone who knew them how much Mason adored Izzy. How much they meant to each other.
Shrugging, I say, “It’s why I left Philly. Well, part of the reason. I—” “You lost someone too?” he interrupts sharply, like it’s of critical importance. I blow out a breath. “Yeah.” I hesitate before going on, figuring I should give him something. “Last January.” His eyes sear into mine. “Girlfriend?” Are you like me? I imagine he’s really asking. Seeking. Do you know my pain? Do you see me? I clear my throat and look at Mason head-on. “Boyfriend, actually.”
They’re not the ones who had their world split apart. They’re not the ones who found their boyfriend swinging from a belt.
I let him down. I broke my promise. I ruined us. But here’s the kicker— He ruined me first. Maybe, just maybe, this is my chance to fix that.
Sad. I look so goddamn sad all the time. And fuck that especially. I don’t want to be sad anymore.
Zayne would have loved them, I think painfully. Maddeningly. See? See what you’re missing out on? Do you regret it now? I shove away the thought—the sickening anger—and focus solely on the Now. On the music. I won’t let him ruin this for me.
There’s an ocean of years separating us. Secrets and unspoken questions sluicing through the waves like grains of sand. And yet, it all falls away in this moment. This stretched out, heartbeat of a moment where I’m suddenly eleven years old again. And there’s this boy—this beautiful, raven-haired boy with eyes like a sunlit forest—staring back at me as if he’s seconds from diving into the water to reach me. As if he’s been waiting and waiting and waiting for a break in the waves. A chance. But like everything, it’s not lasting. Just a glimpse of a path not taken.
I know I fucked up when we were kids, when I told the principal what he told me—what he begged me to leave well enough alone. But did I listen? No.
He straightens and spreads his hands once more. “How do I look?” Pretty, I think. But I know I can’t say that, so instead, I tell him, “Ridiculous. The most ridiculous king I’ve ever seen.”
Shawn rounds the bar. Like it’s nothing—like this is perfectly normal—he plucks her up by the back of her black robe. Whirling her around, he shoves the Ghost Face hood back, revealing a wide toothy grin that is borderline certifiable. Frizzy dark blonde hair lifts up around her head from the static, and a flush clings to her cheeks. “Busted,” she whispers dramatically, gray eyes sparkling. I frown. Wasn’t she just on the verge of tears as she complained about him? “What are you doing?” Shawn asks gruffly, not a trace of humor to be seen in the hard planes of his face. She’s tall for her age,
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“Shawn and Phoebe. They seem...close.” “They are. She’s basically his little sister. Mason and Phoebe’s mom took him in a few years ago, so for all intents and purposes, he’s family.”
Suddenly, I’m thrown back to when I was eleven years old again, laying on the ground with a bloody nose. Watching the boy I thought was my best friend walk away without a backward glance. His final words playing back to me on an endless loop. “You ruined everything.”
One second I’m choking down on my laughter, and the next there are hands grappling at my shoulders, a chin bumping my jaw, a muttered curse— Something brushes the corner of my mouth, and I— Waylon. Way, Way, Way— He pulls away. Time slows until I swear it stops as my wide unblinking gaze collides with his in the dark. I can just make out the glittering orbs, shining back at me like tiny, little diamonds.
“You kissed me,” I say breathlessly. His face tightens. Like he might cry. “No, I didn’t.” “Yes, you did.” A smile starts to lift my mouth, slow and shaky. Not that he sees it. “You kissed—” He yanks his arm away and tries to make another run for it.
I. Kiss. Him. This boy. My best friend. I kiss him. His eyes remain wide and unblinking, finally, finally locked on my own. Our mouths are pressed together firmly. We’re chest to chest, heart to heart, and I wonder if his burns like mine.
Jeremy. Izzy’s twin brother.”
“I found my ex hanging from a belt last winter.” My eyes widen as my head snaps up. “I don’t know if ex is the right term...” he goes on to say, a frown burrowing in deep between his eyes. Eyes normally so blue, that now appear duller, almost lifeless, as they wander aimlessly over the horizon. “But it’s not like I can still call him my boyfriend when he’s dead.” This time, it’s me whispering his name. He forces a laugh as he turns to face me, and the awful, broken sound of it reaches in and resonates with some deep, uncharted part of me. “How fucked is that?”
Those big, dark eyes flash up at me with visible hurt, and it’s like I’m eleven years old again. Staring down into the wounded face of my best friend, as he laid sprawled out on the ground, telling him to go away. Leave me alone. I don’t wanna to be friends with a—
Billy Sharpe. He assured me it was Billy Sharpe.
“Will,” she says gently, “there was no Billy.” I’m shaking my head. “Yes, there was. He broke Way’s arm, so I broke his nose. I—” She’s shaking her head, and I’m biting my tongue, and fuck, she looks so sad. Why does she look so sad? Don’t say it. Please don’t say it— “It wasn’t Billy.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Goddamn it, Ivy. God. Fucking. Damn it all.
My eyes burn and I start to shake my head. “Way—” “I can’t be friends with a f-faggot, okay?” he shouts, and it’s like something splinters right down the very core of me.
It’s only then that I feel the wetness trailing down my cheek. “But I thought...” I whisper, losing my voice. I thought you liked me too.
A shadow—a scuffle of movement— and then he’s kissing me. Full and sticky-sweet from whiskey, his lips dig into me with a ferocity that borders on punishing. Rather than letting go of me to get leverage, he drags our clasped hands up and next to my head, slamming them into the wooden floor so hard I feel the blood swell, the skin bruise. He uses his other hand to slam down next to my head. Framing me in.
Through his teeth, right against my parted, panting mouth, he snarls, “I hate you.” I smile a sad, breathy smile against his bared teeth. “Show me.” Another growl scrapes out of him at the same time his lips come crashing down on mine.
He looks so small right now. Small and vulnerable as he curls over himself. I did that, I realize. He is now a shell of the boy I met way back in November. The boy with the weirdly harsh voice and the take-no-shit attitude. It’s like something crucial has been taken from him, and the realization that I did this—I broke him, the boy I once called my best friend—it shatters me. His hand comes up to wipe his face, and I don’t miss that he’s shaking.
It always, without fail, throws me back to that warm spring day outside Shiloh Elementary School, squirming under skin too tight and gasping for air through my teeth as the first boy I ever really liked—my best friend—told me he couldn’t be friends with a faggot. As that same boy shoved me down and spit in my face only days later. Breaking my heart and spirit all in a matter of seconds. Seconds. Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.
“Trust me, he’s not here. People who want to die, want to be found.” The note Zayne left me flits through my vision.
“Waylon?” Reggie says, giving his cheek a little slap. “Come on, buddy. Wake up.” My chest tightens to the point of pain, and I can’t help but compare this scene to the one from Zayne’s dorm room all those months ago. “Is he dead?” I don’t realize that’s my flat, lifeless voice until I hear Ivy’s sharp inhale, and Reggie’s snapping his head toward me with a frown.
I snap my head up, colliding with a pair of wide, dark blue eyes that look like they’ve just seen a ghost. Will’s face is pale as shit and my stomach drops. Never in the short time I’ve seen him since he’s been back, nor in the brief time I knew him as kids, have I seen this look in his eyes. He looks scared. No, terrified. The words I just spoke play back to me in my head, and I want to ram my head into the wall. What the fuck was I thinking revealing all that? I shove away from the table to a stand, but Will’s already gone before I can even call out his name.
“I should’ve seen what was going on and done something,” I rush out raggedly. “It’s why I went into psychology in the first place—to help people. To save lives that would otherwise be okay if it weren’t for the fucking demons in their heads. It’s all I ever felt compelled to do, and it was all for nothing. I had the resources to do something, and I did nothing.” I laugh wetly. “How the fuck could I ever call myself a therapist, psychologist, whatever, if I couldn’t even see what was right in front of my fucking face? The one person I should have helped...protected...”
“I was so fucking far up my own ass, I didn’t see how my so-called boyfriend was fucking wilting away right before my very eyes with each passing day. Or hell, maybe I did see it, but didn’t think it was serious enough to do anything about it.” I shake my head, disgusted with myself. “I knew he was sad, but I didn’t think—I didn’t know—”
“You know,” I say thickly, “I was terrified to get close to anyone again for years after you. I mean, sure, I had friends back in Philly, but it was never the same. The rose-tinted glasses had been shattered and there was no going back for me.” He makes a strangled noise in his throat. “I didn’t even come out to anyone but my family until I was in high school ’cause I was scared I’d lose another friend over it. Or worse, I’d...I’d fall for someone who couldn’t love me back the way I needed.” My breath hitches.
After all, up until Zayne killed himself, you were the worst thing that ever happened to me.”
“So it makes sense, right? Replace one loss with another, far less painful one?” “Will,” he croaks. I smile through my own tears. “At least there’s still hope for you. At least you’re still breathing.”
I can’t do this again. Not now. I don’t know what this is yet, but whatever it is can wait. Say, until, like, the next century perhaps. It’s getting too hard. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep wanting him, only for—
Jeremy Montgomery’s sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, his legs extended out in front of him. His pale, silvery hair glimmers under the ceiling light as he looks down at the body sprawled halfway across his lap. His long fingers comb back Mason’s ash brown hair as ice-blue eyes stare up at the ceiling with the sort of vacancy I haven’t seen in years.
“Mason.” Ignoring me—if he even heard me—he reaches up and brushes his fingertips over Jeremy’s pale, smooth jaw, in a feather-light touch. Jeremy’s eyes flash with something I can’t name as his fingers twitch against Mason’s hairline, and I don’t know who’s tenser—me, or the guy who currently has his dead twin sister’s boyfriend’s hand shakily cupping his face. I watch with bile burning in my throat as Jeremy slowly drops his gaze to collide with Mason’s. Mason, of all fucking people. The guy who loved Izzy—Jeremy’s literal other fucking half—more than anyone and anything in this fucking
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Jeremy’s hands have fallen to his sides, and he seems to be staring right through me. A thick sheen of tears coats his honey brown eyes,
Jeremy’s stiff as a fucking board behind Mason. I can’t be sure he’s mentally still here.
“I wish it was you.”
Jesus, look at us. Jeremy lost his twin fucking sister, and here’s Mason and me, two fucked up assholes, making it all about us.
Exactly
“Forget where our dicks have been. What about everything else? Everything you told me yesterday? Everything that we shared these last few weeks? Damn it, Waylon.” I point the bottle at him. “You’re the one who started all of this. You’re the one who stopped me from walking away when I tried to let you go.” I pause to take a much-needed breath. “You’re the one who kissed me first. Fuck, you’ve kissed me first every goddamn time.”
