Prologue

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The resounding ticking of the second hand on the clock above my head.

The warbled thumps of boots wearing a path across the carpet.

The chugging of my heart, expanding and contracting, pulsing in my ears.

Thud—

A door opening.

"Is it her?" Waylon.

Silence.

The hands cupped loosely in my lap blur, just as a hitched gasp rips across the room, quickly followed by something hitting the floor.

Thud.

It echoes, echoes, echoes…

"Mason?"

My name comes out slow and distorted, as if I'm hearing it from underwater, and it echoes too, even though the voice comes from right next to me.

When did Ivy get here? I wonder vaguely, frowning.

I swallow, and it occurs to me that I can't remember the last time I did that—swallow. Something that should be simple, effortless, and yet my body protests, bile surging upward as I choke on a gasp.

Squeezing my eyes and lips shut, I massage my sternum and throat as I push it down.

Don't think about it.

I run the back of the hand I barely register as my own across my parched lips, and finally lift my gaze, looking around, but not really taking anything in.

The seconds drag, as evidenced by the slowed, discordant ticking of the clock.

Albany.

We were playing a show in Albany.

A packed venue. Sold out.

They cut our set short, rushed us out of there.

I pinch my lip ring between my fingers, shaking my head, brow furrowing as I run through everything that happened tonight—trying to piece together how I got here.

Here being a hospital in Danville, Pennsylvania, just over an hour from home. Three hours from where our tour stopped tonight.

"My phone's dead, what's going on?"

"Where's Jeremy?"

"Where's Will?"

"Where's Ivy?"

"Come on, guys. On the bus. We'll explain on the way."

"No, where the fuck is Jeremy?"

"Will… Are you okay? Where are you? Did something happen?"

"Are you…are you sure?"

"No. No, that's not possible."

"Where's Jeremy? I need…I need to talk to him."

"He's not answering me either."

Here beinga private waiting room on the sixth floor, surrounded by some of the most important people in my life.

"Her family is with her now. We don't want to overwhelm her."

"We have friends who are meeting us."

"We'll have someone bring them here when they arrive."

"No one will bother you here."

"We don't know much yet."

"This isn't happening. This isn't happening."

"Where's Jeremy?"

"Sit the fuck down before you pass out."

"It's gonna be fine. Just breathe, just breathe…"

Here beingthis uncomfortable chair where life as I know it shatters for the third time in my life.

"It might not even be her."

"Did Ray and Eva even see her yet?"

"It's not her. It can't be, not after all this time. It has to be some mistake, some really fucked up mistake."

"She died. They said she died. She can't?—"

"Where did they find her?"

"Has anyone heard from Jeremy?"

"If this is some kind of joke, I'm going to?—"

"They have her sedated."

It's at the sound of his voice that time snaps forward, and it all comes rushing back. I come rushing back—back into my body, back into this small, private waiting room, back into this dream that isn't a dream at all.

They have her sedated.

Her.

The words fall over the silent room, flat, almost clinical.

Like it means nothing.

Like with a single sentence, he didn't just confirm a miracle.

My gaze lifts to where Jeremy Montgomery stands in the open doorway, chin lowered to his chest, lashes fanning over his cheeks, hiding his eyes. His hair looks more silver than white, washed out in the dim lighting. It's a mess too, like he's been running his fingers through it.

I'm standing before I even realize what I'm doing, hands balled at my sides.

On the outside, there's no indication he even notices I'm here.

But I feel it.

The rising tension.

The pointedness to his avoidance of me.

Despite the hushed murmurings coming from where Will and Waylon embrace off to the side, the silence grows more and more deafening with each passing second. Almost painful—like that pressure right before your ears pop.

Except…the pop never comes.

I feel eyes on me—Shawn. Ivy.

But I only have eyes for him.

Jeremy.

Without a word, he abruptly turns around and disappears the way he came, bolting out of sight.

Chuck—one of our roadies who's been guarding the door, ensuring only hospital personnel are permitted inside—glances in the room with a frown just as he goes to shut it.

I don't let him.

"Mason?" a worried voice calls after me.

Not looking back at whoever spoke, I mutter something along the lines of, "Be right back." And then I'm shouldering past Chuck and stumbling into the hall, the noise and lights and nurses bustling about momentarily blinding me, heightening the pressure squeezing my skull.

Time does that thing again—slowing, slowing, slowing…

I swing my head both ways, my body feeling strange, like it's no longer a part of me.

There.

I catch sight of him at the far end of the hallway, just as he disappears around the corner, and with a sharp hitch of breath, I hurry after him.

The carpet quickly gives way to linoleum as my boots eat up the distance separating us.

I pass by the nurse's station. Breeze past open doorways to patient rooms.

Low monotonous beeping.

The whirring of machines.

Muffled television chatter.

It all spikes and fades, spikes and fades, not unlike the thudding of my steps, my heart, and the echoing clock I can't seem to shake, ticking down the seconds to…

To what?

I round the corner, and jolt to a stop.

A dead end.

To my right, there's a row of elevators.

To my left, a row of vending machines.

And straight ahead, stands Jeremy with his back to me, and behind him, a gray couch.

His back rises and falls with deep, steady breaths. It's just the two of us, alone for the first time since some hotel in New Jersey a couple weeks back.

Slowly, so slowly, he turns around.

Glistening amber eyes find mine for one solid, time-stopping beat, and I feel something stutter painfully in my chest.

"Jeremy," I breathe, taking a step forward.

He throws up a hand, halting my approach, quickly averting his gaze. "Don't."

With that single word, he might as well have shoved a stake through my heart.

He shakes his head, face bunching like he's trying to hold back tears.

He never cries…

In all the years I've known him, I can count on one hand how many times I've actually seen this boy let his tears fall.

Always so stubborn…

"I just needed a moment," he says, and there's that flat, almost robotic tone again.

I swallow. Hard.

"So it really is her," I whisper, unable to help myself.

He stills. And I wait.

"We wouldn't be here, if it wasn't. If they weren't absolutely sure," he finally says quietly.

"But…but did you actually see her?" My voice cracks. "With your own two eyes. How do you know it's?—"

"It's her."

The words drop between us, taking my breath with them.

I stare at him.

His jaw ticks, his gaze darting over the floor, lashes fluttering. He clears his throat. "I only got a glimpse. Through a window. But it was enough. Even if I didn't…" His voice trails off, catching on a shaky inhale.

"You feel her," I whisper numbly, my heart pounding.

A short nod.

"I thought…"

He lifts his head enough for me to make out the bitter tilt to his mouth. With a quiet scoff, he says, "Yeah, well." A pause. "The second I got the call, I just… I knew."

My throat burns. Jaw quivering, I rasp, "What now?"

Either he doesn't hear me, or he ignores me, because he rubs his fingers over his forehead, and says, "We need to get back. Dad's gonna be looking for me. She's sedated right now. She freaked out. Mom was with her when she woke up, and she just… she freaked out."

I frown.

"They w-want me to try instead. Sit with her. Be with her when she wakes up," he goes on before I can ask him to elaborate. "Apparently, she was confused and disoriented when they found her. They're not sure how bad it is yet—the…the trauma. Her memories… She?—"

"She might not remember us?"

Jaw tightening, he nods. "Doctor said it was a possibility." He swallows with an audible click. "It happens with cases like this, I guess, I don't know. They figure if there's anyone bound to jog her memory—provide some kind of comfort—it'd be me."

"Oh. Makes sense."

"Sorry."

My brow furrows, and I shake my head. "Why are you?—"

"We should really get back." Running his fingers through his hair, he steps to the side and goes to brush past me. "I need to?—"

Whipping a hand out, I clutch his bicep, halting him mid-step. His fingers still in their restless worrying.

Standing side to side, facing opposite ways, he's got his face still cast downward, and I've got mine angled toward him, my mouth inches from his ear.

"Will you please look at me?" I ask thickly.

He swallows, gasps, and screws his eyes shut like he's in pain. He drops his hand, shaking his head in a quick, jerky movement.

"Jeremy," I utter brokenly.

"I can't."

"This doesn't chan?—"

He snaps his head around, his gaze crashing into mine so fast, I rear back. And in a guttural voice, he says, "It changes everything."

The words wrench out of him with so much force, I half expect my body to curl over with the impact.

My fingers dig into his arm, and I open my mouth to refute it…

Only nothing comes out.

He nods, a knowing sheen overtaking his already too-bright eyes. "It's okay," he says near-soundlessly. My gaze drops to his mouth when he repeats it, tracing the shape of each syllable, trying to make it make sense. It's okay.

It's okay.

It's okay.

"This is a good thing," he says slowly, meaningfully.

Eyes and throat blazing, I search his face for the lie.

This has to be a trick.

There's no fucking way this is really happening right now. Not now, not after?—

"Jeremy?" a voice calls out, just as footsteps register.

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.

"Mason," he says.

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

Like his son, he too looks a mess. Dark brown eyes rimmed red. Hair strewn every which way. His mouth thins, lips curving down in a sad sort of smile, one that creases his eyes.

"Our girl's alive." The words burst out of him in a half-sob, half-laugh.

Our girl's alive.

I suck in a sharp breath, my chest squeezing. It's as if all the pressure in my head is slowly descending—denial giving way to crushing realization.

"I feel like I owe you an apology, kid." And with those words, he strides forward, enveloping me in a fierce hug.

My body jolts at the unexpected contact, my eyes widening as I stare off at nothing, arms hanging lifelessly at my sides. Ray squeezes me so hard, it's borderline painful. And in my ear, he's blubbering on about how sorry he was for giving up so easily—for not having faith like me.

"It's a miracle," he chokes out on a sob. "Our Izzy is home."

And all I can think is, I'm dreaming.

This has to be a fucking dream, just like every other time.

It's been years since I even let myself imagine this moment.

Our Izzy is home.

Years since I let myself fantasize about what I'd do, what I'd say….how I'd storm through whoever was blocking my path, and wrap her in my arms, and never let her go again.

Izzy is home.

Years since I accepted it would never be anything more than just that—a fantasy.

Izzy…

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.

Tears rush my throat at the sight, and I will myself to say something—call out to him. Stop him.

But his dad's still got me hostage in his arms, and he's practically crying in my ear—my baby, my baby, our girl's alive, your girl's alive—and I don't know what to do.

I don't know what the fuck to do.

Because in all my desperate imaginings—in all the scenarios in which I thought this could play out, back when I still had hope, back when I could cling to nothing else but this moment… the moment where Izzy was somehow miraculously returned to us…

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.

Wetness slides down my cheek, and as if sensing it—how close I am to breaking—Jeremy stops suddenly, and my lungs seize. My heart stops thrashing. I am utterly and totally motionless.

He twists just enough to look over his shoulder and level me with those bright, tearful amber eyes, and an image of the first time he walked away from me like this, rises to the surface. Summoning with it, more memories—more familiar scenes—all rushing forth and closing in on me at once.

His throat bobs with a swallow, and I wonder if he can see it on my face—our past playing out like a movie. Can he feel the gravity of it all, pulling us down?

Distantly, I'm aware of Ray still murmuring an incessant chant of relief and disbelief, but it might as well be coming from miles away.

Jeremy dips his chin, gaze boring into me.

And in my head, he's six.

Then he's ten.

Fourteen.

Fifteen

Sixteen…

Seventeeneighteennineteentwentytwentyonetwentytwo—

All these versions of Jeremy flashing through my mind—amber eyes searing through me from across a room. Golden blond hair haloing his head, spun silver-white as he got older and cut it, dyed it.Shy smiles and ducked gazes and hunched shoulders that turned into rogue grins and rolled eyes and stubborn juts of his chin.

When did we grow up?

We were seventeen and then it's just a black hole—a horrible, awful black hole, with threads of light shining through, as the grief slowly but surely gave way to acceptance.

And now we're here.

He crooks me a small, sad, knowing smile. And just before he disappears around the corner, taking with him every other version of Jeremy conjured up in my head, he repeats his earlier words, mouthing them so they're just for me.

This is a good thing.

A good thing…

Because Isobel Montgomery is alive.

His sister is alive.

The girl I loved so desperately, until it almost killed me…

The girl I went to war with the gods over…

The girl I thought I'd marry one day…

She's alive.

She's alive.

This is a good thing…

And yet?—