Chapter 28

AGE 17, SEPTEMBER

Summer passeslike all summers do—much too quickly. And before I know it, senior year has begun. And time suddenly feels as if it's slipping right through my fingers.

Breathless and naked, Izzy and I lay on our backs, staring up at her plain white ceiling.

From her speakers, I've got my iPod synced and our playlist playing on shuffle. The gentle, rhythmic strums of a guitar fill the room as Paramore's "The Only Exception" kicks on.

Izzy rolls her head toward me, and I do the same. A smile edges up our cheeks, and then I'm leaning forward, softly pressing my lips to hers in a lingering kiss.

Against her mouth, I murmur, "I love you."

She whispers back, "Love you too."

Our kiss deepens, tongues tangling lazily.

After a minute or so, we part with a languid sort of inevitability, cheeks dropping to our respective pillows. We stay curled on our sides, facing each other, with my arm wrapped around her, holding her to me.

She lifts a hand, grazing a fingertip down my cheek feather-light. Her amber eyes drift around my face, and she inhales deeply through her nose. "I'm gonna miss you."

I smile softly, nodding in the heel of her hand. Turning my face, I press a kiss to her palm. "Me too."

"I wish I could bring you with me."

"I know."

She smiles sadly.

"You're going to kick ass," I tell her.

Her lips twist, cheeks pinkening in that way they only do when it's me complimenting her. "You're just saying that."

I roll my eyes. "When have I ever just said that?"

She bites her lip. "Have you heard anything back from NYU yet?"

Shaking my head, I say, "No."

"It's early."

I smile thinly. "You're just saying that."

She gives me a playful shove, and I use the opportunity to grab her fully, rolling on top of her. Grabbing her wrists, I pin them above her head. Brown hair splayed around her, cheeks flushed, lips parted, warm eyes glittering…

It's wild, sometimes, to think that this is the same frizzy haired girl who all but stormed into my life and made me her friend. The same girl who gave me a whole second family. The girl who gave me piano.

Eleven fucking years.

I'm not stupid—I know what people think, what they're probably saying behind our backs.

I know even her parents worry that we jumped the gun too young—committed to something before we really ever had a chance to live. To explore. To find ourselves.

And it's not like I don't think about it too sometimes, especially lately…what with senior year having begun, and college on the horizon, and everything else that happened in the last six months.

Waylon's attack.

The truth about his abuse finally coming to light, despite his insistences that it was just one time.

His dad's arrest, and the shitstorm he left in his wake.

And I think of Jeremy…of what my life is going to look like next year, when it's just Izzy and Waylon and me. How it's always been…but also not.

All for one, and one for all…

"What is it?" Izzy says quietly, a frown stamped between her brows. "You look sad all of a sudden."

"Nothing," I murmur, and my chest squeezes with the lie. "I just…"

Her frown deepens, and she pushes me off her so she can scoot up against the headboard. Shadows dance across her skin, over the gentle swells of her bare breasts. The string lights strung about the room flicker over her skin like diamonds.

Sitting back on my ass, I tuck the comforter over my lap. "Do you ever have regrets?"

Her eyes widen. "About…"

Jaw working, I gesture between us.

Hurt rounds her eyes, and she shakes her head, causing her hair to spill all around her. She curls forward, as if to hide the fact she's naked, and I realize how much of an asshole I am, bringing this up now.

We just had sex. Not for the first time, but still.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," I say, wincing. "I didn't mean like us-us."

Sure about that?

Shoving that thought away, I clarify, "I meant, like, piano."

"I don't understand."

I lift a shoulder. "I guess I just wonder if maybe we…took it too serious sometimes. Like we put it first, when maybe we should've had more fun?"

She blinks a couple times, gaze focused somewhere just past me. "I don't…know if I understand."

Throat thick, I stare at her.

"I thought you loved it."

"I do," I say, reaching forward, grabbing her hands in mine. "I do. Piano is…music is everything to me."

Her gaze finally meets mine again, wary, and…and something else I can't quite pinpoint.

"I guess I'm just worried because…I don't really know who I am outside of it, you know? And isn't that something I should know?"

She's shaking her head. "Where is this coming from?"

I swallow tightly. "I don't know. Just something Jeremy said a while bac?—"

"JJ?" Her frown deepens.

"Yeah," I say, waving a vague hand. "He, um, he was talking about his plans for college. And?—"

"Wait, he's still applying to?—"

"Yes," I cut in gently, but firm.

She relaxes, nodding, gaze distant.

Sucking the inside of my cheek, I try not to feel like a dickhead for…well, not lying, per se.

Omitting is totally lying.

I bite back a curse, and look down at the rumpled blankets.

While she knows that he didn't get into his first choice, she has no idea he's applied to other schools…

Ones not in New York.

His new top choice?

California Institute of the Arts.

Literally the other side of the country.

I tell myself it's not for that reason, that it's because it's a good school, because the weather's nice, because….because something about it on the website appealed to him.

They're LGBTQ+ friendly.

The second the thought enters my mind, I cast it out. Right along with the colorful images that flash across my mind, from the gallery I skimmed through on their website.

Don't presume anything. He's nothing until he says he's something. Don't be like everyone else.

It's a mantra I've stuck to for years. One I've insisted upon, even with Izzy, who has the best intentions at heart…but has a history of acting first, and thinking second.

I don't know much about being gay or bisexual or queer…

But I do know it's not my place to assume anything. I've read enough up on my sister over the years—learned stuff in family counseling when she first started transitioning—to know that the way people have treated Jeremy, not just the bullying, but the…the stereotyping and the assumptions made, even those with good intent…

It's not fucking right.

And gay or straight, I don't care, as long as he's happy and whole and not bleeding from his wrists.

Even if…even if that means he can't be happy and whole here, with me. With us. In New York, living…living our dreams…

He'll be safe there. That's what matters. Safe and happy.

"Mason?"

My gaze lifts to find Izzy watching me with an indiscernible look in her eye, not unlike the one I noticed earlier. And I feel my pulse quicken. Something…something's there, right on the edge of my awareness, trailing a feather-light claw down my neck, raising the little hairs.

"Are you…are you having second-thoughts?" she asks. "If you don't wanna go to New York, we?—"

Shaking my head, I say, "No. No, I don't know what I'm saying. I?—"

"They're going to accept you. They'd be idiots to turn you down."

I smile, and huff a quiet laugh.

Somewhere, inside me, I feel relieved.

Relieved that's where her head went to.

"I mean it, Mason," she says solemnly. "You're amazing. Piano, guitar… singing. You can do it all."

Snorting softly, I say, "No, that's Waylon."

"No, that's you too. You can do far more than I ever could."

"Iz…"

"I don't mind that piano's it for me. But…" She trails off, pressing her lips together.

I cock my head. "But what?"

She searches my eyes. "Maybe…maybe piano's not it for you."

I stare at her, unsure what to say.

Piano's what it's always been about. For both of us, ever since that first day I came over, so many years ago, and she taught me magic.

"It's okay if your dream isn't my dream."

"No, no that's…that's silly. I?—"

"Mason…"

"I love piano."

Her eyes crease with her nod. "I know you do."

"I-I might need more practice than you. I might be slower to?—"

She leans forward, clasping my face in her hands. "That's not what I mean and you know it."

My eyes cut to the right, gaze catching on the small black infinity symbol inked into Izzy's wrist. I have the same one, in the exact same spot, just under the heel of my palm. We got them last winter. Older brother of a kid in our class did them.

"Eyes like smiles like figure eights," I sing quietly.

Izzy smirks, singing back whisper-light, "Girl, you got me spinnin'…"

At that word, my brain travels back, back, back to a different melody—one that still haunts me.

I tried to create a song of it, and while I did manage to scrape up some lyrics, using a couple fragments of words from past journaling attempts—snippets of ideas and observations and feelings—the music changed. Especially once Izzy joined in to help. It quickened. Became something else. Became ours.

"Maybe that's what you're supposed to do."

I make a noise through my nose, and reach under Izzy's bent arms where she still holds my face, and wrap mine around her waist, tugging her to me. Her fingers slide up into my hair, tipping my head back.

"Write?" I murmur.

She nods. "Create."

"That was just for fun. For you. For us. We both wrote it."

"Ah, I see," she says, biting my lip. "You wanna do it all on your own."

"I didn't?—"

"It's okay," she murmurs. "It's okay to have something that's just yours."

"Music is ours," I say back.

She nods, dragging her lips across mine. "Always. For infinity."

I smile into the kiss, sliding my hands down her thighs, and dragging her onto my lap. "Infinity."

She pulls back, smiling. "And if that infinity branches off into other little infinities, that's okay too. That's the beauty of it after all. There will always be new melodies. It's endless."

I nod. "Like my love for you."

Her nose scrunches in that way it does—like a bunny—creasing her eyes. "Cheesy."

Narrowing my eyes, I rub our noses together. "So, so cheesy."

No more words are spoken after that, not for a while. And in the tangle of limbs and tight heat and soft, grazing kisses and touches that go from reverent to impassioned and back to exhausted lightheartedness…

I forget about that little twinge at the back of my mind.

Forget about the doubts and my fears for what's in store next year.

I forget about everything but the girl in my arms, the girl who's been a part of me for as long as piano has. There's no one without the other. They coexist, right next to my beating heart.

And later, much later, when we're dressed and saying our goodbyes on the front porch, I tell her with the utmost confidence, "You're gonna blow their minds, Iz."

If there's one thing I am absolutely certain of, it's that.

She grins, pushing up on her bare toes. It's early September—already getting chilly out—but this girl would go barefoot all year if she could. Arms looped loosely around my neck, she tilts her head back, wavy brown hair falling down her back, ends teasing my arms.

Her amber eyes gleam gold in the soft yellow light coming from the porch lamps on either side of the front door.

"I know," she says, nodding.

There she is, I think, dropping a kiss to her nose. "Good."

"Take care of Way while I'm gone?"

I sigh dramatically, throwing my head back. "If I must."

She shoves my shoulder. "Be serious."

Chuckling, I dip down, burying my face in her neck. "You know I will." I pause, and lift my head, arching her a look. "And you got JJ?"

She makes a face. "Duh. Always."

And as if summoned, just then a black car rolls into the driveway, heavy music blasting from cracked windows. I immediately recognize it as "A Boy Brushed Red Living In Black And White" by Underoath.

Good, I think, watching him turn and park next to my Jeep, just under the big red maple tree. I was hoping I could say goodbye to him too. They're catching an early morning flight, and have to be at the airport ass-crack early. Hence why I'm not allowed to sleep over tonight.

"Isobel!" a voice calls from inside.

Izzy rolls her eyes, and shouts back, "Coming, Mom!" She clicks her tongue, and stretches up for one last kiss. "I may or may not have packed yet."

Chuckling, I shake my head. "Go. I'll see you next week."

Stepping back, she gives me a little wave, just like she used to do when we were kids.

And then she's gone, the front door closing behind her.

Turning, I jog down the porch steps, heading for the line of parked cars, my own piece of shit Wrangler looking ridiculously out of place between Izzy's and Jeremy's twin Nissans—hers a pristine white that makes my Jeep look straight up filthy.

I found my ride not long after Waylon's attack, bought for dirt-cheap from some old widow across town. But it wasn't until early summer that I actually got to drive it. Reggie, Waylon's uncle and now-guardian, is a mechanic, and has been a huge help getting it up and running. And fixing it every time it breaks down, and something else needs to be replaced or repaired. Which happens a lot.

But it's been a whole three weeks now since it last needed some work—a new record.

And with school having started a couple weeks ago, I can't deny how grateful I am for the reprieve, hoping it lasts. Seeing as I can no longer pick up as many hours at Ray's Market as I was during the summer. And picking up shifts at Chickie's here and there, is more of a favor than anything else, despite Linda insisting on paying me the same rate as her other servers every time I work.

As happy as I am to have my own ride, so I never have to feel trapped and helpless again like I did back in April…

I know I'm just flushing money down the toilet at this point.

I'll be on my own next year, with or without scholarships. New York City is fucking expensive, and even if I do end up having to take out massive student loans…just every day expenses are gonna be a nightmare.

Pinching my brow, I shake away all the anxiety that comes with planning for college, and turn my attention to the car still running, headlights sweeping over the asphalt, faint plumes of smoke drifting out up into the sky from the open windows.

My steps slow, a frown pulling down my face when the windshield comes into view, and I notice there's no one behind the wheel.

"The hell?" I mutter.

The music's been turned down to a low, thudding beat that gently rattles the windows.

It's not until I fully pass my Jeep that I see the trunk popped open.

Walking between our cars, I call out, "Hey, just heading ou…t…"

Jeremy whirls around from where he was bent over in nothing but a pair of tight black boxer briefs, jeans pooled around his ankles. Eyes bugging, he straightens, yanking them up in the process.

My gaze snaps up to his, widening. "Out. I'm heading out."

His cheeks are blazing as he quickly zips up his fly, buttoning it, and he nods jerkily, pale, lightly freckled shoulders hunched by his ears, chest caved.

"What are you doing?" I say, my voice oddly tight.

Leaning into the open trunk, he quickly grabs a baggy black and red striped long-sleeved shirt, shakes it out, and quickly throws it over his head. "What does it look like?"

He shoves his arms in the sleeves, and quickly tugs it down over his pale, flat chest and stomach. Avoiding my gaze, he runs his fingers through the golden blond hair tumbling around his downturned face.

"Were you…driving naked?"

His fingers still, and his eyes shoot up to mine, brow furrowed. "What? No, no, I'm…" He waves a hand. "My clothes smelled like pot, so I…" He waves a hand down at his now-covered body.

I blink. "Your parents know you smoke."

He rolls his eyes, flinging some hair back. "Yeah, but they'd prefer it if I did it in the safety of our backyard," he mumbles.

"Right," I say. I knew this.

Clearing his throat, his eyes dart to mine, then away, but then he doubles back, frowning. "Are you…okay?"

"Huh?"

He slouches, bringing his hands together, and cracking his fingers. "You look…funny."

"Uh, yeah…" I run my tongue against my teeth and bring a hand to my hair, running my fingers through the knots. "I'm fine. Just..." I blow out a breath, nodding. "You shouldn't be driving and smoking."

He snorts, and I glare at him.

He holds up his hands. "Okay, Dad." He grabs his messenger bag from the trunk before slamming it closed. "I'll keep that in mind."

He makes to brush past me, when I grab his shoulder, halting him.

Rearing back a step, he cocks his head, eyeing me expectantly.

"I mean it. It's dangerous."

His brows, a shade darker than his hair, pinch together. "O-kayyyy…What is going on here?" His brown eyes cut to the side, and I follow his gaze to where my fingers still have a firm grip on his shoulder.

I snap my arm back, throwing myself back a step. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Shaking his head, again he goes to move past me. This time I don't stop him.

Facing the trees, I stare straight ahead, not really seeing anything as neurons seem to fire every which way, snuffing out before I can hope to grab any sensible thought. Well, other than:

What the actual fuck is happening right now?

I'm vaguely aware of the driver door opening, the engine being killed, and windows rolling up. The door smacks shut, and then it's the quick thunk of sneakers on asphalt growing fainter with his receding footsteps, that finally has me snapping out of whatever…whatever the hell that was.

Did I just stroke out?

Seize?

Yep, that has to be it.

Whirling around, I jog to catch up with him. "Hey."

In the middle of the driveway, he turns around. "What?"

"You're leaving tomorrow."

His mouth twitches, humor alighting his amber eyes. "And I'll be back in a week."

I frown.

"See ya, Mase Face," he says teasingly, walking backward toward the house. "Don't burn the town down while we're gone."

Scowling, I roll my eyes and wave him off. "Funny, JJ. Very funny."

Chuckling, he turns away, and jogs the remaining distance to the porch. Bag swinging behind him, and bouncing off his?—

I quickly force my eyes away, chest heaving. My gaze immediately cuts up to the second story before I even realize what I'm doing. And the air gusts out of me when I see the curtains to Izzy's room still drawn. No movement.

I swallow tightly, and look around, chest pounding.

What the fuck. What the fuck.

Clearing my throat, I pull my keys out of my pocket, quickly rounding the hood of the Jeep. Distantly, I hear the front door open and close behind Jeremy, and all I can think is:

What the actual fucking fuck?

Followed by, Is that it?

What else did you expect? A hug goodbye? A kiss???

Shoving away the ridiculous thoughts swirling around my head, I climb in behind the wheel, remembering at the last possible second to not slam the door. This thing is fragile enough as it is.

"Please turn on, please turn on," I mumble, turning the key into the ignition. "Oh thank you, Jesus." Throwing my head back against the seat, I stare up at the soft top of my Jeep, and breathe in and out carefully.

"Okay," I murmur, reaching over for the radio, kicking it on. And?—

I blink blankly at the driveway, watching the little gnats flutter around my headlights.

Shouldn't they be, like, hibernating?

From the radio, Pearl Jam screams about dads not giving affection and moms who weren't there, and all I can do is bark out a short, rusty laugh.

Seriously?

"King Jeremy the wicked," I murmur faintly along with the lyrics. My vision wobbles.

What the hell is happening to me?

Jamming a finger on the tuner, I switch stations.

Releasing a sigh, when I hear a radio host introducing the next band—Three Days Grace—I crack my neck, and set my foot on the clutch, shifting into gear.

The Jeep creaks, protesting, and I grit my teeth, sending another silent prayer.

"Time of Dying" starts playing, and I crank the volume up when I turn onto the street, kicking up my speed as far as my Jeep can take it without risking blowing something.

Drumming my hands on the wheel, I sing along at the top of my lungs, feeling that familiar chill of adrenaline I always get when I'm able to hit every note, racing through my veins.

Invisible. You're invisible.

Nothing can touch you.

Nothing else exists.

You are the music.

It's only about a five minute drive to my house from here, when I don't hit any red lights. And tonight seems to be my lucky night.

Turning onto our gravel driveway, I lower the volume on the radio, still singing to the Breaking Ben song that just started playing, my fingers squeezing and twisting the steering wheel.

Once parked, I quickly hop out, and head for the house.

The sun has now fully sunken over the mountains, leaving just the stars and a sliver of moonlight to go by. That is until I draw closer to the porch, and the motion sensor light kicks on.

Once inside, I hear Mom yell out from the kitchen, "Mason, that you?"

"Yep." Not breaking stride, I ascend the steps in a jog. "Gotta shit. Will be back down in a sec."

"Mason Dean!" Mom admonishes at the same time Phoebe giggles loudly and starts chanting, "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Grinning to myself, I shake my head as I hear Mom start scolding her, and Phoebe's, "It's just a word, Mom."

She's ten now, and more of a handful than ever, testing boundaries any way she can.

Probably doesn't help that I encourage it when Mom's not looking

She's going to be a nightmare one day. I can't wait.

Bypassing my bedroom, I head straight for the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind me, and flipping on the light and vent in one sweep. A buzzing fills the room, immediately followed by the loud rumble of our shitty vent—something I'm currently grateful for.

Heart pounding, I flip the lock, and stride across the room for the sink.

What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you?—

My racing thoughts grind to a halt the second my hands slam down on either side of the counter, and my gaze snaps to the one looking back at me from the mirror.

I delve deep into my pale blue gaze, looking for…something.

An answer.

An explanation.

My jaw twists to the side, a muscle ticking in the corner. Nostrils flare. A faint sheen of sweat clings to my temples, and my light brown hair curls up every which way, all knotted from the drive home.

I just need to…

I squeeze my eyes shut, and conjure up images from earlier—Izzy splayed out on the bed, nipples beading up between my fingers. Her wet slit clenching around my tongue, my fingers, my cock…

The hints of something sweet and floral that seem to cling to every inch of her skin—her newest favorite scent, and which she's bought everything in. It has a fancy as fuck name I can never remember, though the collection she uses is apparently just some sort of knock-off of the expensive original version.

Head hanging, I reach between my legs, digging the heel of my palm in my bulge. I came not even an hour ago, and that was the third time today. Not that Izzy and I normally have sex all that often, especially lately—usually just a couple times a week, if that. Until today, it's been weeks. She's been so swept up in practicing for the upcoming showcase—the reason they're leaving for Florida in the first place.

Because why do it in New York City, where the school's actually located, when you can do it however thousand miles away in paradise instead?

Focus.

Gritting my teeth, I straighten, and pop open the button on my jeans for some relief, fumbling in my haste. The zipper's not even halfway down when I start shoving everything over my hips, boxers included, baring myself.

I spread my legs as far as I can, and squirt some soap on my palm, before fisting my length.

"Izzy, Izzy, Izzy," I murmur.

Maybe I should feel bad, jerking off to her. Why I even think I should feel bad, I have no idea. She's my girlfriend. I've done it before. This time though…

This time…

Eyes screwed shut once more, I summon more images—memories—not just from earlier, but from all the times before.

Biting my lip, I stroke faster, harder, remembering the curves molding to my hands. The taste of her, sweet and musky. The way she arched her slim, delicate neck, rosy lips parted with a choked back moan…

When she could no longer contain her sounds, I kissed her—hard. So hard, it stifled our breaths, leaving us gasping by the time we crash-landed in a heap of sticky, messy wetness, and sweltering, smothering heat that cloyed the room.

"F-fuck," I chatter, stroking my thumb over my crown. That's it. Fuckkkk.

My balls draw up tight, and I suck my lower lip into my mouth, thrusting into my fist.

It happens insidiously—the way the images in my head shift.

Starting first with the eyes, and then the neck, and then the chest.

Wrong, so wrong…

But by the time I even think that, it's already too late.

My mouth stretches open on a silent gasp—a scream.

Stars dance behind my eyelids, outlining the sharp edges and blunted curves of freckled shoulders, and the planes of a smooth chest. A clenched, flat stomach…

And then it's a perfectly rounded thrust-out ass, fabric molded to its shape like a second skin, leaving practically nothing to the imagination.

The heat in my groin cranks up to boiling levels, leaving nothing but chills raking across the rest of my body.

My abs clench, rippling, arms flexing, jerking, right along with my hips.

I'm so close, so close?—

The figure in my fantasy turns around. Before I can fully lift my gaze.

A happy trail.

A bulge.

Fuck! I scream soundlessly into the bathroom, my entire body quaking as I explode into my waiting palm.

I tear the other one away from the sink, not missing the red line across the middle from where the edge of the counter dug in, and quickly reach down, catching what slips between my fingers.

Blinking hard, I take big gulps of air, focusing on the faucet so as not to see myself in the mirror as I come down from one of the most intense fucking orgasms I've ever had, one from my own hand at that.

"Holy shit," I murmur soundlessly.

My hands are shaking when I thrust them in the sink, and use my elbow to turn on the faucet. The water slowly turns hot—scalding hot—and I wince, quickly flicking on the other faucet.

Shaking my head, I swallow a couple times. My dick still juts out, having not softened yet, flushed and sticky and smeared with soap.

"Fuck it," I mutter, and strip down, before heading for the tub, and turning on the shower head. Letting it heat up, I grab a towel from the linen closet, and go to throw it over the hook next to the bathtub, when my gaze catches and locks on my reflection.

I barely even recognize the guy staring back at me.

"What the fuck was that?" I ask him.

My reflection's eyes turn glassy. His Adam's apple bobs. He's shaking his head.

He's as at a loss as I am.

I wait for the guilt to hit, knowing it's coming. Hell, it's already here, just…buried right now, buried under the heavy-ass boulder that is shock and confusion and-and…

Something I can't name.

Something I don't want to name.

This…this isn't how it's supposed to go.

Whirling away from the stranger in the mirror, I jump in the shower, pumping up the heat.

And I wash this night and these feelings away, watching it all swirl down the drain.

Forget it, forget it, forget?—