Chapter 45

Mom and Dad are selling the house. Idk how I feel about it. Idk how I feel about a lot of things these days.

For Mom and Dad's sake, I'm glad, I guess. Relieved. They bought an RV. Plan to travel for a while… especially with me moving out.

I start college in January. Move into the dorms right after Christmas. I'm nervous, but excited too.

Well, excited might not be the right word. Impatient is more like it. I just want to get the newness of it all over with. I just want my life to finally begin.

It's gonna be a huge adjustment. For all of us, but Mom especially. She's in counseling though. Dad too. They've both come a long way these last few months. Really, ever since the funeral.

I wouldn't say it was easy for them to accept your death. Those first couple weeks were dark. Really dark. And then we had the funeral, and it got even darker…

I know they still have their bad days—days where they doubt if they made the right decision accepting what we were told. Days where they feel guilty for putting you to rest, and trying to move forward.

Me too, I guess. Though I don't really let myself think about any of it. In my head, you're gone…dead…but also not? Idfk

I know, I know—not healthy. But it is what it is right now.

You'll be happy to know I'm back in therapy though, and I've upped my meds.

One of the big things I'm working on right now in therapy is rewiring my tendencies to bottle up my emotions. Apparently I have an unhealthy tendency to not only intellectualize my feelings—hence why I feel nothing at all—but I also use other people's pain to mask my own. Shocker, right?

But truth is…I don't really wanna think how big of a deal all of this is. College. Being on my own. Leaving Shiloh and the only home I've ever known. Losing my childhood home and all its memories. Leaving Mason…

I'm afraid I'll back out if I dwell on it. Afraid I'll beg our parents to keep the house—stay—when I know how hard it is for them. Hell, it's hard for me.

But then again, I've always been a bit of a masochist.

Mason was supposed to come home in time for Thanksgiving, but he decided to extend his stay in rehab.

Is it wrong that I'm relieved that I won't have to face him before I leave?

We haven't talked. Not since the hospital. Waylon said I could call him, but I've yet to build up the courage. I'm worried I'll somehow fuck with his progress.

Okay, fine, I'm just being a coward. I'm worried if I tell him I'm going to college—leaving Shiloh–I'll lose my courage to go. This way, I won't have to face him until it's already too late. I'll be gone.

I fucking hate this. You should be here.

Merry Christmas, Iz. I love you. And I miss you. I hope you're at peace. I really, really do. Even if it means I might never find any again.

Tomorrow's the day. I begged Mom and Dad not to make a big deal of it, and while they mostly respected my wishes…they still decided to throw me a small going away party tonight. And by small, I mean it was just them and Waylon and his cousin Ivy.

For the first time in years, the house was filled with music again. Laughter. It was…nice. But bittersweet to say the least.

Waylon didn't stay long, but I didn't expect him to. Out of the three of us—Mason, Waylon, and me—he has the hardest time coming around the house. There's this…rift between him and Mom and Dad, I'm not sure they will ever be able to repair.

Ivy hung out for a while longer though. I guess you'd say we're friends? Maybe? I don't really know when that happened.

I told myself when I moved out, I'd delete this number. Delete this entire thread of texts. It's not like your number's even connected anymore. But every time I go to delete it, something stops me.

I was never one for journaling, and putting words to what I was feeling and dealing with. It was easier to turn it into art—into something fictional and manageable. Personifying my anxiety into a monster for a superhero to defeat, rather than spell it out…dig too deep…

I was worried what truths would spill out. What secrets I would discover about myself. So long as I didn't face them head on, I could pretend they didn't exist.

The thing is… I'm in love with Mason, and I have been for years. Longer than is probably normal or healthy, but it is what it is.

So there you have it. Finally. The ugly truth in all its raw, pathetic glory.

AGE 19, JANUARY

"Well, hello,"a deep voice drawls over the music blasting from my phone.

Startled, I whirl from where I was in the middle of hanging a Chevelle poster above my bed, the shotty mattress creaking with my weight.

At the sight of my roommate, Gabe, I deflate.

That is, until I notice what he's holding, and my gaze drops to the now-open Converse shoebox on my desk. The one overflowing with old Polaroids and photos before cellphones were a thing, concert tickets, movie tickets…

All the sentimental shit I've accumulated over my life, thrown into a cardboard box like a total cliché.

Tensing, I say, "Gimme that."

Dark brows disappearing into the mess of inky curls falling around his face, turquoise eyes lift to mine, glittering with amusement. "What? Are there nudes in here? Because if it's of this guy…"

His voice trails off pointedly as I hop down and reach for the photo pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

All it takes is a glance to see what he grabbed, and I feel my face ignite.

"Look at those eyes! We'd make such pretty babies."

"Shut up," I grumble, chasing him across the room. He's taller than me by several inches, because of course he is, with long, lean arms and a long, lean torso, that he takes full advantage of now, holding the photo out of reach.

"Wait, is that you in the background? Why do you look like a homeless person?"

"Gabe, give it."

At my tone, he narrows his eyes. But thankfully listens this time.

All but ripping it out of his hand, I turn away, unable to help myself from staring down at the smiling face frozen in time looking back at me, pale blue eyes crinkled. Ash brown hair falling messily around his head. Straight white teeth gleaming.

My heart gives a mighty thump.

I'd set the box on my desk with the intent to finally muster the courage and open it. Maybe even hang some pictures on my wall, if I could stomach it.

He was so happy…

I remember this day like it was yesterday.

It was summer—our last summer before everything went to shit. Izzy had found an old disposable camera in her closet, and wanted to use up the film. Get them printed.

We were over at the old abandoned truss bridge on the edge of town, evidenced in the photo, silhouetted black behind Mason's head.

He's clearly shirtless, the photo coming to a stop just under his broad, flat chest.

It hurts to look at him like this. Tan and healthy. Clear-eyed. Smiling.

My finger traces over his Adam's apple as my own bobs with a swallow.

And then I'm reminded of Gabe's other words, and my gaze drifts to the corner, just above the slope of Mason's shoulder.

Homeless.

My mouth kicks up in a rueful grin at that.

I can see it. Compared to the gloriously half-naked god taking up most of the picture, I look ridiculous sitting on the rocks, bundled up in black hoodie and baggy jeans. My blond hair looks almost white thanks to the glare of the sun, and the crappy quality. And I'm twisted just enough that my face is aimed toward the camera.

It's only if you look close enough, that you see it's not the camera at all I'm staring at.

Did Izzy notice?

She's the one behind the camera…the one Mason is grinning at, love and happiness bursting out of his glacier blue eyes.

"Aw, is this baby J?"

Snapping back to the present, I turn my head to find Gabe now homed in on an old Polaroid. He holds it up, flashing it to me, and something squeezes in my chest.

"Yeah," I murmur, walking over to him.

The quality is even worse with this one—faded and blurry. But there's no mistaking the little blond boy dressed as Spiderman, sans mask. Or the girl next to him in a yellow, billowy princess dress, with her hands planted on her hips like she's heading into battle.

Belle.

We were five here, I think.

"Is this your sister?" Gabe asks, and I nod.

When I say nothing else, he turns back to the box, taking the photo with him.

"Ah, the blue-eyed cutie again," he says, and cuts me a knowing look, waggling his brows.

"It's not like that," I whisper.

"Uh huh. Sure. You forget I grew up closeted too."

"What does that have to do with anything?" I say, finally nudging him out of the way, and snapping the lid on the box closed. But not before he steals another photo from the box. Another one taken from Izzy's digital camera that summer before, this one—from the quick glance I get before he turns away—of all four of us in front of our treehouse. Mom took it. It was our last day of summer break—the day before senior year started.

"It means I know what pining looks like."

I huff shortly at that. "And you got that from one photo?"

"Is he your brother?"

Scowling, I scoff. "What? No."

"Exactly. That boy's got heartbreaker of little gay boys everywhere written all over him. I know the type."

"You're ridiculous," I say, yet I find myself fighting a smile, despite that ever-present ache inside me, fisting my heart.

It's only been two weeks since I met Gabe on move-in day, but it feels like we've known each other for years. It's surreal, as much as it is a relief. To say I wasn't scared shitless about moving into a shoebox-sized room with a stranger would be putting it lightly.

If it wasn't for the fact Cedar College is ranked as number one in the state of Pennsylvania as the most LGBTQIA+-friendly, and even takes it into consideration when assigning dorms—should you opt for it, that is, which I did—I don't think I would've been able to do this.

College.

Living in a dorm.

Moving over an hour away from the only home I've ever known, away from the only people I've ever known…

Not to mention, I started mid-year as a freshman one year older than most everyone else.

My parents had offered to help me with an apartment, seeing as Allentown is too far of a commute from Shiloh, but luckily a spot opened up when Gabe's roommate dropped out right before fall finals.

From the bed, "So Contagious" by Acceptance suddenly cuts out, replaced by a low, muffled vibration against the blankets. Figuring it's my mom again—she calls at least twice daily—I don't rush to check it.

Gabe's closer though, and as nosy as ever, glances down, his face lighting up. "Well well well, speak of the handsome devil."

Oh no.

"Gabe, don't?—"

Lifting the phone, he taps the screen, and grins at it. "Hellllo, gorgeous."

Eyes bugging, I scramble for the phone.

What the fuck? He FaceTimed me?

Well that's what you get for ignoring his texts and calls…

Growling at the voice in my head, I rip the phone out of my roommate's hand just as I hear a confused voice rumble out, "Where's Jeremy?"

At the sound of my name falling from that familiar voice, one I haven't heard in months…

A little piece of me dies.

Whirling away from a smirking Gabe, I squeeze the phone tight enough to mask my trembling as I lift it, and meet Mason's furrowed gaze.

As soon as I come into view…well, I don't quite know what to make of the emotion rippling across his face. He looks almost…relieved. But surprised too. Like…like something caught him off-guard.

"I'm right here," I say.

"JJ," he says into a smile.

"Don't call me that."

His grin widens, and my breath hitches, my heart dropping somewhere in my stomach.

I swallow hard, wishing Gabe wasn't here right now. He's blatantly watching me, eavesdropping on our conversation. When we first met, he told me he has boundary issues. Said it's because he's a from a big Italian family where butting in is their love language.

I told him I'm used to being smothered.

But, while true, I'm not used tobeing this exposed when said-smothering is happening.

And yet, for some reason, I don't shoo him out of here.

"Who was that?" Mason asks.

"My roommate. Gabe. He has boundary issues."

A snort flits across the room, and Mason's smile falters slightly. Why, I have no idea. But he quickly covers it up.

"You really did it. You went off to college."

I nod. "And you went off to rehab."

He winces just as I do. Shit, why did I say that?

"Sorry, I didn't mean?—"

"No, no," he says quickly. "It's true." A short laugh escapes him, the sound of it rusty.

Still, I can't help but catalog all the changes in him since last I saw him. Gone is the ashen paleness and the hollow cheeks and drooping eyes.

He looks healthy.

Sad, but alive.

"You look good," I find myself saying before I can stop it.

His mouth twitches, and he glances down. "Thanks. I feel…good."

"That's…that's good."

Jesus Christ.

Gabe's eyes are practically boring a hole in my head from where he sits on my bed.

Ignoring him, I adjust the phone, and quickly say, "When did you get out?" hoping to eradicate some of the awkwardness.

Mason's eyes gleam with amusement, like he knows what I'm doing. But he humors me anyway. "This morning."

Mason was originally only supposed to go for three months. But he ended up extending it for two more. Something I was well aware of, just as I was well aware today was the big day he finally came home.

Not your home anymore.

"I tried texting you. Calling you too."

"I was busy."

"Right." A beat passes, then, "Well good thing your roommate answered my FaceTime, otherwise I would've been making a trip to Allentown this evening."

There's a weird edge to his voice that has my brow furrowing. But it's quickly forgotten when his words register, and I blurt harshly, "No."

Mason's brows fly up, and I don't miss the flash of hurt in his eyes.

Shit.

Lowering my gaze, I shake my head. "I just mean?—"

"It's cool. I get it."

I peer up through my lashes, my stomach getting all twisted into knots when I see the resignation reflected back at me.

"You're starting over."

"Mase, that doesn't mean—" I start to say, but quickly cut myself off.

He smiles, and it's a sad, beautiful thing. I've missed his smiles.

"It's okay," he says more adamantly this time. "You more than fucking deserve it."

Eyes stinging, I have to look away again, swallowing a couple times before I can speak. My gaze catches on the unreadable green-blue eyes staring back at me from across the room.

For a moment, I'd actually forgotten I wasn't alone.

"Mason, I need to go," I mumble.

"Wait. Just—" His breath hitches, and I drop my gaze back to the phone.

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

The sincerity and regret boring through the screen are so strong, I could crumble from the force of it.

I could be home tonight.

Shiloh's just over an hour of a drive, less than if I floor it.

I could see him again…really see him…feel him, make sure he's not that same husk of a human I left laying in a hospital bed…

Thoughts and urges I'd done so well to shove down these last few months rise forth with a vengeance. Squashed only by one single, remaining logical thought:

And then what?

"I know," I hear myself say, steeling myself. "We already went through this. It's done."

"It's not done," he says with an unexpected amount of fierceness. Shaking his head, his face bunches with a scowl.

My pulse kicks up, fluttering like it's sprung wings.

"I was barely coherent in the hospital. It doesn't count."

Right.

"So, I'm sorry. For everything."

For leaning on me? For wiggling your way deeper into my heart than I even thought possible? For making me hate myself? Are you sorry for that too?

I wince at the thoughts running rampant through my head, caught off guard by how bitter they taste, and look away.

"Jeremy?"

"Y-yeah, sorry. Um, I mean I forgive you."

"Jer—"

"Look I really have to go. Gabe and I are going to this club, and I have to get ready, and?—"

"A-a club?"

Avoiding his gaze, I say, "I'm glad you're doing better, and you're home. I really am."

"Jeremy."

My eyes fall shut for a beat, and then I lift them, bracing myself as I stare into the eyes of the boy who merely breathes and breaks my heart.

"You'll be careful?" Worry tinges his voice, and sharpens his features.

It's the kind of worry most would laugh off. But I don't, because I can't see that worry and not see the true fear lurking behind it, the one that haunts him from deep within his bones, beyond what he's willing to acknowledge.

It's a fear I recognize, because it's one I felt.

A knowingness that you can't escape.

Bad shit does happen to good people.

Things can always get worse.

"I won't be alone," I say vaguely.

Jaw steeling, he nods shortly.

"Goodbye, Mason."

"We're still friends right?" he rushes out, just before I hang up.

We stare at each other for a long beat, before I finally whisper, "Always."

His lashes flutter, and he nods, his expression still tight. He goes to open his mouth when somewhere behind him, a deep, unrecognizable voice calls out, and he twists his said, yelling, "Be right there."

His gaze finds mine. "That's Shawn." His mouth twitches. "Met him in rehab. He's living with us now. And he's…"

I frown, trying to process all that. "He's…what?"

"He's my sponsor, I guess. We're each other's sponsors."

That's not exactly what I meant, but I still find myself asking, "Is that a good idea?"

He smirks, shrugging. "Maybe not. But…but he gets me."

I nod. Okay then…

"So I'll be okay," he murmurs, his throat bobbing.

I'll be okay without you.

That's what he means.

Did he sense how close I was to running home to him?

Am I more obvious than I thought?

Throat on fire, I nod. "Good. Because you promised."

"I did." He smiles thinly, and there's an odd glint to his eye, almost resentful when he says, "And I always keep my promises."

But before I can ask what that's about, he shakes it off with a whisper, "I'll let you go now."

Please don't.

"Bye, JJ."

And all I can do is whisper back, "Bye, Mase Face."

The screen goes dark, and I toss the phone on my desk.

Gabe whistles low under his breath, and I slap my hands to my face with a groan.

"It's not what you're th?—"

"Except I'm pretty sure it is."

Angry suddenly, I drop my hands and storm over to him, grabbing the photo he's still holding. I glance at it, heat blazing in my chest, scalding my eyes.

"See this girl," I say, jabbing my finger at Izzy standing between Mason and me. He's got her arm thrown around us both. On his other side, Waylon's got his arms crossed.

"Yes…" Gabe says slowly. "Your sister?"

"Yeah, and this guy?" Fuck, I'm shaking.

"The guy you're clearly in love with, yes," he says, not bothering to mask his amusement. Either he's oblivious to how worked up I'm getting, or he's just that unimpressed by it.

He gasps suddenly. "Oh shit." There it is. "He's your sister's boyfriend?" He tsks, and starts shaking his head. "Well, damn, that's?—"

"No."

He lifts his gaze to mine, amusement still etched along his features.

"He's my dead sister's boyfriend."

At the words wrenched harshly from my lips, his smile stills, before faltering, fading as it hits him. His eyes growing impossibly wide, jaw dropping.

"Yeah," I say, turning away, and shoving the picture back in the box where it remains.

Who was I kidding? I can't hang these.

The time to turn my room into a scrapbook has well and truly passed. Just another missed opportunity, one I can never get back.

Now it would be nothing more than fucking memorial for what I'll never get back. Yeah, no thanks.

Sniffing, I take the box, and shove it back under my bed. Gabe hasn't moved. I can't even be sure he's breathing. But I feel his gaze lasered in on me all the same.

I scratch my jaw, and cross my arms when I straighten, feeling all kinds of awkward. A buzzing fills my head, mirroring the tingle in my fingertips. And I know if I don't zap this tension in the bud, I'm going to spiral.

It's been months since my last all-out panic attack.

I've been doing so well.

Why the fuck did Gabe have to answer that call?

Why couldn't he just leave that box alone?

"When?" he whispers.

Not expecting that, out of all things to say, I lift my gaze and meet his. Gone is the amusement that was there moments ago, erased as if it was never even present. Instead I just find a sort of heavy acceptance that for some reason has some of my anger dimming.

"Little over two years." I consider clarifying that she might not actually be dead…

But who are we kidding? Is this how it's going to be the rest of my life, having to explain it over and over and over again…

I mean, I could tell him to just look it up. But who knows what shit he'll find. Hell, it's thanks to Mason that even I know better than to look. It's bad enough I lived it. I don't need to see it all twisted up and tainted by a bunch of fucking strangers.

"That picture? It's the last I have of us all. Two weeks later she was…gone."

Gabe's eyes shine, making them look more green than blue. "Well, shit."

Throat tight, all I can do is nod.

"I'm sorry for overstepping. I had no clue."

I wave him off. "It's fine. Seriously. Don't get all weird on me now, just 'cause you know."

His brows knit.

"I came here to get away from it, okay? It was a fucking mess, and I just…I just need a break. These last two years…" I shake my head, unable to even put words to them.

Understanding gleams from his eyes, and he nods. "Got it."

I nod back.

Scrubbing his hands on his thighs, he pushes to a stand, and comes to a stand in front of me.

Expecting him to do something weird, like hug me, I stiffen, my eyes going wide.

Instead he just scowls, and reaches up, fiddling with the ends of my hair. "Babe, we really need to do something with this mop."

I blink.

"Do you trust me?"

"Not really."

He nods. "Probably for the best. But…lucky for you, when it comes to hair…" He wiggles his fingers, and whispers dramatically, "Magic."

Brushing past me, he reaches back, smacking my ass.

I jump with a yelp, and whirl around.

"Get your cute tush in the shower first," he says, winking. "We're going out and getting motherfucking wasted tonight."

My eyes bug.

He makes a face, tilting his head. "Is that insensitive?" He waves a hand in the direction of my phone. "The boy with the eyes mentioned rehab…"

Oh.

I shake my head, and give him a smile, "No. I'm good."

He beams. "Great. Now hop-to," he says, shooing me toward the door.

Just outside the threshold to our room, I pause and turn around.

He arches a black brow.

"Thank you," I tell him.

His face softens and he nods. "Anytime, JJ." His eyes twinkle as he fights a smirk.

"Call me that again, and I'll gouge the eyes out of your beloved Jason," I say, referring to his poster of Aquaman above his bed.

"You a fan?" I'd asked that first day when he put it up.

"Of Jason Momoa? You'd have to be blind not to be."

Now, just inside out room, Gabe's jaw drops with a mock-gasp. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

With that, I turn and head for the communal showers, Gabe rawring behind me, his next words following me down the hall. "J-Baby's got claws, who knew?"