Chapter 49

It's latewhen I pull into the driveway of my childhood home.

The burgundy double-story farmhouse with black shutters and white trim sits dark and vacant against the trees, lit up only by my sweeping headlights and the stars overhead.

Just as I go to ease to a stop, I spot a hunched shadowy figure on the porch steps, and tense, accidentally slamming the brakes, jolting the car.

What the hell?

My parents aren't here—they're traveling in the RV they bought last fall, not too long after I told them I got accepted into Cedar College and they decided to put the house on the market.

They're not due back until tomorrow night, so it can't be either of them, nor would they just hang around outside in the dark, waiting for me.

Heart in my throat, I shift into Park, and consider what to do.

Funny how I felt safer in a populated city, than I do in a quaint little middle-of-nowhere town where people don't even lock their doors…

I'm just about to reach for my phone to call 911, when the figure stands up and steps into the swatch of light.

The breath leaves me with a whoosh.

Fuck. I'm gonna kill him.

I groan, throwing my head back against the seat and glaring up at the roof of my car.

When I kill the engine and climb out, he's already rounding the hood of my car, hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

"I don't know if you noticed, but no one's home," I find myself saying.

His mouth thins, drawing my attention once more to that silver hoop threading through his lip. It winks out at me, not unlike the stars overhead, like it's taunting me.

You thought he was gorgeous before? Well, look at him now. Look at what you'll never have.

"You left," he says.

Shrugging, I put my back to him as I go about getting my bags from the backseat. "I was tired," I say.

"Too tired to hang out, but not enough to drive around?" he says, boots crunching along the chipped pavement. "Here, let me," he says, ever the gentlemen as he grabs my duffle and the handle on my suitcase.

"Thanks," I say dryly, grabbing my messenger bag with my laptop, and the black garbage bag stuffed with whatever else I couldn't fit in my bags. I've also got boxes in my trunk, but I just make a mental note to grab them tomorrow, and slam the door shut with my hip.

On the porch, I set my bags down to thumb through my key ring.

"You didn't answer my question."

"How do you know I was driving around? Maybe I was visiting friends. Catching up."

A beat passes, then, "That was sarcasm, right?"

I shoot him a flat look as if to say, Seriously?

He shrugs. "I don't fucking know. You used to disappear a lot. I always wondered…"

Unlocking the door, I push it open, and grab my bags, squeezing my way inside. "Wondered what?"

"If you were seeing someone. You know, in secret."

At that, I drop the garbage bag with a thud.

Double seriously??

Turning, I find him hovering just past the threshold, his gaze glittering back at me like black jewels.

"No," I say succinctly.

"No?"

I shake my head. "Nope. No secret lovers here."

What in the hell is wrong with him tonight?

"Oh."

I cock my head. "You do remember what it was like for me in high school, right?"

"Well, yeah, but?—"

"There are no buts. It was?—"

He snorts, and quickly tries to cover it with a cough.

My eyes bug.

"Sorry."

"Real mature," I say flatly.

He snickers.

What the actual fuck is happening right now?

Shaking my head, I adjust the messenger bag on my shoulder, and flip on the lamp on the table by the stairs just as the door clicks shut.

Blinking a couple times to allow my eyes to adjust, I can't help but take in how…well, empty it feels. Everything's the same, right down to the framed photos hanging on the walls, and the grandfather clock in the corner.

It's only been a few weeks since my parents were last here, so it's clean. A little dusty probably, but could be worse. So much worse. It could be empty.

It could be filled with a new family, making new memories, snuffing out everything that came before.

Not for the first time, I'm grateful Mom and Dad decided to postpone selling it.

They had a couple bites. Paperwork was even drawn up for the last one, the bank approving it and everything…

And then, at the last second, Mom changed her mind.

She wasn't ready.

None of us were, I think, despite how much it pains us to be in here. If Izzy really is dead… Well, she didn't die in this house, but her ghost haunts it all the same.

"You okay?"

"Huh?" I say absently.

Twisting my head, I find Mason watching me warily. His gaze flits around me, like he can't help himself. But it's as if he too can't really stomach the sight of it all—the familiarity; like we're in some kind of time capsule—because he keeps finding his way back to me, the only thing different here.

"It's weird, right?" I say.

He nods.

Blowing out a breath, I say, "Yeah, I was driving around, okay? I just…it got overwhelming." Not a total lie. "I should've…" I wave a hand. "Texted you or something. Let you know I left."

More nodding.

I noticed he'd called about an hour ago…

Is that how long he was waiting?

Figuring he'd keep harassing me until I answered, like he's always done, I was surprised when my phone stayed silent. Surprised and…well, hurt.

And yeah, I'm fully aware how pathetic and unfair that is.

Still, the fact that he came here to wait for me and confront me in person instead…

Fuck, if that doesn't just make this all the more difficult. And yet, try as I might here to keep my guard up, I can feel it slipping with each passing second that Mason Wyatt stands before me with eyes only for me.

"I'm sorry I didn't stay for the whole set."

And I am…but I also don't regret leaving. With each song sung from those stupidly pretty lips of his—perfectly sung, might I add—combined with the effortless way he strummed a guitar, like it was the instrument he's been playing all along… well, it felt as if someone was hammering a stake through my heart. Inch by unbearable inch.

And not the fun kind of inches that would make my toes curl.

In theory, obviously.

Twenty years old and still as virginal as ever, unless frequent handies from yours truly combined with awkwardly angled fingers count.

"You showed," Mason says simply, yanking me back to the present. "You're here. That's…that's all that matters."

Throat thick, now I'm the one nodding.

"Come on," he says, jerking his head toward the stairs.

"I can do it. You don't have to…" My words die off, because he's already halfway up, clearly set on ignoring me.

Rolling my eyes, I sweep up the garbage bag, and follow after him.

I don't miss how he keeps his head low, gaze downturned when we reach the second floor. He makes a beeline straight for my room, disappearing inside like there really is a ghost here, nipping at his heels.

My steps slow, my gaze honing in on the closed door to Izzy's room just as a light flips on in my room, shining light into the hallway.

Has anyone been in there recently?

I haven't been able to bring myself to go in since last summer, the night Morris visited to break the news that she was dead and they were essentially closing the case.

After I'd cried myself into a numb, nearly-catatonic daze in Mason's arms outside, he and Waylon crashed in my room, and I found myself crawling into my sister's bed, unable to do anything but stare at the wall plastered with pictures of her life, waiting for the earth to swallow me up and spit me back up.

Dad found me like that in the morning. I didn't sleep a wink that night.

"Jeremy?" a voice calls out, and I shake myself out of the memories.

In my room, Mason's frowning from where he stands over by the window next to my desk.

I look around, not surprised nothing's really changed, except that it's a little more empty than it was before I moved out.

The bed's made, and it's a comforter I don't recognize, seeing as I took mine to college with me. It's black and gray-checkered with what looks like black solid sheets peeking out from underneath—also new.

"Thanks for helping me with my bags," I say, sliding my messenger bag off, and kicking the garbage bag off to the side.

"You're welcome," he murmurs, a note of distraction tinging his voice. "Did you…"

My gaze lifts to his. "What?"

"Did you wanna watch a movie? I still haven't watched the new Guardians of the Galaxy."

I did, I think, glancing away. I watched it with Gabe and some other friends last month.

"Or-or not."

My eyes fall shut and I shake my head. "Yeah, I mean, sure. Let's watch it."

Pale blue eyes glimmer back at me when I lift my head, hope peeking out from their depths.

"I'm just gonna…"—I jack a thumb behind me—"change first real quick."

He nods. "Yeah, go for it."

"TV's been disconnected, so…" I shrug. "My laptop's in there," I say, gesturing to the bag I let fall on the floor. "Same password. Remember it?"

"Yep."

Leaving him to it, I dig a clean pair of black gym shorts and a white t-shirt from my suitcase, and head into the connecting bathroom.

When I'm done, my steps falter when I find Mason reclining against the headboard sans sweatshirt, laptop propped up on his lap with the movie ready to go, like it's nothing at all—like we're teenagers again, just hanging the fuck out.

He twists his head, doing a double-take when he sees me.

"What?" I say, self-conscious all of a sudden, my heart pounding.

But with my parents gone, the central air hasn't been turned on, and it's stuffy in here. I fight the urge to wrap my arms around myself, and make myself smaller. It's been so long since I cared about what I slept in—it's just a t-shirt and shorts, for fuck's sake—and so caught up in my racing, spiraling thoughts…it just didn't even occur to me to dig out sweats.

"Nothing," he says quickly. "Just…the hair keeps catching me off-guard."

I narrow my eyes.

He holds up a hand and grins. "Not in a bad way."

"Sure." Dropping my dirty clothes in a pile against the wall, I flip on the lamp, and turn the overhead light off.

"I mean it. You look really good, JJ."

I pause, hesitating climbing into bed, and lift my gaze. "Don't call me that." Does he hear my voice trembles?

He smirks, and I roll my eyes, gesturing for him to scoot.

When my ass hits the soft mattress, I fall back against the headboard with a groan.

A choked sound, almost like a cough, sounds from next to me. "You good?"

I roll my head, peeking over at an amused Mason. There's something else there too, but I can't make out what it is.

"Dorm beds suck," I tell him.

"Ah."

"It's like…half the width of this, and like three times as hard." I wave a hand around. "I didn't realize how used to it I've gotten."

"Gotcha," he says in an oddly tight voice, like he's trying not to laugh. "That sucks."

I eye him curiously. "Yeah," I say slowly, my mouth twitching, "it does."

He chuckles, before growing serious once more, almost wistful…sad, even. "You…you really like it, don't you? Being there."

I nod.

"I'm glad. You…you deserve it."

My throat thickens unbearably, making it near-impossible to speak, much less swallow.

I chew my lip, considering him, then finally manage to get the words out. "The flag…at the bar. Has it…has it made any sort of…" I wave a hand. "Difference."

His face seems to soften, and he nods. "I like to think so. Some didn't like seeing it at first—the regulars, you know?"

I nod.

"I told them they could get the fuck out."

My eyes widen.

He shrugs. "Some did. Some grumbled a bit about it, only shutting up when Gavin backed me up." He rolls his lips together, once more drawing my attention to his piercing. Fortunately, this time, my awareness of it is only background noise. "They learned real quick we weren't joking around, and since then…" He lets the words hang.

"Seriously?"

He nods, and his pale blue eyes twinkle with something akin to pride. "We get people from all over now, and yeah, it's mostly 'cause of the band. But that's…that's exactly why it's so important, you know?"

I nod, searching his eyes.

He swallows with an audibly click. "Like I said, it's not much. But…it's something."

It's something alright…

Fuck, it's everything.

And for a split second, I'm thrown back to last June, just shy of two months before Morris came to drop the final bomb on our lives.

Just like Mason had promised to me the night I came out to my parents, he surprised me with a coming out party. Nothing crazy. Just him, me, and a slightly confused Waylon who Mason didn't realize I had yet to come out to until that moment. Mason was high—as he always was back then—and while he felt bad, he got over it pretty quick when it was clear Waylon wasn't going to be a dick about things.

For a moment, I thought he would be.

But then he… he hugged me.

It's the only time in my life I can remember Waylon hugging me. I don't even really know where it came from. It seemed to shock him too, making him all red and pissy-looking in a way that was just straight up hilarious.

It lightened the moment instantly.

"Jer?"

"Huh?" I say, blinking back to the present.

"Where'd you just go?"

I clear my throat, and study his clear baby blues, wondering if I should even bring it up. It was one of the only bright spots I can remember from that awful time. But will he remember it like that? I don't know.

Still, I end up admitting, "I was thinking about the party you threw me. You know, after I officially came out."

His eyes widen, and for a fraction of a second, I see something almost like fear flash darkly across his eyes.

"Sorry," I say, wincing. "I know that was a bad t?—"

"It was a good day."

I stare at him.

"Well, it was good all things considered. And I probably have Vicodin to thank for that, so I'm s?—"

"It was good for me too," I tell him softly.

His eyes widen and shine a bit at that. "Yeah?" And I don't miss the hope hitched to that single word.

I nod, and force a swallow. "It was the first time I felt like…like it would be okay. Being gay, I mean. I had you, and I had Waylon, and…and my parents. As messed up as shit was back then, they loved me and accepted me too. Until that day, I don't think I really let myself, um, be happy about it. It wasn't this inescapable curse, but…but something to celebrate."

His eyes redden, and his jaw tightens as he gives a short nod.

"You gave me that. So, thank you. Again."

He shakes his head, and says, "It was literally nothing."

"Mase…you could barely get through the day back then," I say gently.

He winces. "Fuck, I was so selfish. Izzy's your sister, and I?—"

I quickly shake my head and interrupt, "Don't do that. It's not a competition. She wa–is the love of your life," I say quickly, hoping he didn't catch my near slip-up.

The tightening around his eyes tells me he did…but fortunately, he doesn't draw attention to it, and I quickly go on to distract us both from the denials we both know I only so fervently cling to for his sake. It goes unspoken at this point.

"And she's my twin—my other half. We're both…" I wave my fingers, looking for the right words. "Half of who we once were without her."

His eyes fall shut, and a blaze sweeps through my chest, making it hard to breathe suddenly.

"It's all fucked," I croak.

His eyes open and he nods. "Yeah." A beat then, "But we're getting by. Gotta hold on for her, right?"

Throat tight, I nod. "Right."

His gaze ping-pongs between mine, and he opens his mouth to say something, but must think better of it, because he clamps his lips together and shakes his head. Turning away from me, he blows out a breath, and drags the laptop closer.

Right, the movie.

He hits play, and turns up the volume.

Twisting to the side, I flick off the lamp just as the familiar flipping of pages sound fills the room as the Marvel logo comes across the screen.

I wiggle down so my neck is cushioned comfortably against the pillow. Mason's muscular arm brushes mine, catching me off-guard for the second time tonight. Prompted by the memory, my mind catapults to earlier, when he charged his way through the crowd and scooped me up into his arms, swinging me around like I weighed nothing.

Muscles. Mason has muscles.

Sure, he did back in high school—back before drugs and grief ravaged him down to the bone—but not like now. Where in high school, he carried a lean, sort of boyish layer of muscle crafted from good genes and a relatively active lifestyle, now there's a sort of whip-like power in the chords running under his skin.

I didn't just feel it earlier, but I can see it now in the faint veins scoring his forearms. The bulges of his bicep. His broad shoulders and back.

He told me he started working out—that they got some hand-me-down exercise equipment, like weights and shit, and even a heavy bag, to put in the basement.

I guess I just… I didn't really let myself consider what it would do to his body.

Like his lip ring, I was woefully, tragically unprepared.

I squeeze my legs together, and stare hard at the screen, forcing myself to ignore the fact I'm once again sharing a bed with my childhood crush.

That's not what this is and you know it.

Nothing has changed.

If anything, things are back to the way they used to be.

Sure, shit's a little more awkward now, and there's still this gaping hole where my sister lingers, but it's only because we went so long without seeing each other.

Things were bound to be weird after all the messy shit we've been through these last couple years, but we'll find our groove again.

I have no doubt once this movie wraps up, he'll call it a night, and head home.

And I'll go to sleep, alone in an empty house, with nothing but a ghost to keep me company…

Pretending I don't miss the days when Mason curled himself around me.