Chapter 55

Note to future me: TURN PHONE OFF WHEN HAVING SEX

Also, don't talk to Mason when you're drunk

If I never have to hear him growl and get all protective over me like that again, it'll be a moment too soon. My poor hand. Pretty sure I've developed carpal tunnel.

YEAH, YEAH, LAUGH IT UP

I'm just grateful I never had to hear you guys doing it. I'm pretty sure I would've died.

AGE 21, SEPTEMBER

When I enter O'Leary's,I'm greeted by a roar of cheers and boos.

Eyes wide, I gulp down what's left of my mint, and take in the sea of navy and white jerseys and matching face paint, save for a couple brave souls standing out brightly in red waving the others off with scowls.

Right. Big game tonight.

From the TVs mounted along the walls, whistles blare as Penn State and Ohio State face off on the field.

Muttering an excuse me, I shoulder past a couple guys sloshing drinks around, making my way to the bar closest to the door where I spot Mason popping caps off a couple of longnecks.

The second he sees me, surprise alights his face, quickly morphing into something else—something bordering on relief.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I squeeze through the bodies pressing toward the bar, ignoring the flutter of nerves in my belly nipping for attention.

"What are you doing here?" he says when I reach the bar. "I thought you weren't coming back 'til Thanksgiving."

He hands the beers off to a couple of guys, and when they step away, I quickly take their spot before it gets swallowed up by more bodies.

"I wasn—" I start to say, only for my voice to cut out when Mason leans across the bar, and yanks me into a tight, awkwardly positioned hug.

The second his strong arms come around me, I stiffen. And if I'm not mistaken, he tenses too when he senses my reaction. But he's a lot quicker to recover than me, giving me one last squeeze, before pulling back. Not even giving me a chance to return the hug.

Smiling as if nothing's amiss, he says, "What are you doing here?" He shakes his head. "Not that I'm not happy to see you. But you didn't say anything about coming back."

For good reason.

I have my own nerves to contend with. I didn't need to worry about his too.

He's probably forgotten all about what happened weeks ago. You're the one who can't stop thinking about it.

"Uh, yeah," I manage to say, "my parents summoned me."

As far as I know, Mason doesn't know anything about the concert benefit my parents are throwing in Izzy's memory next month. It hasn't been advertised anywhere yet. It's a sensitive topic around here—that topic being Izzy—and for whatever reason, my parents decided it should be me, of all people, to give Mason and Waylon a heads-up before they hear about it elsewhere.

I've also been tasked to ask them if they'd consider headlining the event.

After all, who better to draw the crowd and raise some college funds other than her boyfriend and best friend from when she was alive?

Not to mention, the Lost Boys—their band—has acquired a pretty big following for being a small, middle of nowhere cover band. People from all over Northeast PA come this way to see them, seeing as they rarely play anywhere else but O'Leary's. I asked Mason why once, and he just shrugged, and said it's where they feel most comfortable. "It's home."

Home…

Despite having lived in Allentown for the better part of two years now, the thought of Shiloh as home never fails to send a pang to my chest. For as much grief as this town has given me…it's hard to let go. Nothing short of cutting off everyone I once knew—my family—would free me from this place.

"I see," Mason says in an unreadable tone.

"What?"

"So, when they summon you, you come running," Mason says slowly. "But when I do…" His lips twitch with humor.

At his implication, I roll my eyes. "They're my parents. Plus, I was just in?—"

"Three months ago. And I barely even saw you." The words are spoken teasingly enough, but I don't miss the slight hitch in his voice, or the flicker of hurt in his eyes.

I open my mouth. Close it.

He doesn't have to spell it out—we both know I was avoiding him. Just like the other times I visited Shiloh this last year. Hell, I don't even think he knows I stayed for a weekend back in May. Save for visiting my sister's grave—somewhere that has zero chance of running into him—I hardly left the house. Unless it was to go out to eat with my parents in another town.

Clearing my throat, I lift my chin, and before I can think better of it, I say, "It's not like you can't come visit me whenever you want." Now that I have an apartment all to myself—a single-room shoebox of a place, but an apartment nonetheless—I've loosened up some. Just a little bit.

"Since when?"

I frown at that.

Despite the small smile teasing his lips, I don't miss the lingering tightness in his features.

Oh, did I forget to tell him that?

"It's okay," he says, but his eyes still say otherwise. He shrugs, and looks around. "Been busy anyway." And as if perfectly timed, a customer around the corner of where I stand waves him over.

Wincing, I click my tongue, and say to myself, "Yeah…"

It's not like it's not true. He has been busy.

In the last year, Gavin's taken a huge step down from running this place. Mason's now on the deed, making him officially a co-owner of O'Leary's Pub.

Not sure what this means for the band, seeing as I'm pretty sure the goal is still to record, and tour one day. I know behind the scenes, they've been working on an album for over a year now. But who knows? Maybe this is all it'll ever be for them, and maybe they're okay with that.

They make a killing here. The crowd loves the music they cover, as do I—it's exactly my kind of cover band, unlike so many out there who insist on only playing the same, overplayed shit that's been sitting on the Billboard Top 100 the last ten years.

But I also can't help but wonder what they themselves have created.

To this day, even I've yet to hear an original song. I don't think anyone outside the three of them has. And when I asked him once what that was about, he just said, "Not ready yet."

I let it drop at that, assuming it had to do with Izzy, and the fact he and Shawn were just shy of a year sober when I'd asked.

Plus, I get it. It's not like I've put myself out there really with my art. Hell, I'm not even majoring in it, though lately I've been debating changing that. Business is practical and all, but it wears on me. Sure, I still draw…but not nearly as much as I used to, and when I do now, it feels like…like I'm betraying some part of me by not pursuing it.

Mason rejoins me, and leans against the bar. With his arms outstretched, and hands gripping the edge, it's impossible not to notice the slopes of corded muscle straining his thin white t-shirt, and rippling under the exposed, lightly tanned skin of his forearms and biceps.

He's got a couple more tattoos since last I saw him—not quite a full sleeve, but enough to stand out. There's what looks to be a compass now, buried between roses. Some added script woven into the leaves and thorns. I can't make out what they say. I'm too far away, and I've already stared long enough.

Fortunately, Mason's too busy chatting with the guy seated next to me to notice my ogling. So I give myself one last second to check him out before I tear myself away.

Mason's always been attractive, but more so in a boyish, devil may care kind of way.

And sure, he still is all that. But as he's gotten older, and started working out, and weaving things like tattoos and that sinful lip ring into an already stunning package…

Well, let's just say if I didn't have years of practice bottling up my attraction for him, I'd be a puddle on the fucking floor right now.

He's gorgeous.

Painfully so.

A single glance from those baby blues is enough to steal my breath.

A mere smile, a slash through my heart with a serrated blade.

Perhaps the universe did me a favor not aligning our stars.

To be loved by Mason Wyatt would surely be a death sentence. The weight of it would crush me.

Would that really be so bad?

And therein lies the problem.

He laughs at something the man next to me says. I don't hear what it is, but Mason's laugh might as well be a whisper in a church. It's all I fucking hear. Just like when we were kids, it draws my attention like a moth to a flame.

When our eyes catch, locking, his laugh fades the ever slightest bit.

I'm the first to drop my gaze.

Blinking, I pick at the uneven grains of wood under the bar top with my nails. Movement in the corner of my eye draws my attention to where Mason's pushed back some from the bar, and he's got his hands clasped in front of his chest.

No. Not clasped.

He's rubbing at his middle finger…almost like he's twisting a ring, but there's nothing there.

"Is everything okay?" I blurt.

His furrowed gaze searches mine, and he frowns. "Yeah, of course, why wouldn't it be?"

"Just, uh, wondering. You've been kind of distant recently."

His eyes round the slightest bit, giving him away, and he averts his gaze.

A sinking feeling floods my chest.

It's been three weeks since what I now refer to as The Incident.

And while he's continued to text me daily, as usual—our conversations normal, if not a little forced…

He hasn't tried calling me once. Not even a videocall.

Which is…unusual for him. He knows I hate both, especially video-calls. I usually just let them ring and text him instead, claiming I'm busy.

It's our thing.

He pesters.

I ignore him.

He finally manages to snag an inch, and I hold the line with all my might so he doesn't get any more than that.

Maybe he's finally giving up on me…

At the thought, I wrinkle my nose and look away, the noise from the bar growing louder once more, as if some bubble's been popped.

"Jer."

I hesitate, but finally turn to look at him.

"We're okay," he says meaningfully. There's something…sad to his gaze, but why, I have no idea.

He probably just pities you.

I scowl.

"I've just been busy," he says…again.

I nod. "Me too."

Our eyes connect, and for a moment we're stuck like that.

The football game blaring from the flat screens disappears.

The raucous cheers filling the room.

The clinging of bottles and glasses.

It all fades into the background.

His tongue pokes out, flicking over the silver hoop threaded through his lip.

My mouth dries, and heat crawls up my spine.

Try as I might to ignore the glaring elephant in the room—despite my daily pep talk, bracing myself for the awkwardness I knew would come once we saw each other in person again—he's making it really fucking hard not to squirm now.

He heard me having sex.

Did it gross him out?

Is this how things are gonna be from now on?

It was my idea to pretend it didn't happen—an idea he agreed to. But as prepared as I was for this moment—seeing him in person after knowing what he overheard—I can't help but wonder now if it was just a fool's dream.

He opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it is cuts off with a hitch when his gaze darts past me, and he lights up.

"Will!"

I frown, and turn my head to look over my shoulder, following Mason's gaze to where a guy with dark blond hair and deep blue eyes weaves his way through the crowd, making his way toward us.

Will.

Mason told me that he'd moved back—their friend from when they were kids. I honestly completely forgot about him. He was only here for a year after all. Plus we never even met during that time.

Mason's words from a few weeks ago ping off in my head.

"Oh, and guess what? He's gay."

And not gonna lie, seeing him now, easily moving through the crowd with a sort of careless masculine stride that tells me he's perfectly comfortable in the skin he wears…

Well, I can't help but feel a little envious.

Resentful too.

In a dance club in the city, it wouldn't even occur to me to feel this way. Hell, I'd probably be debating whether or not to approach him—flirt. Maybe buy him a drink. He's definitely the kind of guy I go for when I need to scratch the itch. Tall and muscular, with more swagger in his pinkie than I've got in my entire body.

But in a dive bar in bumfuck PA…

Well, all I can think is, damn, he passes as straight pretty fucking well. Good for him.

Note sarcasm.

Wincing at the bitter thoughts racing through my head, I shove them back and remind myself to be nice, plastering what I hope comes off as a friendly smile when he approaches.

It's not his fault that this town broke me.

"Hey, man," he says to Mason, then nods to me. "Hey."

"I don't think you guys ever met, but this is Jeremy. He's?—"

"Izzy's brother," Will murmurs, his eyes darting between mine. "No, we haven't."

Clenching my jaw, I fight back the urge to look away. "Yeah. Hey."

He extends a hand, and I stare at it wide-eyed, before hesitantly taking it and shaking it.

His blue eyes sparkly with mirth, and he shakes back.

It hits me a moment later that he was probably going for one of those bro-shake-hug things I've never quite mastered.

Fuck.

"Nice to meet you," he says with forced formality, amusement evident in his gaze.

I smile blithely. "Likewise."

He presses his lips together, fighting a smile.

Feeling eyes on me, I release his hand and turn to find Mason looking between us with an expression I can't place. It has me tilting my head, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Lucky for you," he says, "Will's off tonight." His voice cracks, but he's quick to try and cover it up with a smile. His lip ring catches on the light, winking back at me.

Next to me, Will coughs into his fist, like he's trying to cover a laugh.

Mason's cheeks heat, and he rushes out, "You want a drink?"

"Sure…"

"Yeah, I'll have a beer." Will nudges my shoulder, and I glance at him. Humor dances in his eyes. "How 'bout you?"

"Um, beer's fine. Corona."

Again, I feel eyes on us, but when I dare a peek, Mason's already turned away.

Will draws closer, leaning right up against the bar. Staring ahead, from the corner of his mouth, he mutters, "Think he's trying to set us up?"

I watch as Mason grabs a Corona and Yuengling from the fridge. "Seems that way." That sinking feeling from earlier is back, and my swallow goes down like glass.

Will chuckles into a sigh, shaking his head. "Oh, straight people." He cuts me a sideways look. "Feel like having some fun with it?"

I pause, considering.

"Depends…"

"Depends on what?"

I chew my lip and glance around. "I'm not exactly…out. Here in Shiloh, I mean. I try to keep a low profile."

Our eyes meet and he nods, a glimmer of understanding passing over his features. "Got it. Stealth mode. I can work with that."

Mason returns, sliding two longnecks our way, and Will pulls his wallet out.

"Dude, you know you don't have to?—"

"I insist," he says, handing him a five dollar bill. "How else can I buy him a drink if you're not charging me for it?"

Mason gapes, fumbling for words. "I-I wouldn't charge him either."

"You're missing the point, man," Will says in a pointed way that has me bringing the bottle to my lips to mask the smile pushing its way to the surface. He kicks his chin up behind him to where the bar curves. "You've got customers." Slinging an arm over my shoulder, he tips his beer bottle at him in thanks, and steers me away.

It doesn't even occur to me to be worried what we look like. A single glance across the room shows several hypermasculine dudes hugging and hanging on to their friends as they watch the game.

Still, when he releases me a moment later, I can't help the sigh of relief that leaves me. I don't know what it is about being back in Shiloh that has me regressing back into the awkward, shy loser I was in high school?—

A man I pass cuts me a look, eyeing me up and down, his lip curling.

Scratch that.

Now I remember.

Will sidles closer to me, and when I peek over, I find him leveling a hard look at the dude we just passed.

My heart thumps.

Sensing me watching him, he drags his gaze back to mine, his mouth thinning. He gives me a single nod, without words, telling me he's got my back.

And just like that, tension I didn't even realize I was carrying, falls away like sand.

Twisting my lips together, I go to say thanks, for lack of anything better to say, when two cups sloshing with blue swamp-like liquid are thrusted at us, halting us mid-step.

"Drink these," Ivy says, shaking them in our faces.

"Um, what is it?" Will says, taking it from her hand and bringing it to his face. He sniffs, and grimaces, looking away, fighting a gag.

"Better to just swallow it. You do know how to do that, right, Will?" Ivy says, smiling that caustic, sharp grin of hers, before whirling away and returning to wherever she came from.

Coughing back a laugh, I lift my drink to my lips, taking a small sip. Not bad.

"Seriously?" Will says.

I gesture at him with the hand still holding the beer. Guess it's gonna be that kind of night. "Trust me, it smells a lot worse than it tastes."

Eyeing me skeptically, he brings the cup to his lips, and takes a sip.

"See?"

Lowering it, he stares at the cup with a deep frown. "What the hell is this?"

I shrug. "Who knows with Ivy?"

I should probably warn him that she's known for making killer cocktails—emphasis on the killer. We all know not to touch an Ivy creation, unless we're looking to black out.

Which is the last thing I had in mind when I stepped foot inside this bar…

I really did only come here to ask Mason about the benefit thing—which I only just remember now—and maybe hang out for a bit. I didn't even realize there was a big college football game on tonight.

But now that I'm here…

Did Mason seriously think to set me up with Will?

Obviously, Mason didn't know I was coming tonight. But by the way he was oh so excited to introduce Will and me… it begs to question if this was something he had in mind all along, ever since learning Will was gay too.

And it, well, stings.

For a multitude of reasons.

Out of everyone here—except for Will, of course—I expected better from Mason.

Assuming I'd be attracted to the only other queer person he knows, simply on principal is…well it's not only fucked up, but hell if it's not something I could see my sister doing.

From her, it would be annoying as fuck. And I'd make certain she knew that.

From him…

It just hurts. Just like it did when he got all growly and pissy over that guy I hooked up with.

Not only does it make me long for things I'll never have. But it makes me think of Izzy. Makes me miss her, and wish she was still here to meddle and annoy me and drive me fucking crazy.

But she's not—she's not, and I'm alone, all a-fucking-lone. And?—

"Whoa, easy," Will says, laughing when I start chugging my drink.

Grimacing, I swallow, and rub the back of my arm across my mouth.

"You look like you made out with a Smurf," he says.

"Perfect."

Shaking his head, he jerks his head to the side, gesturing for me to follow him. He leads me toward the back, to a pub-style table without any stools.

Settling my nearly empty cup on the table, I wash it down with a sip of beer.

Diagonally from me, Will gulps down more of the blue drink, his throat bobbing with his swallow. His gaze is trained on the television behind the bar, and I can't help but wonder if he likes football. Again, I feel a pang of envy.

His gaze lowers, forehead creasing as he looks around the bar, like he's searching for someone.

"So, um, what brought you back here?" I say.

He drags his gaze to mine, and smiles. It's a small one. Sad too, and reflected as much in his eyes as he says, "My boyfriend died last winter. Needed a fresh start."

Shit.

"I'm sorry," I blurt. In the back of my mind though, I can't help but notice how easily he said that.

Boyfriend.

Like it's nothing.

He nods. "Thanks."

I wince and look away. "Actually, no, you know what, I'm not sorry. What happens to your boyfriend fucking sucks."

He barks a short, rusty laugh.

Our eyes meet and I shrug, flashing a small, rueful smile. "I hate it when people say sorry for someone dying. It just feels so…"

"Empty?" His mouth quirks. "Agreed." A moment passes, and I know it's coming before he even says it, and I brace myself. "What happened to your sister…that sucks too. Big time."

I nod, unable to say anything around the mountain-sized boulder lodged in my throat.

Blowing out a breath, he brings the cup back to his lips, taking a big gulp.

Neither of us say anything for a while. And it's…well, it's awkward, though maybe that's only the case for me. Everything's kind of awkward for me. But Will seems as comfortable as ever, and despite how jealous of this fact I am…I can't deny that's it's…nice.

Hanging out with someone who's like me. Someone who gets it.

Not just because he's gay too, but unlike my friends back in Allentown, he clearly can relate to I've been through. With Izzy. Losing my sister…

Sure, I don't know the details surrounding his boyfriend's death. But the fact that, for once, it's not just my grief stilting the conversation and making things weird…well, it makes it easier. Like there's, ironically enough, more space for my own grief to stretch out.

With Mason, and hell, even Waylon…

I suffocate under it.

"‘The center cannot hold,'" I murmur quietly.

"What was that?"

I lift my gaze from where I was staring down my empty cup. "Oh, uh. Nothing."

His mouth quirks, the seemingly ever-present amusement shining back at me from his eyes. "Another drink?"

I nod strongly. "Yes, please."

Well, there goes my vow to never get drunk around Mason again…