Chapter 61

I wished he was mine.

All mine, and only mine.

For years.

On shooting stars.

On birthday candles.

Then one day, my wish was granted.

And I've been wishing every second since, on every breath, that I could take it back.

A soft knockingdrags me out of the dream I was just having, one I quickly lose to consciousness.

For a long moment, I just blink heavily at the wall I face, letting the remnants of it scatter, not even bothering to try and make sense of it or hold onto its pieces.

The knocking stops, but quickly picks up again, this time a little heavier.

Despite their insistence, I debate whether or not I can get away with just pretending I'm not home. My car's in the lot outside the apartment complex, sure, but here in the city, I don't really drive it much, unless it's to go home.

Not home.

Shiloh isn't home anymore.

My phone starts vibrating from where it lays on my nightstand, the screen lighting up, breaking through the shadows clinging to my room. It's my mom.

Frowning, I let it go to voicemail.

Yeah, I know. Son of the year over here.

When I catch sight of the time, my frown only deepens, and I roll my head to peer up at the blackout curtains covering my window. It's only four in the afternoon. I assumed it was the middle of the the night.

How long have I been laying here?

What day is it?

Last I remember, it was Saturday.

Shit, did I miss class again? Is that why Gabe's here?

At least, I assume that was him knocking. He's been a pain in the ass these last few weeks, insisting on checking in on me, despite assuring him I'm fine. I'm just wallowing. Since when is it a crime to wallow?

There's a thud, and muffled talking through the walls. And then I hear what sounds like a door clicking open.

I frown, and shoot up to a seated position. What the fuck?

No one but me has a key to this place. Not even Gabe. The idea of giving anyone that kind of access to my apartment makes me nauseous.

Scrambling out of bed, I glance down, ensuring I at least have pants on this time. One of the times Gabe showed up, hammering at my door until I finally let him in, I was so annoyed, I didn't realize I had nothing but boxer briefs on.

Gabe had given me a nice long once-over and said, "Pity I'm not into twinks."

He's lucky he had a bottle of Jose and a bag of limes with him.

Grabbing a shirt from the floor, I sniff it, grimace, and shrug it on, just in time for my mom to appear in the threshold, eyes wide and face pulled taut with panic.

"Mom," I mutter, letting my t-shirt fall down my torso. Is it just me, or is it baggier than usual?

Her face bunches, hardening, and then she strides toward me, wrapping me in her arms in a crushing hold. "Don't you do that to me."

I blink over her shoulder. "Do what?"

"Scare me like that."

Frowning, I shake my head.

She pulls back, but keeps a tight grip on my upper arms. Her eyes are red when they dart searchingly between mine. "I called you three times. Twice on the way here. Once when you didn't answer me knocking?—"

"How did you get in?"

"Your landlord."

Oh.

"I thought it was Gabe again," I whisper.

She shakes her head, disappointment lining her brow. "He called me. Told me he was worried about you."

I'm about to ask her how he even got her number, but then I realize he probably just swiped it from my phone at some point. Likely used my thumb when I was sleeping or too tipsy to care.

"He shouldn't have," I whisper, pulling away from her. Putting my back to her, I slouch, and make myself smaller. I'm acutely aware now of the state of not only me, but my room. Hell, my entire apartment.

My heart rate picks up, and a cool sweat breaks out over my skin.

"It's Monday," she says, and I wince.

Fuck, there goes two poetry classes in a row I've missed. if I don't get it together, I'm gonna fail everything this semester.

"We had plans for dinner. Remember?"

Frowning, I turn my head, meet her gaze over my shoulder.

She sighs, shaking her head, clearly seeing the answer for herself written all over my guilty, confused face. "Bubs…what's going on?"

Gone is the disappointment, and back in its place, the concern I've come to grow keenly aware of these last few years. She's lightened up a little bit in the last year, after seeing how good college has been for me. No doubt after today, though, she'll be back to her hovering ways.

I lift a shoulder, and hang my head.

A beat passes, then, "Is it Mason?"

Everything in me stills.

"Reggie told me what happened." Right…

Obviously they've been in touch, what with Seamus being out on parole as of last week.

Talk about worst possible timing.

It was literally mere minutes after his blowout with Mason that night, that Ivy showed up and dropped the bomb on Waylon: his piece of shit sperm donor was getting out of prison.

And to say he didn't react well would be the understatement of the century…

The night ended with me dragging Will out of the bathroom after Waylon—in a PTSD-induced flashback, apparently—choked him out against the wall.

It was…bad.

Made even worse by the I love yous and it's okays falling desperately from Will's mouth as Ivy and Shawn wrangled Waylon away from him, shoving him to his knees.

The way he begged for Izzy… for Mason…

In all the years I've known Waylon, I've never seen him that…broken. It would seem I wasn't the only one who'd been holding onto Izzy for Mason's sake. As if his acceptance was the final nail in her bodyless coffin.

Talk about a fucking shit show.

It's enough to make even a skeptic like me wonder if we actually might be cursed. I mean, something's gotta give eventually, right? There's got to be a break in the clouds somewhere in the horizon.

After crashing at Will's place that night, I'd gone back to my parents', packed up, and said I was going home. Home. This home. My home. When they'd asked what happened, and tried to stop me, I turned the attention on Waylon. Told them the news. Mom immediately went off to call Reggie, and Dad…

Well, let's just say being the only kid they have left has some perks.

Having a history of anxiety has all the rest.

Whereas my mom hovers, he caves into whatever I want—whatever makes me happy.

And leaving Shiloh is what I told him would make me happy. He made sure Mom didn't fight me on it.

So for weeks now, I've been in this sort of daze—wallowing in a way I've never wallowed before. Grieving in a way I hadn't allowed myself to grieve until now. While I haven't completely neglected classes, making an effort to at least show up to most of them…

Let's just say I'm going to have to work my ass off studying when finals come around. Hell if I remember anything we covered these last couple weeks. And the big project for my illustration class? Haven't so much as turned on my drawing tablet, let alone worked on it since I got that call from Mason.

He's tainted everything…

Back in my apartment, Mom makes a soft sound in her throat. "Come on. Come sit with me."

Pivoting on my feet, I watch as she takes a seat on my bed, patting the rumpled, unmade covers, paying no mind to the mess—or smell.

I swallow thickly, and go join her. "Where's Dad?"

"He's home. Had to catch up on some work."

I nod at that, sucking in my cheeks.

"Mason's back in rehab," she tells me gently.

"I know."

Will told me. Apparently, he re-admitted himself back to New Horizons the following morning. I was…surprised. I figured he'd just go to a meeting or something. It's not like he went off the rails or anything, but I guess for an addict, one drunken night is enough.

"Did something happen between you two?"

My head snaps around before I can stop myself, gaze widening.

Mom arches a brow, and leans back a little, inhaling deeply. "Okay."

"No."

She frowns, brows slamming down over her warm brown eyes. "No?"

I shake my head rapid-fire. "Nothing happened," I lie. "Nothing except he just…he…"

Mom tilts her head when I struggle to get the words out, watching me patiently.

My swallow goes down like glass. "Izzy's dead," I whisper, plummeting the room to silence, with the exception of my thundering pulse.

Mom blinks a couple times, and I wince, looking away before I can see the devastation ripple across her face. I wrap my arms tighter around myself and hang my head.

"He…he finally accepted it," I whisper.

A long moment passes before she speaks.

"I see."

Working my jaw around, I rub my knees together through my joggers.

An arm hesitantly, then more firmly, comes down around my shoulders. When she tugs me to her chest, I go willingly, a full-body exhale leaking out of me. I screw my eyes shut, just focusing on breathing in her familiar scent—lavender. It smells like home. Real home. Not of a place, but of a time.

A home I can never go back to.

"You can cry, you know," she says.

I shake my head.

"Why not?"

My voice comes out razor-thin, nearly inaudible, "I'll never stop."

Without a word, she holds me tighter to her, chin resting on my head. And I'm suddenly not a grown ass adult anymore, living on his own, but that anxious kid I once was, clinging to his mom after I'd got sent home early from school.

Minutes pass where neither of us say anything.

I'm vaguely aware of my phone buzzing with a notification, and a glance over shows it's a text from Will. Mom's gaze must follow, because she says, "You've got some great friends."

Eyes burning, all I can do is nod.

"You know…she'd want you to be happy, right?" she says, her voice thickening with emotion.

Sniffing, I nod. "I know."

"Both of you."

She doesn't have to specify who she means, and try as I might to remain relaxed, I don't think I do a very good job, because she chuckles weakly.

Before she can say anything, I say, "It's not like that."

A beat passes, then, "You sure?"

Pulling back, I meet her gaze, and nod. This time, it's not even a lie. Because despite what happened, I know the truth.

Her brows furrow and she searches my face. Fingers come up, brushing my greasy blond hair away. "I hate that I can't fix this." The words are simple, but the meaning behind them is anything but. They don't just carry the weight of all the years she's seen me struggle with fitting in and accepting myself…

But with the grave, unbearable knowledge that she can't bring her daughter back.

She's helpless, and yet she still sits here, with tears in her eyes, holding me up. It's times like this that I can almost imagine I dreamed up that zombie version of her in those initial years. The one who'd go from forgetting I exist completely when in the same room, only to remember me when I no longer was. For nearly two years, disappearing on her was the only way to get her to look at me.

And while I've forgiven her for it—of course I have. We've talked about it over the years, together and in therapy…

Sometimes, I still can't help but worry she'll forget me again. Especially now with her and Dad traveling more often than not, and me in college.

Then again, being away helps. Makes it easier to keep a wall between me and them, just in case my fears are warranted…the fear that deep down, there is a part of them that blames me. Resents me. Secretly wishes it was Izzy here instead.

"Maybe it's just not meant to be fixed," I finally say. I look down at my lap. "Maybe there's nothing left to fix."

No body to bring home.

No friendship to hang on to.

It's all dust.

"I don't believe that."

My eyes fall shut.

"You two have always had an incredible bond."

"Doesn't count if Izzy's not around."

A hand cups my jaw, and she drags my face up, angling it toward her. "Why would you say that?" she asks when I open my eyes.

"He still loves her, Mom," I whisper.

She frowns. "As do we all."

"You know what I mean."

Her mouth opens, closes, and I get the feeling there's more she wants to say, but instead she just nods shortly, and says, "It's an impossible feeling to come to terms with. All this love we have for someone who's no longer here. Where does it go?"

"Exactly," I whisper, smiling sadly.

She frowns.

"I'm done being some kind of…stand-in for her. A place for him to dump all that love on, because she's not here to take it."

Mom's eyes widen. "Jeremy…you can't honestly believe that's all you are to him."

I huff a bitter laugh. "Whether he knows it or not, that's exactly what I've become." I meet her tightened, reddened gaze. "The Mason I knew and loved died with her. I see that now."

Her face bunches, eyes watering. "Sweet boy…"

I shrug. "It is what it is. At least now I can…finally accept that, and grieve them both, and-and move on with my life. Start over." For real this time.

Mom's eyes slide shut and a tear skates down her cheek. She doesn't make any move to brush it away. She wears her pain stoicly. Leaning forward, she wraps me in a hug once more.

"It's okay," I tell her, my voice quivering. "It'll be okay."

"It's not though," she says. "And it's okay to acknowledge that. It's okay to feel it, bubs."

Teeth clenched, I squeeze my eyes shut.

"You can't keep bottling it up. It'll eat you alive." She pulls back, and eyes me pointedly. "It's already eating you alive. When is the last time you ate? Showered? Left your apartment?"

Eyes burning, I shrug. I don't know.

She sighs, reaches up, and brushes her thumbs under my eyes, even though there's nothing there for her to swipe away.

"You go get washed up and…" She looks around, frowning. "Hopefully find some clean clothes. I'll wait for you in the living room, and we'll go get something to eat."

Standing up, she musses my hair just like she's done since I was little.

When she reaches the door, she gives me a small smile. "It won't kill you to let go, even if it feels like it." She pauses meaningfully. "But it will kill you if you keep it all inside."

She goes to turn, when I stop her with my next words.

"What happens after?"

Meeting my gaze, she smiles softly, sadly. "You keep going."

And with that, she disappears into the living room, shutting the door behind her.

And to an empty room, I say, "What if there's nothing left?"