Chapter 67

AGE 21, DECEMBER

Sirens fill the cold,wintry night. Red and blue lights dancing over the glittering, salt-gritted street.

It's still sleeting, but it's let up some, at least for the moment. The forecast anticipates the worst of the ice storm to hit tomorrow morning. Whether or not we'll be home by then…

Well, that remains to be seen.

An ambulance blurs past me, as if to remind me where I am, swinging to a stop under the overhang—the entrance to the Emergency Room. From a nearby residential street, heavy bass thumps into the night from someone's open windows.

Sounds like a party.

I bring the cigarette up to my mouth, lips pinching around the stale-tasting paper.

Been a while since I needed one. Not since the first time I got sober.

Thick smoke billows into the frosty air, just as my eyes catch sight of some blood crusted under my nails. Missed a spot. Sickness churns in my gut. My hand trembles. Smoke plummets down my throat, filling my lungs with dry, gagging heat. Stomach clenching as I fight the urge to choke.

I can't be certain I won't just throw up if I cough.

They're okay, I remind myself.

They're okay.

It's been over an hour now since we arrived at the hospital.

A whining sound fills my ears, drowning everything out, as images and memories from earlier tonight that are more sensation than anything else threaten to overpower me once more.

A single text message from Waylon:

garage 911

The confusion, quickly followed by dread plummeting my gut.

His dad.

The drive over to Reggie's garage.

The gunshot ringing out into the night.

The flashing red and blue lights.

Will and Way…

The way Will stumbled outside, with Waylon clutched in his arms, blood dripping down his face and neck. Waylon's wide, vacant hazel eyes. How he dug his fingers into Will's arms, and that godawful sound that came from his lips when the paramedics arrived and tried to separate them.

They had to sedate him—Waylon.

And then and only then, did Will finally pass out from his head injury.

He's being stitched up now as they run scans to ensure it's just a concussion.

As for Waylon…

My eyes fall shut, and I suck down another drag of nicotine, willing it to take some of the edge off. Stave off some of my quickly growing panic.

He's fine. He's gonna be okay.

It's been over a month since Seamus McAllister showed up at O'Leary's looking for the son he abused. After that run-in, Waylon finally agreed to getting a restraining order, and while we didn't completely let down our guard…we clearly let it down too much.

Tonight should've never fucking happened.

No, Seamus didn't go to the garage with the intent to hold his son and his son's boyfriend hostage at gunpoint.

He went there to say goodbye to his friend.

Caught off guard by Will being there instead of Reggie…

Well, shit went from really bad to worse when Waylon arrived.

Tonight could've turned out so differently if we didn't arrive when we did…

If they didn't manage to sneak me a text message so we could call the cops.

If Waylon's dad, for whatever reason, didn't let them go before turning the gun on himself.

Reminded by that, another fresh wave of bile rushes up my throat. So lost in my head, I don't immediately notice the approaching footsteps.

"Mason?"

At his voice, I swing around, eyes popping wide.

Cigarette forgotten, it falls from my fingers, landing somewhere on the sidewalk in a cloud of dust and embers.

What is he doing here?

Jeremy's brows furrow, and he shakes his head, his focus dropping to where I know there's blood staining my shirt. Will's blood. From when I caught him when he passed out.

Jeremy pales. "Are you?—"

I shake my head. "Not mine."

His jaw steels over, and he nods, his gaze locking with mine. I don't miss the pain etched into their swirling brown depths, and I can't help but wonder if there's more to it than just what transpired tonight.

Seeing me hurts him… I'm hurting him…

And still, I say, "You're here." My voice no more than a quiet croak into the night.

Something in his face simultaneously softens and breaks, and he's now the one shaking his head.

"Come here," he says, taking several great strides forward.

He wraps me up in his lean arms, and something in me just…shatters. All I can do is slump against him, bury my face in his neck, and inhale deeply for what feels like the first time in hours.

No…

Months.

"Do you need to hold your breath?" he whispers thickly, knowingly.

Shaking my head, I hold him tight to me. No, no I don't. Not now. Just let me breathe you.

There's a sniff, then, "Shawn said you were out here. I didn't see you in the waiting room, and I… I know how you get when things calm down."

I screw my eyes shut, and nod. "They're gonna be okay."

Well, physically.

Mentally…

Fuck, probably not for a while.

"Yeah, they are," Jeremy says in a choked voice, no doubt thinking the same thing I am.

I ease my hold on him, and pull back just enough to meet his watery gaze. "Wait, how did you…"

"Ivy. She called me. Told me what happened. I got here as fast as I could." Releasing me completely, he steps back, and runs his fingers through his hair. It glows white in the wintry night bearing down on us. "So, Waylon's dad is dead."

"Yeah, shot himself."

"Good riddance," he mutters, looking at the floor.

Another ambulance shows up, casting us in blue and red flickering lights.

"Yeah," I whisper, feeling so cold and empty suddenly, now that he's no longer pressed against me.

A sudden influx of sound and activity has him stepping back, and angling to face the entrance to the ER as hospital personnel and paramedics rush someone in on a stretcher through the sliding doors.

I turn away, running a hand over my nape.

Moments pass before either of us speak again.

"So how's the band?" Jeremy asks, surprising me with a much-appreciated change of subject.

"Good, it's going really good. Like, beyond what I was expecting."

Last month, Shawn, Waylon, and I finally decided to put ourselves out there…

Sort of.

It was Ivy's idea, mostly.

Figuring why the fuck not, we donned on some ski masks, and had Ivy and Will record us playing one of our originals—a song Waylon and I wrote together, dedicated to Izzy—and then uploaded it online.

While it was inspired by the grief of losing her…

Like anything you create, it'd taken on a mind of its own. Became something more. Something raw and relatable, gutted from every bad thing that's happened to us.

We called it "Chokehold."

And it went viral within twenty-four hours of being posted.

How, I have no fucking idea. I thought we'd at least have to build up a steady online presence first—bring in followers. But for whatever reason, the universe, for once, said, "Here, have this." Rather than take something from us.

Jeremy eyes me knowingly. "You guys are blowing up. How do you feel about it?"

"Honestly? I don't know. I mean, I like that we're anonymous. It's…fun. There's not so much pressure, you know? It's about the music, not our faces, not what anyone might find if they dig up information online."

He nods. "I get that. You guys put out some pretty vulnerable stuff."

Something stutters in my chest. "You…you've listened to them?"

He gives me a funny look. "Of course I did. Ivy sends me every video."

Throat suddenly impossibly thick, I search his eyes. "I didn't know…"

He rolls his eyes. "Just because I need a break from you, doesn't mean I suddenly stopped caring."

Sure sounded like it was more than a break you needed that night, I think, remembering how he laid into me on Shawn's birthday.

Try as I might to stifle it down, hope pokes its masochistic little head out.

Maybe it's not all lost.

"Do you think you'll ever take off the masks?"

I shrug. "Maybe eventually. If we ever sign with a label, probably. But just 'cause we got lucky and managed to snag a huge following online relatively quickly, doesn't mean we've got what it takes for the big leagues."

He considers me with a thoughtful look on his face.

"What?"

"Do you want to be in the big leagues?"

I huff a short laugh. "Honestly, I don't know. Just going from nobodies to having hundreds of thousands of people listening to your songs within a span of a month has been a little overwhelming. I'm okay with riding this out for a bit. Enjoying the anonymity while it lasts. Plus, who's to say the hype won't die once there's no longer that mystery behind us?"

"You're not in it for the hype though."

I open my mouth, close it.

"It's okay to be scared." His mouth tips up. "To be an artist, is to bleed. It's to surrender. That's a terrifying thing. Not everyone has the guts for it."

I frown.

Jeremy gives me a knowing look, the kind that seems to see right through me, down to the bone. "You've never been one to let fear get in the way of what you want. Don't let it start now."

Biting my lip, I say, "Thanks."

He just shrugs, like it's nothing. Like he really has no idea how he somehow knew exactly what I needed to hear. He always does…

Maybe use your words, and tell him as much.

I blow out a breath. "Who knows what's gonna happen now though? Waylon…" My voice trails off, a pang shooting through my chest when an image of his blank gaze and echoes of his shouts fill my mind once more.

"He'll be okay. In time," Jeremy says gently. "He's like you. Music heals him."

I lock my eyes with his. "And he's got Will."

His throat bobs. "Yeah. They've got each other."

Our gazes linger for one heart-pounding beat, and then Jeremy ducks his head, twisting away from me.

I clear my throat, and bounce around the soles of my feet, trying to infuse some warmth into my limbs. We should head inside…

My gaze drifts over his hunched shoulder toward where a guy steps through the sliding glass doors. He meanders over to the bench, and sits down, lighting up a smoke.

"Do you ever think we might be cursed?" I find myself asking.

A short, rough sound fills the air. Rather than answer me, Jeremy asks, "Where'd that come from?"

Lifting a shoulder, I turn and put my back against the building, craning my head back.

The sky is black tonight—not a single star to be found. For a moment, I get lost in the vortex of sleet gently raining down on us, pinging off the ground and metal roofing of the hospital.

"This isn't your fault."

Frowning, I glance sideways at Jeremy. Like me, he's got his head tilted back, the smooth, pale slope of his throat pronounced as his gaze gets lost in the unforgiving night.

"You think it's you, don't you?" His mouth twitches, and before I can ask him what he means, he goes on to clarify, "You're the one who's cursed. You make one wrong move, and you and everyone you love is punished."

Blinking rapidly, I shake my head. "I don't…"

He cuts me a long, knowing look from the corners of his eyes, tendrils of white hair curling up in the breeze. "You forget, Mason. I know you." His gaze returns to the sky, and he stuffs his hands in his jean pockets, shoulders bunching by his ears. "I also know what it's like to have a little voice in your head telling you that everything wrong that has ever happened is somehow your fault." He pauses meaningfully. "But whereas I keep it all locked up inside me. Take it apart piece by piece… You…"

"Overcompensate," I whisper. "Turn it outward."

His brow knits and he drops his head, twisting it to look at me fully. Wary eyes search my face as he says slowly, carefully, "Yeah…I guess so."

"What were you actually gonna say?"

Jeremy rolls his lips together, studying me, as if debating something with himself. Finally, he says, "Just that you take it all on as if it's your burden to bear. You let yourself feel…maybe feel too much, to the point where you can no longer see it from a logical standpoint. It becomes…well, all about you. Your mess to fix. Your responsibility. As if by…by taking it all on and doing things differently, better, you can somehow prevent further disaster. Maintain complete control."

Chewing my lip ring, I nod. "Sounds like you've been talking to Cleo. My therapist," I clarify when I note the confused wrinkle in his brow.

He nods. "Ah. Yeah, well, let's just say our therapists could probably benefit from exchanging notes."

I huff a short laugh at that. "Yeah, probably."

Several seconds pass before he goes on to say, "You're not responsible for what happened tonight, any more than you're responsible for what happened to Izzy, or for your dad leaving. You do know that deep down, right?"

My brows spike. "Wow, going all the way back to my dad, are we?" I say, laughing weakly.

He narrows his eyes on me. "Let's just say I've had a lot of time to think about things."

"Things like what?" I whisper, cautiously meeting his gaze.

He lifts a shoulder. "Everything."

A long moment passes where we just stare at each other, everything we can't or won't say stretched out between us, blanketing the air with some inexplicable tension.

I can't help but think back on our fight outside the diner back in October. This is the first real conversation we've had since then.

Save for the night a brawl broke out at the bar, and the text he sent me a couple weeks ago, after I unloaded on him in a moment of weakness…

He's completely shut me out.

Until now.

While I know he's mainly only here because of what happened to Will and Waylon…

He still came to find me, to check on me.

That has to mean something.

"What if…" I find myself saying, my voice hesitant, "what if I did do something?"

Jeremy frowns. "What do you mean?"

I swallow thickly, not breaking his gaze. "What if the universe is punishing us for something I did?"

He straightens to his full height, shoulders dropping. "Like what?"

My tongue pokes out, dragging over my lips, rolling over my piercing. "I don't know. Just…something. Something that…altered or shifted our timeline or something."

Jeremy shifts foot to foot, and I can't tell if he's uncomfortable. Or just trying to keep warm. His furrowed gaze drops to the sidewalk. "But that implies your actions somehow carry more weight than, well, everyone. What makes you so special?" He shakes his head, brow wrinkling. "I'm just sayin'. It's a bit egotistical of you, don't you think? As if you have enough power to sway the tides that much. Just you…"

"Well, when you put it like that."

Jeremy chuckles, and it's this throaty, raspy thing that has the little hairs on my neck standing upright. His gaze lifts to mine, and I give him a small smile, telling him I'm not hurt by his words. He's got a good fucking point. And it's nothing I haven't told myself before…

Then why does bad shit keep happening to the people I love?

"Shit happens," Jeremy says simply, as if reading my mind. "Yeah, we've gone through a lot more shit than most people. Perhaps we're just victims of Murphy's Law—what can go wrong, will go wrong." He shrugs. "Some people go years, lucky enough to never have to go through anything like we have. And then some people are just knocked on their ass over and over and over again. So long as one exists, the other will too. It's just the way things go."

"You think we'll ever get a break?"

"Theoretically, we should. Balance and all."

I nod. "As above, so below."

Jeremy's mouth rises with a smile. "What goes up, must come down."

"The only way out, is through."

Our gazes lock, and for a moment, I don't think either one of us dares to breathe or to so much as move a muscle. It's just Jeremy and me in a vortex of falling ice.

"Where do we go from here?" I whisper after a moment.

His throat ripples with a swallow, drawing stark attention to the tendons pushing against his skin. His fluttering pulse. "I don't know."

My brow creases, and I nod shortly.

He angles away from me once more, leaning back against the building. Tipping his head back, he gazes up at the sky. "Right now…right now our friends need us."

Sucking in my cheeks, I nod, and resume the same position. "Yeah."

The world blurs, my jaw clenched to shit—so tight, my teeth protest.

"Mase…"

I sniff. "Yeah?"

"Do you…do you need Shawn?"

My eyes fall shut.

I need you.

Giving my head a little shake, I say, "N-no. I'll be fine. It's just…hard."

That's a fucking understatement.

While neither of us outright look at each other now, there's this sort of tangible awareness in the air, telling me he's just as attuned to me as I am to him.

Blinking up at the sky, I brace myself for when he walks away. Knowing it's coming any moment now. I can feel it—the end of whatever this is. A lapse. A truce…a momentary one, that is.

"Right now our friends need us."

Tonight's not about us.

He wouldn't even be here otherwise…

"‘Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast.'"His whispered words seem to carry on the winter wind gently blowing through.

I frown. "What was that?"

"It's from a poem called ‘Desert Places.' Robert Frost." He swallows with an audible click. "Been stuck in my head for weeks now, since we analyzed it for class. Can't shake it."

I blink up at the sky. "What's it about?"

Class? He's taking a poetry class?

"Loneliness, mostly," he says, before I can give voice to my confusion. "A sort of…reflection on just how vast the universe is, and what it means for our place within it. Making peace with the endlessness of it all…putting things into perspective." He pauses, before reciting softly, "‘They cannot scare me with their empty spaces. Between stars, on stars where no human race is. I have it in me so much nearer home, to scare myself with my own desert places.'"

"Desert places…" I process that, thinking of those once locked rooms inside me…

The rot that seems to fester throughout.

The void I can't seem to ever fill. One that's been there since the day my dad left me…

"Your dad lied to you," he says suddenly.

I tense, caught off-guard by the unexpected statement, and the fact I was just thinking about the man.

Frowning, I turn my head toward him. "What?"

Jeremy's still gazing up at the sky, his eyes glittering. "Maybe not intentionally. He probably didn't know. It's apparently a common misconception. Still…he never should've told a kid that."

"What are you…" My mouth dries, stealing the rest of my question.

His face tightens. "You told me the stars were dead. Remember?"

I nod slowly, unable to take my eyes off his tense profile. "The maze…"

"It didn't sound right. But I wasn't certain, and by the time I looked it up—confirming it…" He shrugs, flitting me a glance before returning his gaze to the starless night. "I don't know if I forgot about it, or didn't see the point in telling you. So I just…put it to the side. It felt…trivial given everythi?—"

"Jeremy," I cut in softly.

He blows out a sharp breath. "Right. Sorry," he mutters. Clearing his throat, he inhales deeply, and says, "The ones we can see on a clear night with our naked eye…they're too close to have already burnt out. A couple might be gone already, sure, but…but the likelihood that the majority you see at night are dead…Well, it's pretty slim.

"Stars live for billions of years after all. Humans have only been around for, like, hundreds of thousands—a blip compared to the shelf life of a star." He gives his head a little shake. "They're too close." He pauses. "I can't say the same for the ones you need a telescope to see. But the ones you used to talk to and make wishes to? No, they're not dead."

I stare at him.

And keep staring at him.

Jeremy. Jeremy…

Jeremyjeremyjeremy—

Everything is quiet, except for his name pounding like a drum in my chest.

It's there…it's right there…just look a little closer…

Let it in.

"Are you serious?" I whisper.

He glances at me, then does a double take, pushing off the building, his eyes growing wide . His face is a blur—everything's a blur—and it takes me a second to realize why…

And suddenly, I'm six years old again, on the verge of tears, willing myself to be tough.

To hold it together.

Be strong…

Because I am crumbling.

"Mase…What?—"

"There you are," a voice calls out.

We both startle at the interruption, and whirl around find a figure jogging toward us.

Lanky limbs.

Curly dark brown hair.

A breathless grin.

Gabe.

Jeremy's not on socials, but he is. Not to mention that glimpse I got years ago, when he answered my video-call.

"Well, my oh my," he drawls, just as Jeremy rushes toward him and all but blocks him from getting to me. Jeremy mumbles something, but Gabe just grins wider, eyes twinkling with humor and something sharper. Something like a warning…

One aimed my way.

"Hey there, blue eyes."

Clearing my throat, I blink away the lingering moisture. "Hey, Gabe," I say roughly. We're a good five feet apart, but my voice carries all the same.

"Was hoping we'd meet on better terms, say like?—"

"Never," Jeremy cuts in with a huff.

My brows fly up at the same time Gabe gives Jeremy's shoulder a little push. "So possessive."

Jeremy growls, and fuck, who knew such a sound could be so…

So…

Cute.

Oh, fuck.

Gabe eyes me up and down, a knowing sort of glint in his eye that has my heart racing and ears ringing.

Steeling myself, I clamp my jaw, and lift my chin, silently daring him to say something. What he sees when he looks at me, I have no idea. But I do know how close he and Jeremy are. I know Jeremy probably told him everything.

That would explain the warning look…

A weird feeling snakes up my throat, tension grabbing hold of my spine.

"I'll be right behind you," I hear Jeremy say, and with one last, lingering, narrowed look, Gabe lets Jeremy turn him around, and nudge him to get walking.

"Sorry about him."

"He cares about you," I say stiffly when he turns toward me once more.

Jeremy's gaze is downcast as he drags the toe of his Converse over a crack in the concrete. "Yeah…"

Try as I might to bite my tongue…

"Are you sure he's not…"

He exhales sharply. "No. I told you. I'm not his type. That hasn't changed." His voice is all stilted again, and I get the feeling maybe I should've just kept my mouth shut. When I've asked in the past, he'd just laugh it off.

But that was before…

"And if he suddenly did like me like that," he whips out suddenly. "What's it matter to you?"

Rearing back, I stutter, "I-I?—"

Jeremy rakes his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. He mutters what sounds like, "Exactly," under his breath, and then he turns away.

"Jeremy. Wait."

Surprisingly, he stops.

To his stiff back, I say, "Thank you." Jaw working, I blink rapidly. "What you said before. About the stars. Th-thank you."

Seconds pass, and just when I've given up all hope that he'll say anything—bracing myself for him to walk away…again…

He slowly, slowly, turns to face me.

His expression is smooth, devoid of any telling emotion. Gaze hard and impenetrable.

"Maybe it's not about balance," he says unexpectedly.

Frowning, I shake my head, not understanding.

"What goes up, must come down….as above, so below…"

Oh. Right.

He tilts his head, the lights from the hospital slanting lines over his face, making his skin look almost translucent. "Maybe there is something bigger at play here. A purpose to all of this." He gestures widely at our surroundings. "A great design we're not privy to."

"Fate," I murmur.

His lips purse. Then— "Maybe the universe isn't punishing you. Maybe it's just trying to tell you something."

My lips tug down. "I don't like that theory. That would mean…Izzy…Waylon…"

He shakes his head. "Don't think about it like that."

"How can I not?"

His lips thin, and he tips his head back, sparing the black sky one last look. "Perhaps the answers you seek aren't in the stars…but in the space between them."

And with that, he turns, and quickly walks, heading back inside.

Leaving me to my desert places…