Chapter 69

AGE 22, MARCH

It'sfunny what death does to birthdays.

And of course by funny, I mean it's the saddest fucking shit.

Made even more sadder when you share the date with the person no longer here, and you have to go on like half of you isn't frozen in time.

What used to be celebrated, now dreaded. Lumped right up there with the anniversary of their death. Permanently engraved into the slab of stone that is left in their place. A reminder…that time continues to move forward, while they remain locked in the past.

Once upon a time, I was only twelve minutes and thirteen seconds older than my sister.

Now, I'm twenty-two. She's still seventeen.

Five whole fucking years separate us.

I can't imagine the loss of a sibling is easy for anyone, but it's definitely a special brand of torture when you're a twin, and have to carry the knowledge with you that your headstones will only share the one date.

It's one of those things you don't really think about—that you'll come into this world together, but go out separately. Not until they're gone, and you're left behind, and now you have to suffer through year after year of reminders that you're still here, getting older, while they're…

Not.

So perhaps, given all that, it's a little masochistic of me to be here of all days, of all places, celebrating not just my birthday, but hers too, even if all she has to show for her presence is a slab of stone and an empty casket buried somewhere beneath us.

A birthday picnic in a cemetery.

Morbid? Absolutely.

Inappropriate? Maybe.

Do any of us here care? No.

If there's anything I've learned in the last four and a half years, it's that there is no right or wrong way to grieve. Death is morbid. Why should we grieve like it's not?

Ivy eases the car to a stop, and through the window I spot Will and Waylon behind a large headstone a couple rows away, their embraced figures silhouetted by the sun. Waylon's hands are cradling Will's face as they kiss, right there in the middle of a cemetery where anyone can see, smack dab in front of his homophobic, abusive asshole of a dad's headstone. A big middle finger to the asshole if there ever was one.

Something loosens in my chest at the sight.

As far as I know, this is the first time Waylon's been here since his dad died back in December. He didn't go to the funeral. None of us did. Not even Reggie or my mom.

"The Seamus we knew died a long time ago," Mom had told me when she decided she wasn't going to attend. Will told me Reggie said something along the same lines.

Did anyone show up for it? No idea. Maybe some of his old drinking buddies, I imagine. The ones who, to this day, continue to excuse what he did all because he lost his wife when she gave birth to their son. As if his loss entitles to him a free pass. If it's not God people use to get away with shit—on the promise of Paradise, so long as they repent before they die—than it's pain. Suffering.

Will and Waylon pull apart at the sound of our doors slamming shut as Shawn and I climb out from the backseat. I tuck Mason's keyboard beneath my arm as I round the front of the car. Shawn has a guitar strapped to his back, and carries another one in his hand.

A couple rows down from where Will and Waylon are, I find Mason sitting in front of Izzy's grave, knees curled up to his chest. It's not unlike how I found him back in September, just minus the gray skies and bottle of vodka.

My gaze lingers, a ball of emotion forming in my throat.

"Hey, boys," I hear Phoebe chirp, but I pay her little notice.

Ivy gets out of the car, brushing past me to join her. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to make out on your parents' grave?" she calls out.

Shawn hangs back without a word as my feet start carrying me toward Mason.

I haven't seen him since December, in the hospital, but we've texted back and forth here and there. Surface level things, mostly, like exchanging updates regarding Will and Waylon and how they've been coping since everything went down, for one.

Basically, anything that doesn't involve the massive elephant in the room that is us. Well, except for the couple times he brought it up.

I grip the keyboard a little tighter, and inhale deeply, bracing myself as I approach him.

When he senses me, he lifts his gaze, and for a moment, I swear time stops.

And I'm lost to those pale, glimmering ice blue eyes of his, made to look even more shocking by the sun bearing down on us and the clear cerulean sky.

"Hey," I rasp, my throat unbearably tight all of a sudden.

Mason smiles, breathes my name, and while the earth might still be at a standstill, I'm sure not. My heart kicks into overdrive, and my stomach feels all fluttery. And somewhere low in my gut, heat amasses, boiling hot, sending a wave of chills across the back of my neck and around my face.

He wets his lips, the tip of his tongue catching on his piercing, and I feel something sharp snag in my chest, like a wire clawing into me, reminding me of what I'll never have.

My gaze drifts to the headstone glinting under the sun, and I feel another hook digging in, pulling me in the opposite direction. Between the two of them, I'm lucky I haven't been torn apart.

If anything though, seeing them together like this…

I'm more certain of my decision than ever. Today's not just to celebrate Izzy's and my birthdays, together, for the first time in years in the only way we can now…

But it's to say goodbye.

To her.

To him.

To all the messy what if's.

To these last four and a half brutal years, once and for all.

I don't think I would've come home for this for any other reason than to finally have closure. Make peace with the past and finally leave it behind.

Footsteps and hushed voices sound from behind me as the others join us, and I turn away, busying myself with setting the keyboard down on the blanket Ivy lays out for us.

I'm vaguely aware of Mason pushing to a stand, his gaze still aimed at the grave marker before him. His light ash-brown hair ruffling in the breeze.

Ivy stays close to me, nudging me with her arm.

"You okay?" she murmurs, and I nod.

This is a good thing…what we're doing. Why I'm here for this…

I have to believe that.

Will's the last to join us, and Waylon greets him with a small smile. The ache in my chest deepens as they draw close, and I quickly look away, not wanting to intrude…not wanting to feel bitter and envious, when those two deserve nothing but good vibes sent their way after what they've gone through.

I lift my head when I catch movement in the corner of my eye.

Waylon sidles up to Mason, splaying a supportive hand across his back, and I feel something sink heavily in my chest at the sight. Watching them like this, closer than ever—like brothers really—staring down at what remains of the girl who meant the world to both of them…

It fucking hurts.

More than I anticipated.

You'd think after all this time it would get easier, and then it just comes out of nowhere, fucking obliterating you. Hell, sometimes it comes when you are expecting it—when you're all but taunting it out to play, like what I'm doing today—and it still manages to catch you off guard. The weight of it… the bottomlessness of it all.

Maybe it's because it's not just me having closure today. I see that now. This is for all three of us. A redo of the funeral we weren't ready for the first time.

And in some ways, it's the best birthday present I could ask for. In others, I regret going along with this completely, wishing I was doing what I usually do on this day—at least the last couple years—drinking myself into oblivion.

"It still doesn't feel real," I hear Mason whisper, and my throat constricts. Leaves rustle in the breeze, the only sound to be heard save for their hushed voices.

"I know," Waylon says.

"What if she's still out there?"

Crack.

My eyes fall shut at the agony ripping its way through my chest, tearing me in half. Guess I spoke too soon before.

"She might be," Waylon says. "But we can't keep living based on what ifs."

Sniffing, I open my eyes, and stand a little taller, jutting my chin out.

"I know, I know," Mason chants. "It's just…"

"Hard."

"Yeah."

I'm acutely aware of Ivy peering up at me, but I pointedly ignore her.

I won't break.

Izzy has been gone for years.

I've grieved her…

A voice pipes up, Then, why are you here?

I give my head a little shake, straining my ears to hear Waylon as he says, "She'd want us to move on, man. Even if she was alive, somehow, some way…she wouldn't want us to keep living in this limbo, waiting around for a day that might never come. I do know that much."

My vision blurs, my throat swelling with an unbearable pressure.

"Of course you do," Mason says, chuckling quietly, his voice raw. "You could always read her better than me."

"Maybe. And she could always read you better than me."

They share a laugh at that, and through a thick sheen of tears, I watch as they turn fully toward Izzy's headstone once more. I can almost imagine it's her standing there instead. As things should be…

I shift around, fighting the urge to bolt—to scream.

My jaw tenses, and I'm aware of not only Ivy watching me, but Will now too. More sets of eyes turn my way, all the attention suddenly on me, and fuck, I can't do this. Yet, I'm frozen. Rooted to the spot.

Will turns toward me, and starts to say something—I sense it.

But then, suddenly, Mason's there. Faster than I can blink, he's standing right in front of me, his pale blue eyes spearing me right down to the pits of my withered soul.

And just like that, I lose the fight with my tears.

They fall over my lashes as if a cloud broke over my head, streaking down my quivering cheeks.

Mason's brows knit, his lips a thin pale slash that draws stark attention to the silver hoop.

"C'mere," he rasps, taking my hand, and leading me back toward where Waylon watches us, waiting for us to join him.

A gasp punches out of me, hitching loudly—or at least it feels loud.

My heart is pounding up a storm, and all I can do is blink furiously against the tide of emotion threatening to drag me under as Mason puts me between them.

Fingers grip the back of my hoodie, anchoring me. Mason…

I hang my head and squeeze my eyes shut, biting back the sounds scratching their way up my throat.

"I've got him, Iz," Mason chokes out. "I've got him."

Waylon wraps an arm around me from my other side, and says strongly, "We've got him."

How I don't utterly collapse from their words, I have no idea. I'm no longer being torn. I'm being shredded. Utterly fucking eviscerated by the power of this moment—this stark, painful release settling over us as we finally set her free like we should've done on that sunny day years ago. Together.

Just like the three of them used to say…

All for one, and one for all.

It's either one of us, or all of us.

And just like that, it hits me.

So caught up in how painful it must've been for them to keep me around over the years, I didn't even consider the fact that aside from my parents, these two guys are all I have left of my sister.

They're the closest thing to having her back in my life.

And they have me.

They want me.

Me…

They've got me.

Just like she always did.

Just like she always would have, if she was still here.

Just like she'd want for us.

I've got them too, Iz…

No matter what it takes.

And with that thought, I know what I need to do.