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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.
