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Whichever. Doesn’t really matter.
It’s just fucking wild to me that all this time, he was suffering too, in his own way. Makes me sad he didn’t think he could tell me, when he knew what I was going through as a kid.
But maybe that’s partially why he couldn’t tell me.
Fuck, how he saw me get treated probably played a big role in why it scared him so fucking much, to the point of years of denial, not to mention all that he’s put Will through back when they were kids, and then again more recently. Combine that with his piece-of-shit sperm donor, who never did such a great job at hiding his disgust of me…
Yeah, I can’t say I blame him for keeping it to himself. For fighting it. At least he was able to—did a damn good job of it too. That or my gaydar is wonky. Not like I had much practice with it.
Regardless, I meant what I said to him in that parking lot—all I saw that night in the bathroom was a terrified little boy fighting for his life. I can’t unsee it now. I was that boy. I fucking get it. We do fucked up shit when we’re scared. We push people away. We lash out. We let the hate fester and rot us from the inside out until we no longer can contain it, and we snap.
But I also meant everything I told him after that:
“It’s up to you to climb your way out of this. We can reach down to help, but it’s up to you to grab our hands and let us pull you up…”
“Effort fucking matters, Way. It matters more than anything else.”
And standing here now, in this diner, staring at Mason, watching as he waits with bated breath for me to either continue icing him out as I have been, ever since he got out of rehab…
Or give him a chance to explain… to apologize…in person, and not just via unanswered texts and voice notes and voicemails…
Well, I can’t say that I feel like I owe it to him to hear him out.
I don’t.
I don’t owe him shit.
But…
He was drunk. I can’t discount that. Drunk and finally accepting Izzy was well and truly gone. As shitty as what he did to me was, I can take a step back and at least acknowledge he was in a really dark place.
It doesn’t excuse anything. Hell no.
But I could at least hear him out…see how he wants to spin this.
If anything, it’ll be the final nudge I need to slap a lock on the box that is Mason Wyatt, and finally shelve it for good.
So with that in mind, after what seems like an eternity rolling all of this through my head, but is in reality only seconds, I finally give Mason a stiff nod. “Fine.”
Turning on my heel, I don’t wait for a response. I just head back the way I came, trusting he’ll follow.
Trusting he’ll burn what’s left of our friendship to the ground once and for all.
I don’t see how this can play out any other way.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
Chilly air greets us outside the diner.
Despite this having been my suggestion—to talk—I suddenly feel like I’m crawling out of my skin with nerves, making me hang back a bit as Jeremy powers ahead with quick, determined strides.
He finally comes to a stop when he hits the corner of the next intersection, just a block down, in front of the brick building that makes up some law practice I’ve never really given much attention to. The name’s familiar, but there’s a shit ton of O’Malley’s in Shiloh, and not all are related, so who knows?
He doesn’t immediately turn around to face me. He just…stands there, hands fisted at his sides, and I take advantage of this opportunity to get my first real good look of him in weeks.
His hair is a startling white against the blacks and grays of night. It looks recently touched up; the darker roots nowhere to be seen.
From neck to toe, he’s dressed in practically all black.
