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CHAPTER SEVENTY
“Hey. Can we talk?”
I glance up at Jeremy from where I sit on the edge of the blanket we’d spread out, keyboard resting over my lap where I idly play with it, my fingers fluttering gently over the keys.
He worries at the strands of silvery-white hair that have fallen messily over his brow, pointedly avoiding my gaze. My pulse quickens, an odd sense of dread tugging at my gut. Why, I’m not sure, but until this moment—save for when we stood in front of his sister’s grave earlier—he’s been keeping his distance.
At this point, I’ve come to expect it, especially around the others. As far as they’re aware though, it’s only because of what I said and did in my room that night I relapsed—when I cupped his face and called him Izzy and begged her not to leave me.
And while they’re not wrong, it’s far from the whole story. It’s just the jagged, rusty tip of the blade that feels as if it’s been perpetually wedged between my ribs since.
Easing my keyboard off my lap, I say, “Yeah. Of course. Everything okay?” I keep my voice low, so it’s only for him. Between Shawn and Waylon strumming on their guitars, and the quiet din of chatter and laughter amongst everyone, no one seems to be really paying us much attention.
Well, except for Will.
When I go to stand, our gazes meet across the blanket—plates and napkins with scraps of the sandwiches and chips we brought lay scattered about between us, weighed down by water bottles and soda cans so as not to fly away—something about his expression gives me pause.
His brows knit, mouth tightening at the corners. But then Waylon leans over and says something in his ear, and his gaze drops to his lap, lips curving with a smile. He finds Waylon’s inked hand clutched on his thigh, and threads their fingers together.
Realizing I’m staring, I tear my attention away, shaking away the weird…feeling rising up in my chest as I climb to a stand, and glance over at Jeremy who stands there, staring intently at the ground. And I realize he never answered my question.
I approach him, and he must sense me, shaking out whatever’s got him all up in his head.
He releases the hold his teeth have on his lip, and says. “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “I just, uh, need to tell you something.” He jacks a thumb behind him, gesturing for me to follow.
He leads me past the trees lining the back of this row of headstones, down a narrow cobbled path toward what looks like some kind of memorial bench, ensuring we’re out of sight from the others.
There’s no one else around today from what I’ve seen, so it’s just the two of us now and the leaves brushing overhead, and the distant tittering of birds, and the sudden rushing feeling like whatever he’s about to tell me is going to change everything.
Our gazes meet, his eyes lit up gold from the sun. Combined with his stark white hair, his smooth, creamy complexion, and soft, doe-like features, he looks almost…inhuman—angelic, standing there in a swatch of glittering sunlight coming in through the trees.
My throat tightens, and I swear the organ in my chest skips a beat.
“I don’t really know how to start this, and I’m kind of shitting myself, so I’m just gonna?—”
“Jer, it’s okay,” I whisper. Shaking my head, I add, “Whatever you have to tell me. It’s okay. We’ll be okay. We’ll always be okay.”
I won’t let it—us—be anything but okay.
If there’s anything I’ve grown more certain of these last couple months, it’s that.
Whatever it takes to get him to trust me again… I’ll do it.
His eyes crease, growing red around the edges, and it brings me back to earlier, when I spun away from Izzy’s grave—away from Waylon—knowing, just knowing deep in my gut that Jeremy needed me.
It was like someone threw a rope around my chest, and yanked. So hard my ribs splintered.
And when I saw the tears in his eyes…tears that moments later would spill over…
All I could do was vow to myself—then to Izzy, out loud, for everyone to hear?—
I’ve got him.
Of course I’ve got him, Iz.
We’ve got him…Waylon and I. Just like we always promised. All for one, and one for all.
He’s as much a part of us as she was, and that will never change, with or without her. I just didn’t see how much he needed to hear that—needed to feel it—until he was squished between us, anchored by us both, finally letting himself accept it. Feel her loss.
