By some miracle, jogging first thing the next morning helped me sort through my thoughts.

I started to slow around curve of the wall outside my neighborhood, my focus on the Licensee Plate of my brother's mustang. If my mind had been so preoccupied with trying to keep the rest of my body from collapsing, it was likely I would be stifling a laugh over the words on the California plates. Three years and I still couldn't get over the ridiculousness of the personalized piece of metal.   

Hot Rod3

The previous owner of the car had been an egotistical USC graduate who had no desire to sell the car in the first place. When my brother had finally got the guy to cave, his only demand was that my brother come up with the dumbest possible plates. How either of them survived high school was beyond me.

I finally slowed to a stop, leaning into the trunk as I took a swing from the little left in my water bottle. I started to straighten myself out, knowing my brother would likely blow a blood vessel if he saw me touching his car, when I heard the sound of tires crunch what I hoped was a twig behind me.

Jerking around, I lowered my bottle to my side and stared at the limo stretched out along the street before me. It was nothing like I'd seen before; a white convertible with red velvet seats, three of which were occupied by a boy lounged in back with his feet across them.

"Willow!" the voice from the passenger's seat exclaimed, pushing himself up and stepping on the seat to get out as if the handles on the door were only part of the scenery.

I crunched my bottle in my hand and forced a smile. "I'm sure you're well aware, but you're definitely in the wrong neighborhood."

"Willow, it' me. Jack." the man plucked the askew hundred dollar Ray Band's from his long, pointed nose and flashed me a smile.

It was sickening staring at the man; even more disgusting was the fact that my brother was a walking clone of him. They both stood just over six feet, were extraordinarily lanky, and had the same piercing blue eyes that had the ability to force you to face your deepest fears and were to be aware of your darkest secrets.

"I'm sorry." I said through my teeth. "I thought I was clear. You're in the wrong neighborhood."

Jack ran a hand through his gel ridden black hair and nodded in the direction of the limo. The boy in back perked up at the sound of my father clearing his throat, sunglasses of his own shielding his half his face.

"We're good, Howard. Pull the car around there and park it. Kid, let's go." my dad closed his mouth for the first time since he'd arrived as the boy stood and stretched his arms behind his head. His pale blue v-neck rode up the side, flashing me a perfect view of his toned abdomen.

I had no doubt in my mind the boy was one of Xander's friends and a member of the shitty boy band.

After a moment of consideration, the boy jumped on to the hood of the car and slid down it in a move I wanted to assume was supposed to be graceful. Instead, he slid too far and hit the pavement so hard I winced a little. Rubbing his lower back as he stood, he turned back to my father.

"Can I take these off or is she going to faint like the last girl?" the boy's voice was soft and familiar.

It was Mason Carter.

"Trust me, Mase." I could feel the tension between my father and me die a bit. "The only time I'd faint for you guys is if you wrote one of your shitty songs about me."

Mason's head whipped up in surprise, sunglasses falling to the ground as a result of the quick movement. I was immediately greeted with big, welcoming brown eyes. Standing at the angle he was, I could see the sun refracting off of them and allowing full view of the gold specks floating aimlessly around in them.

"Willow?" he laughed. "Shit, you look so different!"

Before I could have any say in the matter, the boy band member pulled me into a bone crushing hug. "I was twelve the last time you. . . can't breathe!"

He chuckled and released me, shaking his head in awe.

I wished I could say he looked different, but in all honesty, he had already been attractive then. He had been the second oldest of the group at fifteen and had taken to Xander instantly, acting as an obnoxious older brother. His hair was still a mane of caramel curls dyed blonde at the tips, his eyes still the same calm before the storm, he hadn't grown much more than a few inches since then either. Mason had been far from what I'd expected myself; he was sweet, kind, and shockingly the fame hadn't quite gotten to his head at that point. I was sure it very much had stroked his ego since. 

I had been at my awkward stage the first and only time I met Mason Carter and the rest of the band. Braces, glasses, short  blonde hair styled into an cringey into a pixie cut. The second I left the recording studio that day, I had made the decision to change entirely. In order to leave the past behind, I needed to be happy with who I was in the present, and at the time I very much wasn't. So I started dying my hair black, got contacts, and started wearing a retainer at night instead of braces until I didn't even need that anymore. Every time I looked in the mirror from that time on, I didn't seen the broken little girl Xander had left, I saw the scarred woman I'd become.

"The guys are gonna flip when they see you and-" Mason started.

"Wow, wait, what?" I asked in one breath, eyes darting between him and my father.

Jack outstretched his hand to rest on my shoulder, but I took a step back so it fell limply back at his side.

"We need to talk, Willow." my father averted his eyes. "In the house."

I snorted. "Like hell you're going in there. You better get your little boy out of here before you guys get stampeded by little girls."

There was a faint feeling of guilt in my chest at the fact I was lashing out at Mason over the entire situation too. Sure, he had been the one my best friend chose over me, but he was a decent guy and didn't deserve to get hassled for it.

"It's about Xander." Mason clarified, realizing my father's approach wasn't going to work. "He was in an accident."

"No shit." I muttered.

I saw Mason's eyes start to glisten upon hearing me curse. "Those aren't words that should be coming out of a beautiful girl's mouth."

"I'll have more words that shouldn't be coming out of a beautiful girl's mouth if you two don't get the hell away from my house and family."

Mason was at a loss for words for a few minutes before he cleared his throat and started to close the gap between us. "He needs you, Willow. I know you hate Jack, you hate the band, you hate me. But I know there's still some part of you that loves and cares about Xander as much as I do."

"There's not." I took a startled step back. "If you care so much, fix whatever is wrong yourself."

Mason squeezed his eyes shut, unnaturally long lashes fanning his sunkissed skin. "That's the problem, Willow. We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because he keeps asking for you. He needs you, not me." he explained.

I gnawed at the inside of my bottom lip, tasting copper on my tongue seconds later.

"What happened to him?" 

Mason shifted, uncomfortable with the topic. "He's got retrograde amnesia."

"What?" I shook my head in confusion.

"Retrograde amnesia." Jack repeated. "It's memory loss."

I stared at the two of them blankly. "I know what amnesia is. What makes it retro-whatever?"

Mason gently brushed his fingers along my knuckles with a forced smile.

"From what the doctors and Jack have explained, retrograde amnesia is the loss of long term memories. He can't remember certain events after his twelfth birthday." Mason whispered. "He's terrified."

I bit my lip. "That isn't my problem. Alexander isn't my problem anymore."

I clenched the crunched water bottle in my hand as I started to turn my back to Mason, catching a glimpse of the desperation in his eyes before I turned completely.

"Please, Willow. You don't understand." he pleaded. "I have to see my best friend falling apart before my eyes. He's crying all the time, asking for his parents, for you. He has no idea who I am."

"What?"

Mason nodded, as if my sudden spark of interest was going to change everything.

"He doesn't remember the band. He thinks we're friends of yours. The doctors aren't allowing him to watch TV or read anything either, for obvious reasons. They don't want to overwhelm him." I could hear in Mason's voice that he was still holding back.

"And?" I made a gesture with my hands.

His cheeks flushed, a sight I'm sure thousands of thirteen year old girls would have fainted at.

"I kind of, sort of told him I was your boyfriend and that was the reason I was hanging around so much." he cringed, as if he were expecting my hand to come in contact with some part of his body. "And that the guys were friends of mine."

Rather than get angry, I brought my finger to my right temple and massaged it. "Why did you tell him that?"

"He kept asking questions and I don't have much of a filter. It was the first thing that came to mind. " he responded with a sad smile.

"What about all your fans? Won't they know and tell-"

"Ryan, Ash, and Haiden are taking care of that right now." Mason cut me off mid-sentence. "Right now, I'm just concerned with Xander and his health. I'm not leaving until you agree to come to the hospital with me."

Lifting my head, I met his usually kind eyes, tormented with exhaustion and anger. He crossed his arms, lips pursed as he stared me down, waiting for me to break under his gaze. I relaxed against my brother's car, forehead still in my hand as I felt my heart sink into my stomach.

"Alright." I threw my head back so I was facing the sky. "I'll go with you. But it'll be for you and not him, understand?"

A look of relief crossed Mason's face as he sighed.

"I understand." 

***AN***

Hope you guys enjoyed! 

Sorry for another long chapter. They just seem to keep coming out a little long. They'll be shorter as the story goes on! Thanks so much for reading!

~ChasingMadness24