Where There's a Will (Lost Boys, #1)

by Jessie Walker

Grief was like a fever, she said. I just had to let it run its course. Sweat it out, just sweat it out, baby.

Whoever said the road to hell is paved with good intentions has obviously never been to Pennsylvania. This shit I’ve been walking on is a land mine of potholes.

It’s a powerful thing—grief. Death. It can rip two people apart who were once impenetrable, yet bring together two practical strangers.

And this moment—this chance—it’s nothing but a wish upon the stars for something that will never be.

If there’s anything I’ve learned in the last year, it’s that there’s always more to the story. Nothing’s ever as simple as it seems. And more than not, we only see what we want to see.

Because that’s the thing about life. It doesn’t have to make sense. It doesn’t have to come full circle. We just like to believe it does. And sometimes, chasing those damn circles only does more harm than good anyway.

“Maybe I like being sad.” His eyes drift to some point beyond me. “When you’re sad, nothing else really matters anymore.”

We’ve reached the two-minute warning in this game we’ve been playing for what feels like my entire life. Tonight’s our last time-out, and I have nothing left to lose.

“Because in the end, the only thing we have to fear in the dark are the things we run from in the light of day.”

So I steel myself and make to pull away, allowing myself one final heavy heartbeat to appreciate all the could-have-beens and wish-it-weres before setting them free, once and for all.

I want him to give in. Just this once. Even if this is the biggest mistake I ever make, I want him to want me tonight.

“I hate you.” If this is hate, baby,

“Nightmares, for instance,” I go on. “No one actually wants to relive what happened to them, but like any organ that’s been damaged, the brain wants to find a way to heal. Because that’s exactly what trauma is: a brain injury.

“One of the first steps in therapy, actually, is accepting that you’ll never be able to erase what happened.

All I know is that today, I made the decision to let him go once and for all. And Waylon stopped me.

I am drowning. Drowning in overwhelming want for this guy. This fucking guy who just told me I was once his everything, when I was sure I was only ever his nothing.

“It’s important you learn the difference between having fun and trying to escape your problems.”

Maybe the only inevitability when it comes to us is, and always will be, heartbreak. Maybe we’re just destined to repeat the same twisted cycle over and over and over again.

remember—this isn’t an ending. It’s a pause. A moment to breathe. Their story is far from over.