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

by Jessie Walker

I don’t want to be sad anymore. I don’t want to be numb. So I finally do what I’ve fought for so long. What I should’ve done a long time ago. I let go.

Better this than Will, though, I remind myself. It’s a cold day in Hell when I prefer to talk about my sorry excuse for a father, and that day appears to be today.

It’s like he knew exactly what to say. Like he pulled the words right out of my soul, and spat them back at me. Hitting me right where it hurts. Right where I’d fucking feel for him. And feeling is the last thing I ever want to do when it comes to Will Foster.

Fuck. I flash back to the night before, unable to help myself. Something changed—something in Will after my cruel outburst. Once the anger passed, he just seemed sad. Withdrawn.

Denial is this wicked thing inside me, coiled and ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

“How am I looking at you?” he says calmly. Like you see right fucking through me. Like it kills you. Like I’m some damsel who needs saving by the big, strong prince.

But admitting that? Well, it would defeat the purpose of... Everything.

Because I’d hate for him to ever become like me. Far more than I’ve ever hated the thought of what could happen, should he stay.

But in the end, I am what I’ve always been. Nothing less. Nothing more. Selfish. Weak. Hopeless.

I can’t talk about the frizzy-haired girl I knew since I was in diapers. The girl who opened my eyes to make-believe lands where monsters could be slayed, and dreams could be reached with the flick of a hand. The girl who would one day introduce me to the boy standing in front of me who made me believe just for a second that happily-ever-afters could be found outside of books. This boy who’s now nearly a man, and represents everything I never wanted to face. I can’t tell him, especially him, that sometimes it feels like I’m barely hanging on to this stupid, fucking life because I don’t know how to live in a world without her. How do I tell him that? How does anyone admit that without splintering right down the middle?

if he’s thinking what others have said before him. They were just kids; what did they really know? I’m sure he’ll find someone else. Who’s to say they would have worked out anyway had she lived? It’s bullshit. All of it. And it’s nothing I haven’t heard before as I tried to protect Mason from assholes who didn’t know any better.

Those people clearly don’t know what it means to be the only one left standing when the world around you crumbles. “I found my ex hanging from a belt last winter.” My eyes widen as my head snaps up. “I don’t know if ex is the right term...” he goes on to say, a frown burrowing in deep between his eyes. Eyes normally so blue, that now appear duller, almost lifeless, as they wander aimlessly over the horizon. “But it’s not like I can still call him my boyfriend when he’s dead.”

“And the harder you try to catch up, the more it pulls you down. Like fighting quicksand. Hopeless.”

thought. “I was either not upset enough, or taking too long to move on. It was as if I had only two choices: lose my shit completely, or fucking get it together and keep it that way. Go back to who I was before...”

“You wait for the sun to come up.” “What?” Avoiding his gaze, I hop down from the barrier. Gravel kicks up from under my shoes, and I dust off my shorts before turning to face Will. I take in those deep blue eyes as familiar as they are strange to me, and I tell him, “The sun will always rise again.” I shrug. “You just need to make it through the night. Take it day by day—moment by moment if you need to—until you reach the other side. Nothing lasts forever.”

That thing that never fails to hurt those I love. I must remember who I am. Where I come from. What I’ve done. I must remember. Remember.

thumb. Will is here. He’s really fucking here and he’s only inches away and he’s looking back at me like I’m already lost.

It all comes crashing down on me. I might be a tenacious son of a bitch on the best of days, but on the worst... I’m nothing but a coward. A runner. Sometimes secrets are secrets for a reason. Especially the ones you keep from yourself.

Will Foster was a bright spot in a sea of darkness. He was something to hold on to when I was a kid and life at home was caving in around me. It got wires tangled up in my naive brain, convincing me of feelings and ideas that weren’t so much a product of the heart, but driven by fear. By loneliness. Sure, I’ve appreciated other guys over the years, but it was never anything more than a passing thought. Superficial. I liked girls. I like girls. I might have never felt for any the way I once thought I felt for Will, but maybe that has less to do with my sexuality, and more to do with the trauma I never faced.

Perhaps the reality is, I never had anything to be afraid of, where Will’s concerned. Perhaps that’s what scares me most of all.

No, Waylon. I’m the furthest thing from happy right now.

This. Right here. Right fucking now. This is why I’m here. Waylon’s bright green-gold eyes find mine. His dimples are on full display as we grin big stupid grins, and sing our way through the bridge of my favorite Rolling Stones song. This is what I came back for. Not for answers. Not for closure. I came back to remember what it was like to be happy. To be whole.

“When you’re sad, nothing else really matters anymore.”

“When you have nothing to lose, you have nothing to fear.”

“I’m not sorry,” I tell him, “for going after the person I thought was hurting you back then. It’s a promise I should have never made in the first place.” He flinches. His mouth tightens. “But I am sorry it cost me you.” “Stop,” he croaks through clenched teeth. “And I’m sorry it was never enough.” “Will.”

“She told me, the key to making peace with the dark, was to make peace with myself. She said, as long as I remain honest with myself, I’ll be a lot less scared of the truths the dark may reveal.” I swallow a lump in my throat before continuing on a whisper, “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.” Waylon doesn’t move a muscle. I can’t even be

Because this storm will end like all storms end. And without the eye’s protective cocoon, we don’t stand a chance against the damage left in its wake come morning.

setting them free, once and for all. I want this Waylon, but I’ll only ever have the memory of the boy I knew. Never the man he’s becoming. Because this Waylon will never want me back, and it’s time I fucking get that through my thick, stubborn skull.

chest to chest. Pounding heart to pounding heart. “Stop me,” I tell him gravelly, bitterly, desperately, “because I fucking can’t.”

“I hate you.” If this is hate, baby, I think, licking across his teeth, I don’t know if I’d survive your love.

“It’s only a matter of time before my luck runs out. Might as well see how far I can take it. First my dad tries and fails, then the gun jams⁠—” My brain just...stops there. Stops and starts all

over in some fucked up effort to process something from pretty much nothing.

Except it’s not nothing. It says everything. Everything I never wanted to know. Not for the first time, I wish I could turn back time. Go back to last night, and turn down Reggie’s request for help. Hell, take me back to the moment I decided coming back to this town was a goo...

It’s you, it’s you, it’s always been fucking you. Don’t you fucking get that?

He glares. “Did you for once think that maybe, just maybe, I’m here because I fucking care about you?” I bite out.

“What happened shouldn’t have this much power over me anymore—over either of us. Because, babe, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not fooling anyone here.”

Or worse, I’d...I’d fall for someone who couldn’t love me back the way I needed.” My breath hitches.

I don’t take my eyes off his as I push to a stand. My fingers drag over his knees before withdrawing completely. I stare down at his bowed head, watching with what feels like knives in my chest as his shoulders quake with his near-silent cries. I take a much-needed step back. Another breeze filters through, and it’s only then that I realize my cheeks are wet too. Twice in one morning. I’d like to say it’s a new record for me, but after this year, that would be the biggest lie I’ve ever told. “I’m sorry,” he slurs through his tears. “I’m s-so s-sorry.” I rub a fist over my sternum and look away. “Me too.” Compared to the heart-wrenching sobs and broken screams last night, you’d think this would be easier. But all it does is twist the knife in deeper. His pain once again calling me on a visceral level that has me kind of wishing he’d try to hit me instead. Call me names and stomp on my heart. Still, I can’t find it in me to regret what I said. Deep down, we both know this has been a long time coming. We needed this if we have any chance at moving on. He needed to know how much he hurt me back then—how deep that hurt ran—and I needed to finally face those ugly parts of me head-on. Because I was a victim too, and knowing what I know now doesn’t just erase that fact. I don’t blame Waylon, I don’t. Not anymore. Not one fucking bit. But

“It’s an old Viking rune. It’s called an Inguz.”

“I wish I could tell you I never actually considered it, Will. I wish I could tell you that I...that I didn’t try to pull the trigger that night.”

“I wish I could say it was enough. That I never touched another gun and wondered, What if? That I never again went back up on that bridge and contemplated how easy it’d be to just...let go. Jump. How it’d take hardly any effort at all.”

clench my fists until my nails threaten to break skin, just so I don’t fucking reach for him and do something stupid, like throw him over my shoulder and take him as far away from that godforsaken bridge as we can get. Lock him in my room and never let him out of my sight again.

“To this day, I don’t know why I thought about you.”

and, somehow, through all that...darkness caving in around him, he managed to think of you...”

“But sometimes...sometimes you managed to sneak your way through. And that night you did, just when I thought it was all over for me. I had that stupid fucking Tom Petty song stuck in my head, and all I saw when I closed my eyes was you. How messed up is that?” He laughs in a mix of disbelief and bitterness.

“I wondered what you were doing. If you were happy. For the first time in years, I let myself remember you. All through the night. All the way until the sun came up, I pictured what could’ve been.”

My heart is breaking—crumbling from what he’s telling me—and yet there’s something else there. Just beneath. Something...strange, yet familiar. Hope, I think. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, right?” he says simply. His mouth ticks up. “It made me laugh thinking about it. I couldn’t get the words out of my head after that. They just kept playing on this...endless, delirium-ridden loop. Like a song stuck in my head on repeat. I just kept thinking how it was a play on our names, and it just...it hit me.”

“There was one thing he could never touch.”

“My will to live. That was on me and only me. I could end it at any moment. It’s the one thing he couldn’t control. Couldn’t touch. The only thing that was in my hands. So long as I had the will to make it through another day, I’d be okay. There would still be a me. A Way.” He taps his knuckle. Oh God... “There’re a lot of meanings behind this symbol, but that’s the one I chose for myself. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” And my heart... It. Just. Explodes. There’s no other word to describe it. Whatever was left of it...is just gone. I am gone. So. Far. Fucking. Gone. Waylon smiles faintly, a dimple peeking out just barely. “Told you it was cheesy.”

“But I don’t need you to save me, okay?” he says in a small voice. He searches my gaze. “I can’t promise much else, but I can promise that. Just...give me a chance to do this myself. Okay?”