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

by Jessie Walker

whatever this is. We’re no good for each other. Not right now. Not like this.

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

“This is killing her as much as it’s killing you.”

Enough for me to choose me, for once in my life, and have it not be a means to a disastrous end. I wasn’t alone. I’m not alone. And I need to get better to get back to her.

Maybe one day I’ll be brave enough to tell him as much. Maybe one day he’ll be ready to hear it.

Only to clam up when it was time to actually go in for the kill. Now, I don’t even bother trying. I know it’s not going anywhere. I don’t even feel tempted to try. What’s even the point?

and Will slants him a secretive smile. Great. They’ve already advanced to having inside jokes.

“You were...fuck, you were everything to me,” he chokes out, something akin to wonder and disbelief threading through the thickness of his voice. “You were mine and—shit.” He laughs, short and bitter. I hear a smack and I picture him covering his

I can’t fall yet, not when I can’t be certain he’ll still be there to catch 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.

know that makes me a huge asshole,” he says gruffly. “I don’t deserve you—none of this. I’m a fucking head case, and I’ve treated you like shit time and time again. Hell, I don’t even know if this is too soon for you. Are you even ready to move on?” He

“Fuck. I should have asked that before I kissed you. See? You’d be so much better off with someone like Jeremy, who⁠—”

want you,” I tell him simply. “Just you. More than I probably fucking should. Only you.”

It twists something up inside me, because I realize...he really has no clue. No clue whatsoever how fucking hopeless I am when it comes to him.

My eyes burn. It already is. It already fucking is, and there’s no changing that.

stiffen, and I have to bite back the urge to argue—to tell him no, I do deserve you, I want you, only you. “But I’m selfish.” Wait. What? I snap my head his way to find he’s already looking at me.

reminding me we can’t ignore what he just said. I told myself I’d never risk my heart on someone who couldn’t fully reciprocate—on someone who couldn’t stand in front of a crowded room and proudly declare me as his. On someone who could throw me away the second they let hate interfere.

I feel it, that bone-deep ache for all the years we’ve lost. There’s no way to avoid the reality of what could have never been, had we not made the choices that led us here. I feel it all burn and burn and burn until I can hardly breathe. Until I’m choking on it. Until I think I might actually suffocate under the pressure of it all. But it doesn’t matter. Not the past, or the demons still set on keeping us apart. Not the little voice in my head warning me this can’t possibly last, not like this, not when there’s still so much holding him back. Still so much we need to work through on our own. Nothing matters but us right now. This.

Way and Will, Will and Way, and how it should have always been. Two halves of a fucking whole.

from another round of orgasms, I asked him... “What now?” Running a thumb over my lips, he searches my face with an unreadable look. “Up to you.” I turn his palm to my cheek, press a kiss to the heel of his hand. Into his skin, I tell him, “Ask me tomorrow.”

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

“But it’s okay now. You’re okay, and you’re going to be

okay, because I won’t allow you to be anything but. I won’t let what he did to you break you, even if I have to hold you together myself.”

“You never fooled me, Waylon. I was just...too stupid and too in denial and too selfish to do anything about it. I didn’t want to be the bad guy. I wanted you to have a safe place, where you could just...deal with things in your own way. I didn’t want to take that from you. I didn’t want to run you off.”

“You deserve to be loved, Waylon James. More than anyone I know. I want to kill him for making you doubt that.”

“We were always going to end up here, weren’t we?” My voice is barely above a whisper. He shrugs. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, right?” He smirks knowingly. “Kind of inevitable, wouldn’t you say?” I huff through my nose and look down. “More like doomed.” He flicks my nose. “Buzz kill.” I grip the back of his skull, and pull him toward me, pressing my forehead to his. “Cheesy.” He smiles against my lips. “Grumpy.” “Hopeless,” I breathe into a soft kiss. More. All I want is more more more.

“Just promise me something, Waylon James,”

called game plan. “It wouldn’t stop with alcohol.” No, I recall thinking. Because alcohol is just a stepping stone for them. For you, it’s your whole world.

The guy who makes me want to fight—who makes me believe I stand a chance. The person who makes me want to stay, when there’s no guarantee that one day, when I go to reach for him, I won’t just find empty air.

My eyes slide shut as I try to find the words that will make this better. The words that will stop this train from completely derailing.

Time. We never have enough time, I think with a sinking feeling.