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

by Jessie Walker

He’s a strong, steady presence, and I suddenly want nothing more than to know what his touch feels like everywhere.

Forget seconds, minutes, hours. In this moment, pinned under his perusing gaze, I swear what feels like lifetimes pass as the world around me slips away.

I’m no longer standing on a bridge, overlooking certain death with the morning sun’s rays beating down on me, but standing on the precipice of something that is far more damning. Far more terrifying. Far more tempting. This time, there is no gun. No trigger. This time, there are only his lips.

There’s no excuse for what I do next. No chance of forgiveness now. His chest is hard and slick and so, so hot as I press my hands and push. I hardly put any force into it, but it catches him off guard enough that he stumbles back a step. His fingers all but rip away from my arm with my sudden movement, flexing mid-air as if not immediately understanding what happened. As if reaching for something to hold on to. Those big, dark eyes flash up at me with visible hurt, and it’s like I’m eleven years old again. Staring down into the wounded face of my best friend, as he laid sprawled out on the ground, telling him to go away. Leave me alone. I don’t wanna to be friends with a⁠—

:O

I growl, “Don’t fucking touch me ever again.” Then, like the weak piece of shit I’ve always been, I take off running. The crack in his voice as he calls out my name rips through me like a gunshot.

i dont know what to say..

Shiloh’s not exactly thriving with guys looking to get dicked down, from what I’ve gathered.

that caught me so off guard lmaoo

I learned that lesson hard and swift my sophomore year of high school when I accidentally stared too long at a defensive tackle in the locker room. Nothing like a busted nose to remind you there is harm in looking, as innocent as it might be.

“First of all,” I now tell him as I lean toward him, the din of the crowd threatening to drown me out, “you don’t pay me. Mason does.”

“Second. I’m a preventative measure. If Your Highness is that concerned about getting another drink thrown at his pretty face, maybe he should reconsider how he treats women.” And me, the lucky bastard somewhat responsible for protecting said pretty face.

“And third,” I say, my eyes dragging back and forth between his. “Maybe you should worry more about yourself. I can do my job, but can you?”

yuh you tell him

“What is that?” I can’t help but wonder, ignoring what that little tidbit of information does to me. “Red Headed Slut.” “Minus the slut,” Mason adds. “And the head,” Shawn finishes dryly. So, cranberry juice.

His nose flares but he doesn’t take the bait. Pity.

“Then what do you call tonight? I’m not blind, you know. You did or said something to set him off.”

girl what HE came over there

My mouth curls into a disbelieving frown. “Are you seriously blaming me for his current state?” I huff and shake my head. “He’s a grown ass adult, Ivy.”

Or in this case, just your friendly, albeit stupid, neighborhood homosexual.

I’ll be damned if I allow him, or anyone else, to gaslight me into thinking it was all one-sided. That I’m solely to blame. Not this time.

you go babe

I know what I would have liked to have done, sure, but I’m not yet that far gone that I’ll risk what’s left of my stupid beating heart on a potential closet case. Or whatever he is.

lol not a potential closet case

I didn’t come back here to be anyone’s hero, let alone a fucking human punching bag in the meantime while he figures his shit out. I’ve got my own crap to deal with, thanks.

“Will,” she says gently, “there was no Billy.” I’m shaking my head. “Yes, there was. He broke Way’s arm, so I broke his nose. I⁠—” She’s shaking her head, and I’m biting my tongue, and fuck, she looks so sad. Why does she look so sad? Don’t say it. Please don’t say it⁠—

am i missing something?

Even if it feels like every crumb of hope I’ve held on to all these years—pieces of my sanity that relied on believing Waylon all those years ago when he had promised me it wasn’t his dad who hurt him. When I had no choice but to leave him here not knowing if he’d be okay...

I just miss him. I always miss him when he’s not around. Like I’m missing a limb or something. It’s stupid, but it is what it is.

What’s wrong? I see him flick his eyes toward it, but he doesn’t make any move to respond.

i would cry

“I can’t be friends with a f-faggot, okay?”

i fucking knew it

“Are you real?” Dear face, meet palm. Will looks over his shoulder, an amused frown bunching his face in ways that should not be at all attractive. “Are you?”

He hums. “Why didn’t you go with her?” I shrug. “We don’t do everything together.” He scoffs, and I try not to bristle. “Right. And you didn’t go along with the guys because...?” I huff. “Nosy much?” “Evasive much?”

Dudes don’t wear other dudes’ boxers.

“The sticker’s still on it.” I frown, following his finger to where it points to a price sticker plastered to the hem. Will’s mouth twitches. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you bought me a gift.” A sneer breaks across my face before I can stop it. “Then it’s a good thing you know better.”

It’s only then I notice the scratches running up his arm. The nick at his temple, and the flecks of dried blood begging to be brushed off. I don’t realize I’ve moved until I already have him cornered in the hall. My hand is a vice around his forearm, and his body heat seeps into my touch. He shivers, and I want to apologize for always being so damn cold. “Way?” he says warily. He’s still calling me Way, I think distantly. I gently turn his arm over in my hand. “You were on your bike.” He doesn’t say anything, so I force my gaze up. His brows are lifted and a weird look passes through his eyes. Right, I think. Obviously he was on his bike. My stomach twists. “Did you crash?” And as if to answer, lightning cracks loudly from outside, and I flinch. I imagine it’s his motorcycle colliding with a tree. His skull...

aw look who's concerned

My throat feels oddly tight. I glance down at the arm I’m still holding and force myself back a step. “And those?” I tighten my hold as I flick my fingers at the side of his head. “That?” A chuckle rumbles from deep in his chest. “I got in a fight with a picker bush when trying to secure my bike.”

I suppose the fates are laughing now at the poetic justice of it all. Because who else would be able to demolish my walls other than the boy who set their construction in motion in the first place?

The pants are a bit short on him, and it’s been a constant struggle to keep my eyes above waist level. Perhaps not giving him boxers was the worst best idea I ever had.

“I know I have no right⁠—” “You’re damn right you don’t.” “—but I’m entitled to my opinion, and my opinion is that you might have a problem.”

I roll my eyes, and he takes the moment to grab the bottle from me. I go to bark out an objection, but stop when all he does is put the bottle to his mouth. He arches a brow as he tips his head back. He swallows with the barest hint of a grimace. “That being said...” He slides the bottle back toward me, lifting a shoulder. “My presence alone seems to drive you to drink, so I don’t think I’m the best fit for the task.” I scoff. “You’re not that fucking special.” He gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. “You think I’m special?”

“You’re making this really painful, you know.” “That’s what she said.” He gives me a what the fuck look, and I smirk, passing him the bottle. “It’s this joke, in case you weren’t aware, that straight people say when⁠—” “I got it, thanks.”

lmao

My lip curls into a disbelieving smile. “Are you already drunk?” He makes a so-so gesture with his hand. “My tolerance is shit when it comes to liquor.” “Noted,” I murmur. “I also haven’t eaten.” I hop off my stool and round the counter. Grabbing the bag of chips we keep under the register, I toss them in front of him. I also fill a couple glasses of water. “Soak it up before you end up flat on your ass. I’m not taking care of you.” “Noted,” he throws back at me sarcastically, popping a chip in his mouth.

“What do you think Izzy would say? What would she want you to do?” A lump forms in my throat, and I look down at my fingers. “She’d roll her eyes at us. Kick our asses maybe.” I smile, eyes burning. “She’d record us and send it out without our consent, because she believes in us and knows we can’t do anything without a shove from her.” I chuckle wetly. “Even if she can’t be a part of it.” “Maybe knowing that is just the shove you need,” he whispers.

“Way?” “Yeah?” “Can I ask you something without getting punched in the face?” I stiffen. “If you have to preface it with that, then no, you probably shouldn’t ask it.” “Waylon.” God, I hate how he says my name. Like it was only ever meant to be on his lips. How fucked up is that?

“You want confirmation? Is that it?” he says tightly. “You want me to tell you I only told you that so you’d get off my fucking back, because you were scaring the shit out of me and I didn’t know what else to do? Is that what you want?” My eyes widen as he lifts those piercing hazel eyes to mine once more. “I thought he’d kill you if you knew the truth,” he whispers. “I thought he’d kill us both. So yeah, I fucking lied. Happy?” No, Waylon. I’m the furthest thing from happy right now.

He sucks in his cheek, watching me carefully as he seems to weigh his response. Little does he know, that’s all the fucking answer I need.

I must do a piss-poor job of masking my emotions because Waylon suddenly groans in frustration. He mutters a curse under his breath, then, “Will, look at me.” He doesn’t sound angry, but I know how fast that can change. I must have just enough liquor in me and not enough fucks to give, because I find myself doing as I’m told.

“Did what happen between us on your birthday have anything to do with what your dad did to you?” Slowly, so slowly, he turns to face me. He gently sets the bottle of whiskey on the bar, and I swear he looks right through me, turning my blood ice cold. “No.” With one single word, the world beneath me seems to collapse. Anger rushes to the forefront, reddening my vision. Tears sear the corners of my eyes, and I have to squeeze them shut so they don’t escape. It’s the same face he gave me ten fucking years ago when he lied and told me it was Billy Sharpe who was hurting him.

He gives me a considering look. There’s a lot about Waylon that’s attractive—a lot about Waylon I find attractive—but I’m beginning to suspect that it’s his thinking face in particular that poses the most danger.

He reaches for his cigarettes. Smacking the bottom of the pack before pulling one out with his teeth. Jesus. “Here,” I toss him the lighter. I watch as his tattooed fingers nimbly light the cigarette to life. He sucks in a long drag before tilting his head back to blow out a cloud of smoke. “You’re starin’,” he mumbles. I huff out a laugh and run a hand over the back of my neck. “Busted.” He chuckles, and it’s this deep, wicked thing. Yep. Definitely knows what he’s doing. Dick.

He’s shaking his head, mouth wrapped around the whiskey. “Gonna torture me, huh?” I wink. “You bet your ass I am.”

I push back my stool and hop up. The world tilts a bit, but only a little. I’m definitely a little, teensy bit drunk. Grabbing the remote, I crank up the volume. “What are you doing?” he says loud enough to be heard over the music. Barefoot, I climb onto the bar. Waylon’s eyes go wide as I stand over him, his fingers clutching the guitar. I offer him my hand. “Let’s go, Rock Star.” His brow furrows. I crouch down and reach for the whiskey, fisting it by the neck, and I meet Waylon’s wary hazel gaze head-on. “We’re taking a time-out, okay?” “A time-out,” he repeats slowly. I search his eyes. “Yeah. Nothing else exists outside this bar tonight. Not your dad, not Zayne, not even the storm. Nothing. It’s just us. Just for tonight. We’re not Will and Way. We’re just two friends getting drunk. Rocking out to some really good music.”

I stand up once more, and this time, I don’t offer a hand; I just turn away and start dancing along to the beat. Shaking my ass, and strutting down the bar without a fucking care in the world. I whip around with the bottle lifted to my mouth as a make-shift microphone as I mouth the words with exaggerated facial expressions. Waylon watches me with what can only be described as helpless wonder. He has no idea what to do with me, and that’s fine by me. I don’t really know what to do with him either. But tonight’s not the night to try and figure that out. Tonight’s about having fun. Tonight’s about forgetting.

:)

The night blurs forward as one song gives way to another to another to another. The storm rages on; the power flickering in and out every so often, the music cutting out only to return a second later. But we don’t let it faze us as we sing-scream our hearts out.

:)

Just two boys singing into a half-empty bottle of Jack, heads bent together as they try to belt out the words through their laughter, and I think⁠— 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.

Snorting, I smack a hand over my nose. He grins back at me big and wide, eyes shining brighter than maybe I’ve ever seen them. Or maybe it’s because I’m looking through equally bright eyes.

“Mason’s dad left him when he was three. And my dad ...well, you get the idea. Then Shawn came along, and he is an orphan, so it just felt ...right.”