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

by Jessie Walker

I should be dead. Probably. Maybe. How the fuck am I still here?

I’m laughing and I’m crying and I’ve got Tom Petty in my head, singing about stupid nonsense. Won’t back down, my ass. God, I fucking hate this song.

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

Sometimes the only option is to flee. Run. Run, run, run...

Isn’t that how it’s supposed to go? Isn’t that what we’ve always been told? Just give it time. It will get better. What a crock of shit.

There’s only so much time a person’s allowed to grieve before it becomes an inconvenience, I’ve come to learn.

I’m back in Shiloh. And Waylon. Is. Still. Fucking. Here.

I scribble a #cantrelate in the margin and smile tightly to myself.

I let him down. I broke my promise. I ruined us. But here’s the kicker⁠— He ruined me first. Maybe, just maybe, this is my chance to fix that.

“I swear to Satan, if you just fucked up my make-up, I’ll be sacrificing you on the next full moon.”

“God, you’re intolerable,” she groans, fighting hard not to smile. “Why do I put up with you?” “Because I’m the light of your life. The wind beneath your wings. The⁠—” “—gum on my shoe. The hair in my food. The turd on my doorstep...”

The O’Leary’s Pub sign is lit up neon green, and the lamp above the door casts a warm glow over the brick siding.

Like Union Station, but on a far, far smaller scale. The vibe, though—the energy—is still the same, and it’s fucking addictive.

Annnndddddd there goes my boxers. And probably every pair of panties in the room.

But then, it’s over. He’s squeezing his eyes shut, and time’s speeding up, and I’m no longer the center of his fucking world. And it hurts. It hurts. How does it fucking hurt this bad?

Let the record show: I didn’t intend to be a raging asshole. Let the record also show: It had nothing to do with his biceps.

And not just any someone—Will. Fucking. No. Middle. Name. Foster.

Art is a lot like a parasite. An invasion of undeniable need to share your soul with the world. To try and make the world a little better than how you found it. It consumes you to the point of desperation. Begging you to just let it out; see me, hear me.

Making music is like that for us. Mason, Shawn, and me. It’s what ties us together. This affliction.

I didn’t come back here for this. I didn’t come back here for him. I’m not staying for him. I’m doing this for me. Simple as fucking that.

“I don’t know where else to go.”

“Happy Birthday, Grumpy Bear.”

“Will and Way. We’re a team. Always.” A single nod. A firm squeeze of my pinky. Then a whisper, a promise⁠— “Always.”

“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.”

Whiskey, baby—it’s a helluva drug.

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.

“But the sun will rise.”

“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.”

I want to experience this in the light of day, but I know I’ll only ever have the shroud of this night to remember. I know I’ll only ever have whiskey to blame for our choices. And yet, it’s not enough to stop me.

A toxic combination if there ever was one—drunk off whiskey, drunk off his taste.

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

“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.”

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

“Well, aren’t you just in a lovely mood this evening, dear cousin. May I ask who pissed on the man you ate for breakfast?”

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.

“Way?” “Yeah?” “This,” he pants into my temple. “Always remember this instead, ’kay?” “Will and Way. We’re a team. Always.” My eyes flutter shut, and I hug him tight... I whisper, “Always.” ...hoping this time, it’s a promise I can keep.

“You a mind-reader now?” He scowls. “No, you just have the poker-face of a golden retriever.”

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.