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.

I know what it’s like to live in the aftermath, when the veil of mourning has lifted, and the world around you seems to rush forward. Brighter and louder than ever, while you’re still trapped in the shadow of what you lost. That defining moment where life, as you knew it, shattered. Severing your life into a Before and After.

Waylon taps the mic a couple times, waiting for the crowd to quiet. Smirking, he presses his mouth to where his fingers just were. “Hi.” Annnndddddd there goes my boxers. And probably every pair of panties in the room. Why did I think this was a good idea again?

And then it finally happens. Just as he belts from the deepest trenches of his soul, begging for us to not let the days go by, does his gaze finally, finally finds mine. Flitting over me. Then back at me. Then into me.

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?

wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.

Talent isn’t something to be taken for granted. It’s ours to master as we please. Accepting failure is the first step. Taking responsibility for our successes is the next. It’s not arrogance, just hard work paid off. Continuously.

“WE ARE THE LOST BOYS!” This. Right here. This is all I need. “THANK YOU! AND HAVE A GREAT FUCKING NIGHT!” Ba-dum-tss.

Perhaps this is what it means to find company in misery. It’s not so much a common ground, as it is a curse.

“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 was over a year ago. I know what that word means now.

It scares me, this...this emptiness inside me that suddenly exists where before it didn’t. I want it gone. I just need it gone.

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.

A silent understanding passes between us—one forged in pain and loss and rage. So, so much rage. At life, for letting us down. For not meeting those expectations promised to us in fairytales and movies. For crushing our dreams between its ironclad fist before they even had a chance to breathe.

“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.”

“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 like something crucial has been taken from him, and the realization that I did this—I broke him, the boy I once called my best friend—it shatters me.

He’s shattering. I’m shattering. Maybe together, we can stay whole.

“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.

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.

“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?”

“Is that it? Do you want me to hurt you?” I want you to love me.