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.

Grief is a bitch like that. Taking all that was once good, it cuts through like a knife—leaving a scar that is vile and ugly and permanent. Leaving memories that were once pure and light, forever stained by the bitter taste of loss.

There’s something about Will Foster that makes me want to throw his head in a blender.

He straightens and spreads his hands once more. “How do I look?” Pretty, I think. But I know I can’t say that, so instead, I tell him, “Ridiculous. The most ridiculous king I’ve ever seen.”

Because no one is this goddamn perfect. No one. No man. No woman. No one.

“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.”

mouth quirks up. It’s familiar and cocky and I kind of want to punch it right off his face.

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.

“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.”

Hearts are not known for their patience after all—they only ever just want what they want, when they want it, with no regard for the consequences.

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

You can’t change how you feel. You can only feel it.

It was never a question of whether or not he could consume me—it was always just a matter of me letting go enough to let him.