If There's a Way (Lost Boys #2)

by Jessie Walker

Will. Will fucking No-Middle-Name Foster. The boy with the ocean blue eyes and crooked grin and messy golden blond hair. Oh God.

He’s sacred. To me. Always has been. Since I was ten fucking years old. Every fucking part of him is sacred to every fucking part of me.

It’s everything, Will. Don’t you see, don’t you see? His

“It’s all a little fuzzy, and my body aches, but that’s nothing new. I’m…I’m fine, Will. Thanks to you.”

My fault, I think. It’s all my fault.

Swallowing the hard swell of emotion clogging my throat, I say from the deepest, darkest part of me, “You. Left.” His eyes widen on mine when he hears the tremor in my rigid voice. “Way⁠—” “I woke up, and I was alone,” I tell him slowly, unsteadily, “and I had no idea if-if you were—” I give a quick shake of my head as my voice breaks. “You got hurt. Someone fucking hit you, and there was nothing I could do because my stupid brain⁠—”

“I like myself a whole lot better when I’m with you.”

“You didn’t make anything worse, Will,” I tell him after a long, quiet moment. “You woke me up, that’s all. You brought me back to life.”

“You are the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me, and I wouldn’t

“All there’s left in me is… is you, and I don’t even know if that makes sense. But it’s you. It’s always been you.”

He’s looking at me like I’m the goddamn sun. And I can see that it hurts him—that it fucking burns—but he can’t help himself because winter was so fucking long and so fucking dark and he is as shaky and as exhausted as I am.

Waylon McAllister is a lot of things. He’s fiercely

protective and dangerously charming. He’s smart and he’s sly and he has a bite that rivals the world’s deadliest snake when you provoke him or get too close.

“Hell, I’ve loved you,” I go on deeply, my voice bottoming out with a grave sort of certainty, “in some capacity, for what feels like my entire life. Before I even knew what love was, I’ve been loving you.” I choke out a watery laugh as I stroke his cool cheeks with my thumbs. “Do you really think I could stop, even if I tried? God, I’ve wanted you in my life since the second you first glared at me and gave me some bullshit about how boys can’t cry.”

one of his up to my chest, mirroring my position. “I told you,” he says deeply. “So long as I have the will to live…” I swallow hard, fingers digging into his skin, and I murmur against his lips. “There’ll always be a way.” I’ll find it. Always. I’ll always find… Him.

Our stories might be interconnected—now more than ever—but we’re still just two individuals. Two flawed, broken people trying to figure out this little fuck-show called life.

“One day, I’m gonna hold your hand in public, and not feel like I’m dying when I do it.”

“It’s not your job to love who brought you into this world unconditionally. It’s the other way around. You don’t owe me anything.”

“What? I’m just sayin’. You could tell me you’re gay, bi, pan, or straight-up Will-sexual⁠—”

Shit, maybe I am Will-sexual. Is there a checkbox for that?

The boy is wound tight.

“You show up, no matter what,” I say. “No matter how you feel. You’re always there, and you don’t hide a damn thing about you.” His eyes are slightly red, and I don’t think it’s from the smoke as they bounce between mine. “Except when I try to run from it all.” “I said hide, not run,” I tell him with an eye roll. “There is a difference.” He swallows hard, blindly reaching for the little ashtray on my nightstand to stub out what remains of the cigarette. “You run because…because you can’t hide,” I go on quietly. “It’s just not who you are. Everything you feel is right fucking there, on full display, and… and it gets to be too much sometimes, so you do the only thing you can. You try to escape it.” I pause. “Even when you were at your angriest with me…” His jaw works. I smile. “I still knew you loved me. It might as well have been written across your face.” His face creases. “Way…” “I’m just sorry it took me so long to actually believe you could feel that way about me. It still feels impossible. Like a dream I’m gonna wake up from. I’m…” I sigh, slapping my hands over the strings, halting the music. “I’m terrified one day I will, and you won’t be there.”

later. “I’ll prove to you every day I’m not going anywhere. Even… even if it gets to be too much sometimes, I’ll always, always find my way back to you.” My eyes slide shut for a moment as I absorb

But I don’t regret him. Will. Never Will. And that’s all that matters. I don’t regret a second of our story—what led up to this—because it’s ours. And regretting any of it would just give my dad more than he’s already taken. Even if all we have is the little time we had together, I wouldn’t trade it for anything in this godforsaken world.

Seconds could make a difference between life and death—hell, one life and another, if we don’t get the fuck in there right now.