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Back Where There's A Will Save as PDF
Chapters (39)
  1. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  2. PROLOGUE
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. Interlude
  37. Acknowledgements
  38. Content Warning
  39. About the Author

I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t know how I know where this is going, but I do. I just do. Every second I’ve chanced being alone with him since he’s been back has been a chisel, scraping away at the secrets I’ve been wearing like armor since I was fucking ten years old. Hell, longer than that if I’m being honest.

It was only a matter of time before he found a way inside.

I just hope that once the smoke clears, I’ll be able to climb my way out of the rubble before the past buries me alive for good.

17

17

Will Foster

“You lied to me.”

Waylon slowly opens his eyes. A wrinkle forms between his eyes. “That’s not a question.”

I smile to try and ease some of his anxiety, but if anything, he seems to grow more wary. More on edge. His eyes flash longingly at the whiskey, and fuck, if it doesn’t break my goddamn heart.

“You told me it was Billy Sharpe who hurt you,” I say calmly, even though I feel anything but when I remember the flash of sharp pain I witnessed all those years ago. When I impulsively grabbed him by the arm to keep him from walking away from me.

His broken arm.

The mottled flesh is just as vivid in my memory as it was that day—all black and blue and green and purple. His normally pale, thin wrist was double the size it was the last time I saw him, when I circled it in my hand, pressed my thumb to his racing pulse as I felt his lips part beneath mine.

Just thinking about it has rage scorching up my throat like bile. Like blood. Sharp and tangy and bitter.

“Look, I’m drunk. You’re at least a little drunk.” I release a breath. “There’s a very good chance come tomorrow I will regret bringing this up, when I’ve got two black eyes and a hangover to rival—”

“Jesus Christ, I’m not going to fucking punch you.” His eyes redden at the corners, and I can’t be sure if it’s from the whiskey or something else. “Stop saying that, okay?”

He glares down at the guitar in his hands, his fingers pinching a string hard enough to no doubt leave an indent in his skin. “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?”