BooksBarbecue
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 find myself tracing the soft slope of Will’s cheekbone with my thumb. Counting the near-indiscernible cluster of freckles peppered across his nose. His jaw is covered in a layer of prickly stubble that looks more brown than gold under my looming shadow. It scratches across my palm when I cup his cheek.

I hear Shawn’s voice in the back of my head. “Don’t let that asshole win.”

The problem is...

I’m not sure I’m strong enough yet to beat him.

27

27

Will Foster

I wake up alone in a bed that’s not my own.

The first thing I register aside from the fact that I’m ninety-nine percent sure something died in my mouth last night, are the hammers pounding against the back of my eyeballs and the sweet, yet woodsy scent wafting from the pillow I’ve got stuffed up against my face.

Waylon.

Groaning, I reach an arm out blindly. I’m not surprised to find the sheets cold.

Lifting my head, I have to all but pry my eyes open from behind their crust-sealed prisons, cursing myself to Hell and back for a hot sec as the sun’s rays cut holes in my vision.

“Way,” I croak.

No response.

Nausea snakes up my throat. I wasn’t lying the night of the storm. My tolerance is shit. Between football and off-season training back home, I rarely partied. I can’t say I feel like I missed out anymore.

What the hell happened last night?

Better yet...

What the hell did I do?

My eyes catch on the unfamiliar nightstand where a glass brimming with water and a bottle of Advil sit haloed by the sun. Rubbing the sleep from my aching eyes, I push myself up against the wooden headboard and grab the precious bounty before it can fade into the horizon of Waylon’s bedroom like the mirage I half expect this to be.

It’s not until after I knock back a couple pills and drain the glass dry that I notice the yellow Post-it Waylon used as a coaster.

Went for a run. Be back soon.

And then across the side, scribbled as if added last minute: You stink. Take a shower.

My startled laugh has me groaning and clasping my head. Air whistles through my congested nose as I take a deep inhale. Only belatedly realizing my mistake as the stench of what I know to be vomit assaults my senses, threatening to send back up all the water I just consumed.

Clenching my jaw, I ease myself up and stumble my way across the room.