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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

But hey, at least now I know not to open my big fat mouth and say something stupid.

My phone vibrates, putting an end to my dismal train of thoughts.

It’s my mom again.

Sighing, I stare at her name blinking on the screen as I wait for it to go to voicemail. I already spoke with her once today—after I decided I was going to stay in Shiloh for a while—and she was not happy.

I know she’s just worried. Dad, too. Not because I keep prolonging returning home, but because she never liked this town to begin with. Said it was too small and narrow-minded. Intolerant to anyone who was the slightest bit different.

People like me, I think ruefully.

I’m gay, Mom, not a fucking three-headed Martian.

But maybe she’s got a point.

Maybe I’ll regret coming back here once I get my first slur thrown my way. It’s not like I plan on hiding my sexuality, even if my mom gently implied in her own roundabout way that I should do exactly that.

Well, fuck that. The people in this town can take me or leave me exactly as I am. Nothing holds me here, so why should I give the haters any power?

It wouldn’t be the first time I was called a faggot in Shiloh, Pennsylvania, after all. It’ll take a lot more than that to scare me off this time.

My thumb hovers over my text conversations. Two unread messages. Both from an unknown number. I tap to open.

Come to O’Leary’s tonight. Our band’s playing.

And in another message just below: It’s Mason, btw.

I flick my gaze to the time stamp. Sent only a little under an hour ago.

Chewing on my lip, I cradle the phone under my chin, and turn my head toward the window. Debating whether or not I want to punish myself some more by being in his presence.

Waylon will no doubt be there. And where Waylon is, there’s sure to be more drama if our little reunion earlier indicated anything.

Our band’s playing.

Frowning, I turn my phone over to see if I read correctly.

Yep, he said our band.

Shit, does he mean Waylon too?

I can’t pretend I’m not intrigued as hell now.

Groaning, I toss the phone aside, and cover my face with my hands.

“Fuck this,” I mutter, shoving to a stand.

Didn’t I just promise myself I wouldn’t do this? That I wouldn’t let anyone have power over me?

My gaze catches on my disheveled reflection in the mirror hanging above the dresser.

Sad. I look so goddamn sad all the time.

And fuck that especially.

I don’t want to be sad anymore.

6

6

Will Foster

It’s a little after ten when I arrive.