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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

And feeling is the last thing I ever want to do when it comes to Will Foster.

10

10

Will Foster

The week rushes by, and before I know it, it’s Friday and my first official night working at O’Leary’s Pub.

After spending much of the day shooting the shit with Reggie, helping him where I could in the shop—a deal we made to keep my rent dirt-cheap—I took the coldest and quickest shower known to mankind before grabbing a bite to eat and heading over.

The evening sun is stubbornly hanging on to the sky when I pull into the back lot, and I have to blink to adjust my eyes when I enter the dimly lit bar through the open back exit. The Breeders’ “Cannonball” plays from the speakers, filling the near-empty bar.

My eyes find Waylon almost instantly.

At the farthest end of the bar from my vantage point, near the front windows, he stands with his back to me as he shoots soda water into a glass. With his dark hair, black t-shirt, and black jeans, he blends in well with the shadows.

It’s not until I’m halfway toward him that I realize he’s not alone. He bends down to get something, revealing a girl I’ve never seen before sitting across from him. Her hands are gripping the counter’s edge, and she’s rocking side to side on her stool. She can’t be any older than fifteen, if that, and I wonder who she is.

A quick glance around the room reveals we’re the only ones here so far.

The girl notices me first, her movements coming to an abrupt stop. Her silver eyes seem to light up as they find mine over Waylon’s shoulder, and she tilts her head curiously as I approach them. She says something I can’t hear that has Waylon tensing.

Then, “Are you the new guy?”

I arch a brow. “Who wants to know?” Waylon catches my eye, and I give him a little chin lift in greeting.

A small hand suddenly thrusts forward. “I’m Phoebe. Mason’s sister.”

My brows flit up in amusement as I reach her outstretched hand. The girl’s lanky, but has a surprisingly firm handshake. “Didn’t know he had any siblings. I’m Will.”

She grins, revealing the faintest dimple in her cheek. Her big gray eyes sparkle and she’s got one of those distinctly expressive brow lines that no doubt betrays every emotion. “I’m the one and only.”

My amusement only grows when she scoots back, revealing what has to be the most god-awful red and orange floral dress I’ve ever seen, paired with mustard tights and brown combat boots. Combined with her long dirty blonde hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in days; she’s what Zayne would no doubt call a fashion train wreck.