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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

“You really never learn, do you?”

I stiffen.

Slowly, I drag my gaze up to his and lower my hand. “What?”

Cold hazel eyes stare stonily back at me. “Always gotta be the hero, huh?”

I flinch.

What the fuck?

Suddenly, I’m thrown back to when I was eleven years old again, laying on the ground with a bloody nose. Watching the boy I thought was my best friend walk away without a backward glance. His final words playing back to me on an endless loop.

“You ruined everything.”

“I...” I shake my head, unsure what to say.

He looks down at his glass, frowning slightly when he realizes it’s empty save for a couple ice cubes. Nausea swirls in my stomach as I watch him grab the bottle of Johnny Walker, filling his glass nearly to the brim this time.

“Way.”

He takes a long pull of the whiskey before setting the glass down gently.

I think I’d rather he had slammed it. Throw it at my face.

Anything but this...calculated, quiet rage.

Leaning forward, he levels me with a look that sends chills down my spine. “You could just never fucking resist, could you?” he whispers, searching my eyes. “Coming to my defense. Well, guess what, Will, I never fucking asked you to.” He tilts his head. “In fact, I remember explicitly asking you to back. The fuck. Off.”

I stand stock-still. My molars threaten to snap with how tightly I hold my jaw.

What the hell is going on? What just happened?

Eyes burning from strain and something else, something I really don’t want to acknowledge, I reach forward and grab the glass before he can stop me.

Something flashes in his eyes as I lift the glass to my mouth. Not taking my eyes off his, I take a hearty gulp of the fiery whiskey. Welcoming the scorching heat licking down my throat as I nearly finish it off.

Fuck it. Fuck him. Fuck everything.

If I didn’t want to leave Mason hanging, I’d walk out right this second and never look back. But I was raised better than that, damn it. I won’t let Waylon make me an asshole.

Slamming the glass down, what’s left of the amber liquid sloshes around.

I smile tightly and give him a two-finger salute. “Cheers, man.”

I turn and walk away, all the while feeling his eyes burning into the back of my head.

“You really never learn, do you?”

Clearly fucking not.

11

11

Will Foster

THEN

It’s Waylon’s birthday today.

He’s eleven now, the same age as me.

It’s the third of May, which makes him a May baby, and Grams said that meant he was special. “A sign of hope after a long, harsh winter,” she told me as we made double chocolate chip cookies last night. They’re Waylon’s favorite.

“Does that mean he’s lucky?” I asked her.