Page 25 of Last Boy

Before I left, I always thought that when we got a little older, I’d grow a set of balls and tell her exactly how I felt. I never planned to leave Sunset Drive without her. And then I did.

The damage is done. And I don’t know how to repair it. Especially when she doesn’t look at me the same. She looks at me with those eyes she looks at everyone else with.

Seeing enough, I turn back toward my truck. And that’s where I see him.

Van Wilson. A kid I spent most of my time with back then. He was the brother I never had. But now, he looks like a ghost of his old self. He’s scrawny with his hair unkempt, his clothes dirty, and his eyes lost.

I should be scared, but I’m too fucking sad to fear him.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” He lights a cigarette before taking a drag. “Rich boy, what the fuck are you doing back on my street?”

“I was…just riding around and ended up here.” I take a few steps toward my truck, keeping the distance between us.

Van always had a heart of gold. But the thing with addiction is that it takes the soul and replaces it with something else. Greed. And selfishness.

“Well, go on. Take your privileged ass off my street.” He jerks his chin toward my truck. “Before your truck doesn’t look so shiny.”

“Touch my truck, and I’ll put you in the ground,” I growl, my eyes roaming over him. “What the fuck happened to you, Van?” I shrug. “You wanted to get out of this shithole. You wanted to own a restaurant. Now, look. You’re just like your old man.”

“Well, rich boy, not all of us have loaded uncles who step in and invite us to live in their mansions.” He takes another drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke into the air. “For some of us, this is all we’ve got. So, we make the best of it.” He takes a step toward me, snarling, “You got lucky, James—that’s all. If your parents hadn’t died, you’d be right where I am. Guaranteed.”

I charge toward him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. “Don’t mention my parents again, you fucking loser.”

He laughs, his eyes sunken in, and I hardly recognize this person who used to be my friend. “Just like my sister, you think you’re too good for me now, huh?” Shrugging from my hold, he shakes his head. “You’re not. You’re a sellout. A poor kid who left his friends and never looked back.” He pauses. “Stay the hell away from my sister. Last thing she needs is for you to fuck with her head. Again.”

“Your sister made choices too,” I mutter, glaring at him. “I’m not the only one who has done shit that had consequences.”

When a car pulls into his driveway, he looks back at it before looking at me. “Stay away from my sister. I’ve got a lot of people who would love nothing more than to take out the kneecaps of the infamous Walker James.”

“What happened to you?” I whisper, looking him over.

His eyes soften the slightest bit. “Stay off of this street, James. Don’t come back here again.”

As he starts to turn, I call behind him, “Whatever business you’ve got with Cade Huff, leave him the fuck alone.”

A bitter laugh comes from him before he turns. “Protecting your fellow Wolf now?” He looks at me with disgust. “There was a time you would protect the ones who considered you family. Glad to see that’s not the case.” He turns away from me. “Cade Huff’s a customer. Believe it or not, Brooks Wolves can be junkies too.”

And then he walks away.

I know I can’t say anything to Huff. It won’t go well. And I sure as hell can’t tell on him because that alone could end his entire hockey career. But, fuck, I wish I had never driven here tonight. And then I wouldn’t have this information eating away at me, and I wouldn’t have seen how bad things have gotten with Van.

He might have told me to stay away from Poppy, but I’m tired of doing that. And the more time passes, the more I’m figuring out…you can’t leave some things in the past.

9

Poppy

Dozens of students, all decked out in their Wolves gear, stop by the coffee shop on their way to tonight’s game. I spot girls wearing jerseys with players’ names stretched across their backs. Far too many say James, and I wish I could “accidentally” spill some coffee on them.

No. You’re supposed to be choosing good. And being nice.

I wonder if Walker ever gets nervous before a game. He never seemed to back when he was younger, but he’d always listen to music before he hit the ice. That had a way of getting him amped up, I guess. But here at Brooks, the stakes are so much higher. I’ve heard the buzz; he has the weight of being Cam Hardy’s replacement resting on his shoulders.

That must be hard. You have to be great or else you’ll let your entire team down—no, the entire campus.

Shaking my head, I wipe off the counter. I don’t know why I care if he’s nervous or not. I don’t. Simple as that. Though I can’t even think about kissing him the day of the fundraiser, or my knees basically buckle underneath me.

That was the last time I saw him. Two weeks ago.