The Wayward Sons: Starlee's Heart: WhyChoose Contemporary Young Adult Romance

by Angel Lawson

  “Fuck that,” the boy says, lunging for the arm with the knife. He slams his arm over his knee, repeating the move until the knife clatters to the ground. The boy isn’t done, swinging his fists and catching the man in the chin. The backpacker stumbles, but anger fills his expression and he lunges at the boy.

  A full fist-fight ensues and I’m completely frozen in my spot. Even though the backpacker is taller, the boy is strong, quick. He pounds into him with a mighty fury, like this isn’t his first fight and certainly won’t be his last.

  It’s the blood that makes that me regain my senses, including my voice, and I cry out, “Stop! Stop!” when the backpacker is down on the ground. The boy doesn’t listen and continues the beatdown.

  “Dexter, stop!” a woman’s voice shouts from across the street. “I said stop!”

  He pauses, his eyes clearing for a moment, but then refocuses on the backpacker, who is groaning on the ground.

  Another figure comes out of the shadows and I see Tom racing across the street, shouting, “Dex!”

  The two of them approach and urge him to stop. The boy slows and the woman, Sierra, I recognize now, eases next to him, tentatively reaching for him. She touches his shoulders and he flinches but doesn’t lash out. Tom grabs the knife off the ground and then drops down to check on the backpacker. He glances up at me. “Starlee, are you okay?”

  The boy, Dexter, jerks his head in my direction. His knuckles are raw and bleeding.

  I nod, unable to really speak. I’m shaken by the whole scene.

  “Can you get back home okay?”

  “Y—yes.”

  The backpacker groans and I edge by them, careful to keep my distance. Sierra’s voice is strained when she speaks to Dexter, “What the hell were you thinking? Fighting? In the street?”

  If he responds I don’t hear it, because I’m up in the lawn headed back to Leelee’s house. The image of Dexter beating up the man haunts my every step. The sheer violence of it all. So much anger. But there’s one thing that nags at me as I climb the steps on the front porch, hands still shaking at my sides: that he did it for me.

  7

  It doesn’t take my grandmother long to figure out why I’m refusing to come out of my room. I stay in the shower until the water runs cold and when she calls for me I tell her I’m sick, locking my door and hunkering down in my bed.

  It takes everything in me not to call my mother. Everything. She was right. I shouldn’t go out alone. I should stay inside where it’s safe. Only venture out with others. Or honestly, maybe not at all.

  But I don’t call her, even though my fingers hover over the keypad of the antique princess style phone next to the bed. Because if I do, she’ll come back and get me and as terrifying as the morning is, the thought of going back home doesn’t sit well.

  I like it here. Or I sort of do. The fresh air and the endless sky. It’s so different and oddly liberating. I just need to take precautions and early morning walks by myself are off the table. Backpackers and boys from the Wayward Sun are definitely off-limits.

  “Starlee, I need to go down to the office, you going to be okay?”

  “Yes,” I reply, pillow up to my chin.

  “Come down if you feel up to it. Or call me if you need me.”

  “I will.”

  I won’t. I won’t move an inch if I don’t have to.

  At home, my mother would have hovered, asking me time and time again if I was okay. Leelee isn’t like that; she’s the daughter of a pioneer. Strong and resourceful. I wonder how that skipped a few generations, or just my mother’s. I wasn’t the only Starlee with bad experiences. My mother started the trend—it’s why she was so protective. She’d been there.

  I didn’t remember much about my father. The things I did know were a mixture of photographs and truth, stories and legend. He wasn’t on the van that took my mother out of Lee Vines, but she did find him soon after she landed in North Carolina. He was a college student and she worked at a diner and convinced her to go back to school. Really, he just wanted her to be with him. Always. He loved her from the very first day and I guess that was the problem. You can love someone too much.

  There’s a knock on the front door and I freeze in the bed, thinking if I don’t move, they’ll leave. I hear my name—called out by a woman’s voice—Sierra? But I don’t move. I don’t dare.

  Her voice is kind when she says, “I brought you something from the shop. I’ll leave it here for you,” and her footsteps fade away. There’s no sound for a long time other than the tick tock of the grandfather clock in the living room and my pounding heart.

  There’s one thing that always gets me in trouble: curiosity. Time and time again, the lure of what’s waiting on the porch calls to me and I slowly get out of bed. I peek out the front window but see nothing and finally open the door, spotting the brown, folded-over bag and a white paper coffee cup on the mat.

  I stare at it for a minute, wondering if it’s a trap. The backpacker coming to get me? Luring me out with a drink.

  Okay, Starlee, I tell myself. Even I know that’s going too far.

  I bend down and grab them both, quickly shutting and locking the door behind me. I look at the drink, there’s a stamp of a sun with wavy rays on the side that says “Wayward Sun Coffee” and in the bag is a chocolate chip muffin—a Moose Muffin. Sniffing the drink, I catch the rich hint of mocha.

  I know it’s silly to be flattered that they remembered my favorite drink, it’s a small town after all, but I’ve never had anyone remember anything about me. Not little or big.

  But then I remember what Leelee said about Sierra’s nephew getting into trouble. There was no way that was his first fight. Maybe the drink was to buy me off. The muffin to butter me up.

  I didn’t know what these people wanted, but I did know that every time I crossed their path my resolve wavered, making me susceptible to breaking the rules. Rules that were created for a reason.

  The next morning, Leelee stands over my bed with her hands on her hips. I blink back the sleep and realize it’s light outside, not the normal predawn hours I’ve been waking up. “The deal for staying here is school and work. Your online summer program doesn’t start until next week but you’ve lost a day’s work. I’ll give you a break since yesterday was a little unusual, but that’s it. Show up in an hour or we’re going to have to reconsider this arrangement.”

  I rub my face. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

  I shower quickly, knowing I’ve pushed my luck. When I get to the office fifteen minutes early she’s on the cushioned stool by the front desk, cup of coffee in hand, talking to a woman at the counter.

  Not just a woman.

  Sierra.

  “Well, he had a good run,” Leelee says, not realizing I’ve walked in the back door. “How long has it been since his last fight?”

  “About six months. Things have been better and he’s kept his temper in check, but something about that guy made him snap.”

  “But it seems like the counseling is helping.”

  “I guess, or I thought so until yesterday. He hasn’t said much to me about it, but something must have triggered that reaction, you know how he is.”

  “Mmhmm.” My grandmother takes a sip of coffee. “He’s not the only one not talking. Starlee mustn’t have told her mother, because if she had she’d be on a plane right now to pick her up.”

  “If Dex’s probation officer finds out, they’ll toss him back in juvie or worse, since he’s eighteen now.”

  “I’m not ready for her to go,” my grandmother confesses. “I really think I can help her.”

  The two women sip their coffee and I feel awkward and rude hiding in the back, so I clear my voice and step into the room. Both of their eyes sweep over me. Leelee’s, I assume, is making sure I’m in one piece. The other woman? Probably trying to figure out who the girl is that her brother risked going to jail for.

  “Starlee,” my grandmother says, breaking the silence, “You’ve met Sierra
, right?”

  “Not officially,” I say, “but you’ve helped me at the coffee shop and well, yesterday morning.”

  “I’m Dexter’s sister,” the woman said. I get a better look at her in the light. Similar dark hair, although hers is long and two pigtails, and their eyes are the same color gray. She’s probably in her early twenties. “I’m sorry you got caught up in that. I came over to apologize.” She pointed to a paper coffee cup and a wrapped muffin. “And to bring you that. I had a feeling you may not be too keen on coming over any time soon.”

  “You didn’t need to do that,” I say, touching the side of the cup and feeling the warmth of the drink. “That guy wouldn’t leave me alone and your brother, Dexter, stopped him.”

  “That guy was bothering you?” Sierra asks. Leelee’s expression turns concerned.

  “He wanted money and when I told him I didn’t have any, he pulled out a knife.”

  “That backpacker threatened you?” Leelee pales. “Why didn’t you tell us that yesterday?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I figured Dexter would say something, or the guy.” I fight back the slow rise of emotions.

  “Oh, Starlee,” my grandmother says, reaching for me and pulling me close. “It’s so unusual for something like this to happen here. Crime and violence in particular are very rare.”

  “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gone out alone like that.”

  “No, that’s not true. Lee Vines is a safe place—normally—that was an oddity. I don’t want you to be afraid.”

  I believe her, except I also knew what I said was true. It was my fault. My mother told me over and over not to go out alone. The world is scary. Men are awful. Sure, Dexter came to my aid, but the beating he gave that man was not about me. I have no doubt about that. He obviously has a history; didn’t his sister say he has a probation officer?

  “Where is he now?” I ask. “The backpacker guy?”

  “Once they stopped the fight, Tom drove him to June Lake, where there’s a clinic. They probably called the police, except neither you nor Dexter said what happened, so they may not be looking at it like a crime. Depends on what he said.” Sierra studies me. “If the police come around, they may need a statement from you.”

  “Maybe,” my grandmother says quickly. “We’ll see how it goes.”

  Sierra sighs and rubs her neck. I see the tattoo on her forearm, it’s in script, some kind of saying, and I wonder if it’s the same as her brother’s. “I better get back over to the shop. I left George at the counter and god knows how many cups of coffee he’s spilled.”

  “How’s Dexter?” I ask quietly, remembering his bloody hand. “Did he get hurt?”

  Her eyes soften. “He’s okay. A little shaken, although he won’t admit it. I told him to take a few days off. He needs a chance to cool down.”

  “Good idea,” Leelee says.

  Sierra moves to the door and I feel the urge to stop her. Before she can get through the door I say, “Tell him thank you. Your brother. Thank you for being there.” I hold up the coffee. “And for the mocha.”

  “I will.”

  She leaves, the bell chiming with her exit, and I peel the wrapper off the muffin. The first bite is sweet and I offer some to my grandmother, who shakes her head.

  “You talk to me about this if you need to, okay?” she says.

  “I will.” I pick off another bite. “Do you think that boy will get in trouble? Dexter?”

  She laughs, and it’s a nice sound to hear after such a stressful few days. “For this? I’m not sure. But in general? Definitely. Dexter’s been in and out of hot water his whole life. Like a moth to a flame. Sierra does her best, though. She got him through school and keeps him busy with work and encourages him and the others to explore nature.” She opens her laptop and pulls up the day’s registrations. “Dexter isn’t a bad kid. He just carries a lot of anger. A lot of people live up here trying to heal old wounds—he’s just one of them.”

  The bell rings, alerting us to the first customers of the day. A family checking out to head into Yosemite. I let my grandmother talk to them while I head to the back to sort the items needed to restock the rooms. Tissue, towels, welcome packets. There’s not that much work to do and although my grandmother has a lot of spirit, I can tell the running around side of the business wears on her. She doesn’t just want my help. She needs it.

  Now that I’m out of the house and know a little more about Dexter, it’s almost impossible to stop thinking about those gray eyes watching me—worried about me--and the blood running down his knuckles from the fight.

  Twice, the boy stepped in for me. Once at the museum and then with the backpacker. I wonder what my mother would say about that?

  I do know that I’ll never know, because Leelee’s right. If she finds out about what happened she’ll come back and make me leave, something I’m not sure I want.

  “I’m having a new bed set up in room 119. Once it’s together, can you go put on a fresh set of linens?” Leelee asks, hanging up the phone. She’s going over the books and has her glasses perched on her nose. The afternoon is quiet. We don’t expect any of the other guests to arrive until around dinner.

  “Sure,” I say, heading to the linen closet and pulling out a wrapped bundle of sheets. I pause before I walk out the door. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, one more thing. Grab a bottle of bleach and take it up to Katie. She was running low.”

  “Gotcha.”

  I grab a bottle of bleach and start the short walk through the lodge grounds. It really is a nice location. Scenic, quiet. The guests don’t hang around much during the day, most are out fishing or hiking. Around dinner things get a little more active. The Epic Café fills up and the other restaurants also do well. There are picnic tables for people to eat or play games, and other lawn chairs so people aren’t stuck in their rooms. I take the stone path up to the hotel, passing Jerry the dog along the way. He follows, happy to switch gears.

  Katie, the maid, meets me outside the door of the room she’s working on. She’s a little older than I am, with dark hair and a mole right above her eyebrow. She’s closer to Sierra’s age, I think, but she’s been friendly since I arrived.

  “Oh, thank god,” she says, taking the bottle. “I thought I was going to puke.”

  I peer around her into the room but can’t see anything. “What is it.”

  “Nothing you want to know about. Just be happy your grandmother’s letting you work in the office and not out here. People are gross. So. Gross.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Smart girl.” She looks me over for a second. “So I hear there was some kind of brawl on the street yesterday with Dex and you were there.”

  “You heard about that?”

  “Talk of the town, girl. There are no secrets here. Remember that.”

  I don’t have many secrets so that shouldn’t be a problem. A girl with no life can’t have much to hide.

  “Yeah, I was there.”

  “You saw the whole thing?” she asks, fishing for details. It’s normal. I know that, but not normal for me to have someone so inquisitive about my life.

  Despite my insecurities, I tell her about the backpacker and Dexter coming out of the shadows to save me. Her eyes widen as I describe it.

  “Oh shit, I bet Sierra is furious.”

  “She brought me a coffee and a muffin.”

  “I bet she did. She knows the sheriff is going to come ask questions and she wants you happy so you won’t turn Dexter in. He’s been in so much trouble—mostly fights. But I heard that if he breaks probation one more time…”

  “He’ll get locked up. I heard that, too.” I lean against the wrought-iron railing, wondering how I got caught up in something like this.

  “He’s hot, though,” she says suddenly.

  “What?”

  “Dexter,” she shrugs. “A little too jail-baity for me, but he’s eighteen now. I mean, who would’ve thought that kid woul
d grow up into a sexy little monster.”

  I hadn’t had much time to think about Dexter’s looks, not when I was panicking about one thing or the other the whole time. When I did think about him it was more about his intense eyes and the way his body moved when he fought. I felt, rather than saw the anger that seemed to bubble underneath the surface.

  She nods at the bundle of linens. “Where are you taking those?”

  “Someone’s building a new bed in 119. I’m supposed to make it when they’re done.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Who’s putting the bed together?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “I bet it’s Hollingsworth. I saw him go by here with a tool box an hour ago.”

  Hollingsworth. I only know one other name in town than Dexter and that’s it. Jake Hollingsworth. The boy from the museum and roof.

  “Maybe, Leelee didn’t mention it.”

  “He does some of the manual work around here when she needs it.” Her voice lowers. “I heard he’s not that smart but pretty good with his hands, if you know what I mean.”

  I stare at her blankly.

  “Like with tools…and other stuff.” She gives me an exasperated look. “You’ll get it when you see him. He’s hotter than Dexter and that’s saying something. I don’t know what Sierra feeds those boys, but it works.” She glances at the sky and mutters to herself. “Seriously, I’m not into teenage boys. I’m not. I have a boyfriend that works at the park. I just…do you think it has something to do with all the Supernatural stuff? Like some kind of hot, damaged guy osmosis?”

  I frown. “Supernatural? Like ghosts?”

  “No, duh the show. Sierra is obsessed, obviously. The Wayward Sun? Squirrel Pie? Dean’s Eye of the Tiger Expresso?”

  Again, I’m at a loss for words.

  Realization flickers in her eyes. “Holy shit, you’ve never watched Supernatural.”

  “Uh, no. We didn’t watch much TV at home.”

  “No cable?”

  “No.”

  “Netflix?”

  “Nope.”

  “YouTube?”