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

by Angel Lawson

  “Just knock next door?” I ask.

  “Barge in. God knows if they’ll notice someone knocking.”

  I exit the shop and walk across the front porch to the other door. It’s also screened and the main door is open, I guess to let a draft of air come in. I hear the sounds of a TV or maybe a video game. Barging in feels weird, presumptuous, so I knock, even though she told me not to.

  Thirty seconds after I rap on the door there’s no reply, so I push open the door and say, “Hello?”

  There’s still no reply other than the dog rushing to the door. It’s their chihuahua, and we’ve encountered one another before so I’m not afraid. I gather my nerves and open the door, stepping into the small foyer. The little dog continues barking and sniffing my feet. I bend down to let him investigate my hand and lick my fingers.

  “Hey, dude,” I say, petting his skinny, wiggly body.

  Once he’s checked me out he turns and runs to the back of the house.

  The first thing I notice is a framed photograph of the cast of Supernatural—only a few people I recognize. Scrawled signatures are at the bottom. The rest must come later in the series. There’s also a large painting of the Winchester protective symbol—the ones the brothers wear over their hearts in the show. I look down to make sure a devil’s trap isn’t under my feet.

  I turn the corner and step into a small living room. A bookshelf lines the wall and from a distance I can tell it’s filled with Supernatural items. There are several framed photographs of Sierra and the actors, each signed, and her smile wider than the sun. I want to judge, but can I? Sierra has a full life, a business, the boys, a hobby. What do I have?

  I grip the computer in my hand.

  “Charlie?” I call, feeling foolish. “It’s, um, Starlee. Sierra said I could come over.”

  I hear footsteps in the hall and George’s sandy-brown head of hair appears. Then his shoulders. Wide and tan. Bare. Before my brain can process, he steps into the doorway shirtless, a pair of athletic shorts around his hips. The dog is in his arms.

  I avert my eyes.

  “Starlee! I was wondering what got Growley all crazy.”

  “Growley?”

  He holds up the dog. “He’s a hellhound.”

  I nod, having no idea what he’s talking about, but if I had to guess, it’s something related to the show. “Is uh, your brother here? I need computer help.”

  “Oh yeah, follow me.”

  “I can wait here.” I look up. Shit, so much skin. Look down.

  “Nah, follow me, because he’s plugged into his game and there’s no getting him off without a good reason.”

  Wait. What does that mean? George thinks I’m a good reason?

  That seems ridiculous, but I really need to get this assignment turned in, so despite the flagrant rule-breaking, I follow him.

  He leads me down the hallway and I’m happy that his back is to me, although his back is disturbingly attractive. George is tall and lean, with wide shoulders. A thin scar runs down his side and his shorts barely hang on skinny hips. I notice how his fingertips touch nearly every surface they encounter, dragging along walls, feeling doorknobs. He’s talking the whole time but I ignore him, instead taking in the house…this safe haven for lost boys.

  There’s a bedroom downstairs and from the colors and cleanliness, I assume it’s Sierra’s. There’s a bathroom and a small kitchen. George turns at a stairwell; the railing spindles painted a bright teal blue. I hesitate at the bottom, feeling like I’m crossing the line of all lines, going up to the boys’ private area. In every book I’ve ever read, that’s the first level of intimacy.

  George stops halfway up.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “Are you sure it’s okay for me to go up there?”

  I feel like there should be some rules about guests or visitors but George shrugs. “Sierra knew what you were getting into when she sent you over.”

  He’s so nonchalant about it that I can only assume one thing: these boys aren’t attracted to me in the least. That realization brings two warring emotions; relief and vague disappointment.

  With that understanding, I follow him up the stairs to the landing, where a hallway splits the rooms. There are two bedrooms on each side and what looks like a bathroom at the end. There’s a strong scent of body spray, shampoo, and boy funk that clings to the air. I know I should be repelled, but I’m not.

  I can’t help but look into the rooms as we pass; the first one is surprisingly tidy and I spot a guitar and a flannel shirt on the made-up bed. Across from that is a bit messier—rumpled sheets and clothes on the floor. A shelf lines the wall over the bed with trophies—cluttering the space.

  The next two have their own differences. One looks like a bomb has gone off. Clothes, books, a container filled with pens and pencils—including sketch books and a few canvases. I catch the scent of something chemical. Paint? I think of George’s stained fingers. But he’s still moving, so I follow him to the last room. A flat screen fills the space of one of the walls. A single bed is pushed against the wall next to a dresser with open drawers. Two chairs face the screen, legs and arms visible.

  “You’re going down, asshole.”

  “Kill him. Kill him.”

  “Shut up, I’m doing my part. You take care of that zombie over there.”

  George steps into the room.

  “Charles, you’ve got a visitor.”

  “Not now, George. I’m busy.”

  “I think you need to take a break.”

  “You’re fucking with me, right? You know I get an hour of uninterrupted game time every morning.”

  George’s eyes dart my way and I want to sink into the floor.

  “I can come back later,” I say.

  I hear the clatter of a controller as one of the figures stands. Jake’s full frame rises from the chair and he pushes his hands through his hair. “Starlee.”

  “Hi, Jake.”

  Neither of us have discussed if the others know about our morning routine. I have the distinct feeling it’s something he does on his own—a private time. Just like mine. I’m not going to mention it if he doesn’t.

  Charlie’s a bit slower to react but like George said, me being here gets him to sigh heavily and then pause the game. I smile and say, “I’m so sorry for interrupting you, but I’m in a bit of a crisis.” I hold up the laptop. “I’d come back later but I’ve got a deadline.”

  I feel like we have an audience with Jake and George watching the exchange, but Charlie ignores them and takes the laptop from me. “What’s the problem?”

  “I’m trying to submit my assignment for the online school and it’s not going through. I don’t know if it’s the internet service or something I’m doing wrong.”

  “Sure, I’ll look at it.”

  He glares at Jake, who blinks at him for a moment before realization dawns. “Here, Starlee, take my chair.”

  “Thanks.”

  He moves out of the way and I sit in the comfy gaming chair. Charlie’s already got the laptop open, fingers moving quickly over the keys. I’ve never really been this close to him to take in how much he looks like his brother, and a flash of George shirtless pops in my mind and I can’t help but wonder if Charlie looks the same.

  His voice snaps me out of my daydreaming. “Jake took a class at the online school last year. He had some of the same problems. So, it’s kind of a mixture of the program being a pain and not doing it right.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Is this the assignment?” he asks, the mouse hovering over the essay I’d written.

  “Yes.”

  “Good, I’ll show you what to do.” He launches into an explanation of the process for submitting homework to me. I see where I made my mistake. Super easy and he’s right; part my fault and part theirs.

  “Okay, I get it now,” I say, feeling a sense of relief when I see that both assignments are accepted. “Thank you so much.”

  “No problem
.”

  “And I’ll tell Sierra to give you an extra fifteen minutes of game time.”

  His eyebrows raise. “Oh you don’t have to, it’s fine.”

  “It seems like it’s your thing, right?” I wrap my hands around the side of the still-warm laptop. “I hate it when people interrupt my reading.”

  “You read a lot?”

  I shrug. “I guess it depends on what you think is a lot.”

  “More than an hour a day?”

  I think back over the last few years. More than an hour a day was a low estimate, but since I’d arrived in Lee Vines? Between getting up early and work and watching Supernatural with Leelee…that number was greatly reduced.

  “How many hours of video games do you play?”

  “Well, if I had my choice it’d be a lot more. Sierra thinks I have a problem, so she’s constantly monitoring it and making me work or go outside.”

  “Do you think you have a problem?”

  “I guess it depends on what you think constitutes as a problem,” he says, tossing my own words back at me.

  “I think it’s when it interferes with your life, health, and well-being, but sometimes that thing that seems really bad to other people is kind of your personal life-line.”

  His eyes perk up and he nods. “Right. Makes sense.”

  “But sometimes that life-line can be a problem too, you know?” I’m not sure why he’s making me feel so introspective, but I am. I guess maybe I get the desire to hole up alone and do my thing.

  “Yeah.” He scratches his neck. “I guess so.”

  “Thanks again,” I say, standing. “You’re a lifesaver. I was either going to smash the computer to pieces or totally screw up my grades.”

  “No problem.” He stands with me. “And let me know if you need any more help.”

  “I will.” I leave the room and the hall is empty, George and Jake having vanished. I glance back and Charlie’s already restarted his game. I pass by the empty rooms, noting that the one before the staircase with the guitar must be Dexter’s. I’ve got to talk to him soon and thank him for everything. There’s a tension between us that increasingly makes me uncomfortable. The last thing I want is for there to be a problem.

  “You all done?” George asks, and I look up to see him at the bottom of the stairs. He’s wearing a shirt. I’m a little disappointed.

  “Yep.”

  He lets me pass and I spot Jake in the kitchen holding a spoon full of peanut butter. “Bye, Starlee.”

  “Bye, Jake,” I say, knowing I’ll see him in the morning and that thought makes me happy. “Bye, George.”

  “Later.”

  At the front door I hear the strains of music coming from the shop, and the fresh mountain air and realize that I’ve accomplished something new. Something wild, and I only had to break all the rules to make it happen.

  12

  It takes me two days to write the letter. It’s a thank you of sorts, something to clear the air with Dexter. I owe him one or three and I feel like maybe that’s what’s causing the tension between us.

  It’s not long or complicated. Just a direct “thanks,” but it still takes time to get it right, plus there’s the obsessing over what he’s going to think, what the others will think if he tells them, and how am I going to give it to him.

  I almost ask Jake as we sit side by side on the rock overlooking the lake. The letter is tucked in my pocket, in case the perfect opportunity arises, but it feels weird talking about the other boys when we’re out here together. We’ve only just started speaking at all.

  “What kind of books do you read on the rooftop?” I ask just as the clouds are parting. My arms are wrapped around my knees.

  “Um, just whatever, I guess.”

  “Whatever? Come on, give me a few titles.”

  His jaw stiffens along with his shoulders, and I feel like what should be a safe topic turned into a landmine. Of course, my natural reaction is to start babbling. “I like a variety of genres. Fantasy, space opera, urban fantasy, young-adult.”

  “No romance?” he asks. “I thought girls like that.”

  “Sure, I like romance—bundled up in those worlds.”

  “Space romance?”

  “That’s a thing.”

  “Huh. What about action stuff. The apocalypse or you know, the ones where the girl saves the world.”

  “Like the Hunger Games? You’ve read that?”

  “I’ve seen the movies.”

  I feel like there’s something that I’m missing—he’s up there every day with a book, or different books, from what I’ve seen. What’s he hiding? Porn?

  “The books are better though,” I say.

  His jaw continues to tic even though he’s being nice. I want to ask what’s wrong or what I said that bothered him, but I don’t know how to navigate situations like this. Conflict. Confusion. Hurt.

  I stare out over the water, watching the gray mingle with the pink and turn lavender.

  “I’m not a very good reader,” he admits quietly. “I made the decision this summer to work on it by trying to read on my own, but…”

  “But what?”

  His blue eyes are cold sapphires when he looks at me. “I just suck at it. I get distracted or stumble over a word.”

  My heart breaks for him, because admitting that has to be difficult. I recall what Charlie said, that Jake had summer school the year before. I assume it wasn’t like me—in an effort to get ahead, but probably because he was behind.

  “I think it’s pretty cool you’re working on it. I know how difficult it can be to push past things that you aren’t good at.”

  “Like what?” he asks, a line creasing his forehead. “What aren’t you good at?”

  Pick something, I want to say. But I settle on one. “I’m not great at making friends, so this,” I gesture between us, “isn’t something I normally do.”

  He laughs—the one that makes his whole face light up. “Yeah, I figured. It took you weeks to talk to me or the other guys. Even George, and he’s pretty easy.”

  “None of it’s easy for me.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him about my past, why I’m here, but I don’t. It’s too weird. Too pathetic. I don’t want to be that girl, not if I don’t have to be.

  “Do you want to talk about it? Tell me what happened?”

  The hair on the back of my neck prickles and my defenses rise up. “Why do you think something happened?”

  He shrugs. “I’ve met shy girls before and you’re not just shy. You’re…”

  “I’m what?” I ask, genuinely curious. What did I look like to outsiders? Why had I always been a target?

  “You’re timid. Scared.” He looks toward the horizon. “Damaged.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I live in a house full of broken souls, it’s not hard to identify.”

  Every inch of my skin is on alert. He’s right. I’m scared—no, terrified. Always have been, and I push past the lump in my throat and say, “I wasn’t always like this. I was fine when I was younger. I had friends and did well in school. I mean, I think the anxiety was always there but I managed it. I think.” He’s no longer looking at the horizon but at me. Intently. “I was on some medication and my brain fell apart. I don’t have a lot of memories of that time, but I know I got very depressed and I withdrew and I only had one friend—a girl, and we were close—which then made the guys in my class think it was funny to call us lesbians. But I wasn’t a lesbian and neither was she, but it made our relationship awkward. Like the one person I could talk to didn’t want to be around me anymore. And the guys…they just wouldn’t shut up.”

  “Middle school boys are the worst,” Jake agrees.

  “One boy, he cornered me in the hallway and just kept bothering me. He said some really awful things and he…touched me.”

  Jake bristles. “He hurt you?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain what happened from there—I just don’t hav
e a lot of memory of the time, but I know I tried to hurt myself. More than once, which made my mom shift from protective to over-protective. And at the time I was kind of okay with it but then months passed and then years and all along my fears just compounded.”

  “What kind of fears?”

  I look at him and it’s hard to be afraid of his kind, handsome face, but my heart races anyway. “Of other people and their motives. If I can trust them or feel safe around them.”

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  “Sometimes.”

  He exhales and studies his hands in his lap. “I want to tell you not to be afraid of me or the other guys, but that’s not how trust works. You have to earn it with actions, time and commitment.” He studies me. “There’s something else.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re better at being a friend than you realize, Starlee. You’re a good listener. You’re smart and helpful.” He glances at the sunrise. “I’m glad we met, even if it was over a broken trashcan.”

  I tighten my arms around my legs. “Me too.”

  We watch the rest of the sunrise in comfortable silence, something I’d never thought I’d have with a boy like Jake Hollingsworth. Again, I figure it’s because there’s nothing between us but maybe friendship, why would a guy like him want anything more from a girl like me?

  “Hey,” he says, as we walk back to our houses. “We’re going on a hike today, want to come? It’s sure to be exciting. George will probably fall off a cliff. Dexter will get mad. Charlie will complain about the lack of service.”

  “And you?”

  He grins. “I’ll get everyone back in one piece.”

  I want to say yes. Desperately, but the monkey in my chest tightens its grip. “I’ve got to work for LeeLee today. She has her book club tonight and she’s leaving me in charge.”

  “Okay,” he says, his lips pouting in disappointment. “Maybe next time?”

  “Maybe.”

  Later, out the front office window I see the boys climb in the Jeep and Dexter carry out a cooler. He pushes it in the back and I turn, hearing the door slam. I have an idea.

  “I’m going over for a muffin. You want anything?” I ask.

  “No, but make sure you come back before three. Remember, I have my book club tonight in June Lake and I need to finish up the book.”