“None of us are normal, Starlee,” he replies. “Do you see where we live? Do you see any parents? Since you’ve been here, we’ve had the police come to the door, visited our social worker, and spent our summer working on our own shit.”
I can’t help but look at Dexter when he mentions the police. He glares out the window.
George’s green eyes are bright. “Whatever fears or firsts you need to work through, we can help with that.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Two reasons. First, you’ve been helping us.”
“What? How?”
Dexter snorts but still doesn’t look my way. His hand is tight on the steering wheel. George jerks his thumb at his brother. “He’s been on his fucking device way less since you came around.” Glances at Jake. “Whatever you two do at five a.m. is a mystery to me, but I suspect it’s working.” He nods at Dexter, who glares at him from the rearview mirror. “No fights since the backpacker. That’s a record.”
“And even though you probably can’t see it,” Charlie says from the back. “George is way less of a pain in the ass. No ER visits. He’s working more.”
There’s a lump in my throat, one made of overwhelming emotion, but I find it in me to ask, “What’s the other reason?”
Another exchange flits through the group. This time, Jake responds. “You’re one of us, Starlee Jones. One of the lost.”
“Wayward,” Dexter says quietly.
The impact hits me hard. So hard that I feel off kilter.
“You ready to do this?” George asks.
I’m not sure what “this” means, but I assume he’s talking about the hike. And yeah, I am ready, for the first time in my life, I feel ready for what’s ahead.
There’s something surreal about walking by the edge of the creek up the slight incline. The boys were right, the hike isn’t hard. It’s long, but it’s pretty, filled with surprisingly lush flowers and plants along the water.
After the big confession in the car, I need some time just to decompress. I’m not used to being around people this much, but I also admit to something else. I want to be around them. All of them, and the thought of being back home, alone, makes me depressed in a way that never had before.
The creek winds and twists and it gives me time to think about what George said about helping me with my “fears and firsts.” I had so many of both that it could take a lifetime to get me up to speed, although today I’d conquered several. The bathing suit. The hike. The admission.
How many firsts in a day is too many?
The answer rises from the forest, first with the sound of rushing water, then with the sight of an outcropping of rocks. The falls themselves aren’t massive but they are beautiful—smooth rocks providing a way to skip from side to side. Large boulders to lie across. While I take it all in, the boys skirt past me, their voices rising from excitement, shirts stripping off their backs and shoes left on sun-heated rocks.
Seeing them this way…bare-chested and free…my heart clenches and my stomach…well, my stomach twists in an unfamiliar but recognizable way. I may be sheltered but I’m not an idiot. The Wayward Sons are…hot.
Sam and Dean Winchester hot.
I’ve seen George shirtless and Charlie matches his physique, just with paler, less-tanned skin. They’re long and lanky, with broad shoulders and flat, corded stomachs. Their smiles are infectious, especially to one another, and the sun catches the blond in their light-brown hair, casting a halo as they scale the rocks to the higher falls.
Dexter and Jake are a contrast. Dark versus light. Dexter’s curly black waves to Jake’s blond, short cut. I won’t deny I’ve spent time watching Dexter on the sly—wondering about the body beneath the flannel shirts and white apron. I’m not surprised at the strength of his build. Shorter and stockier than Jake, but hard-packed muscle lines his arms and back. No wonder he’s confident in a fight.
They exchange words and Dexter takes off to the left, taking a different route to the top, and Jake turns to find me, giving me a full view of his magnificent, athletic body. I doubt a coach or teacher in this world cared about his intelligence. They see a physical winner.
“You coming?” he says, offering me his hand. A hand I’ve touched every morning for weeks, but in the early morning light under hoodies and sweats, Jake Hollingsworth didn’t look like this.
I wrinkle my nose, coming up with a million excuses not to follow them up the rocks but there’s only one; they’re beautiful, strong, and even though they said it down at the car, I am most certainly not one of them.
The glint in Jake’s eye tells me he’s not going to let me get away with it, and he walks down the rocks to where I’m standing. “What’s wrong??
?
I cling to the straps of my backpack. “I just…I don’t…”
He places both his hands on my shoulders and my eyes are level with his chest, his smooth, muscular chest. “The only one that can break your chains is you, Starlee. It’s your choice. Come or don’t come, no judgments.”