“My parents owned it.” He scratches his neck. “Now Sierra and I do. We don’t ever come here though. Or at least, I don’t.”
I follow him in. The cabin is small but nicely decorated—a little musty from being closed up. Dexter walks through the cabin, flipping on lights. He looks in a few cabinets. There are canned goods and a few things in the freezer. He grabs a bag of frozen peas and holds it against his cheek.
“Sierra comes down here a few times a year. She keeps it stocked in case of an emergency.”
A photo of the family is mounted over the fireplace mantle. Everyone looks happy—other than Dexter, who carries a look of teenage discontent. I don’t know what to say other than what’s on my mind. “Your mother was pretty.”
He glances up. “She was.”
“I’m sorry about what happened to them.” I eye him carefully. “Sierra told me.”
He nods and then exhales. “I don’t know what’s going to happen at the hearing. It was a long shot to begin with, but now? No way Judge Hackney lets me off.”
I walk over and slide my arms around his waist. “It’s another six months of probation. You’re so much better now, Dex, even if it sucks, you’ll get through it.” His jaw clenches and he looks away from me. “What?”
“It’s not just probation time on the line, Starlee. They can lock me up. And not just in juvie. I’m eighteen. I’ll go into the transitional prison and if something happens there, which it’s likely to, then I’ll be charged as an adult.”
I frown. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying if Judge Hackney feels like I’m violating probation with these fights, then I’m headed to lock-up.”
“Prison?”
“Or the equivalent to that, yes.”
My hands shake. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me it was that bad?”
“I didn’t want to scare you. I know you feel like it’s your fault because I got in the fight with Dugan, but that’s all on me. Not you.” He touches my chin. “I may have fucked up that day, but I don’t regret it. Not for a second.”
“Dexter—”
“Look, it’s not a big deal. You’re leaving…in what? Another three or four weeks? We only had you for a minute in time anyway. I’m just glad I got to meet you before I screwed up.”
His voice trembles and he’s talking big—so big—but it’s bullshit. He knows it and I know it. I have no idea how to comfort him other than to wrap my arms around him and hug him tight. His body is warm, strong. I’m not used to being alone with him—not like this—not without the guys or my grandmother or Sierra around. He leans back and looks down at me. Eyes intent.
This.
This is what my mother was afraid of. Not just the bullies. Not just the assholes. But the guys like Dexter who I’ll want to give my heart.
My mother has been so wrong about so many things that I know she’s wrong about this, too.
I pull at his shirt and push up on my toes, kissing him with all the emotion of the night.
“Wow,” he says a moment later. I rest my hand on his chest and feel his heart pounding. Before I can respond he kisses me again, this time lifting me off the ground and moving me to a cushy leather chair. He sits, bringing me with him and settling me against his lap.
“I don’t want you to go,” I say.
He brushes back my hair. “I don’t want you to, either.”
“Then we fight to keep you out of prison and me from going home.”
“Fights are what got me into all this trouble in the first place.” He places his lips on my neck; searing kisses down my collarbone.
“Not that kind of fighting.” His stubble tickles and I squirm against him. He grabs my hands and forces me to stop. “What?”
Then I feel it. Him. And I see his eyes darken and the bob of his Adam’s apple and something surges through me. It’s a sense of awareness. Of
control, and no, my mother never told me about this either.