Starlee's Home (The Wayward Sons 3)

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, she and her father came into the police station the day after the arrests. She wanted to let them know that she’d seen the altercation in the parking lot and that Mr. Evans was the aggressor.”

Starlee’s hand tightens in mine. The bailiff opens the courtroom door and gestures to Mr. Jameson. He leaves us and walks over.

I turn to Starlee, her eyes are still wide with shock, probably mirroring my own.

“Do you think Christina’s up to something?” she asks.

“Maybe it’s her New Year’s resolution not to be an evil bitch?”

She laughs and gives me a tight hug, easing some of the worry about the hearing.

“Dexter,” Mr. Jameson calls, “they’re ready for us to come in.”

“All of us?”

“Yes. Mrs. Delange managed to get all of this under one family court hearing. Your probation hearing will go first and then there will be decisions made about the living situation.”

I nod and look over my shoulder. Starlee isn’t far away and I reach my hand out to her. She takes it and I’m filled, once again, with a sense of relief.

Except…

“Did Sierra text you?” I ask the twins and Jake. They all check their phones but shake their heads. I almost stop Mr. Jameson but I don’t. She told me this could happen. She warned me.

“The judge is ready,” he says. “You know making them wait only makes them more irritable.”

I nod, knowing this to be true. We all file into the room together. Me, the guys, Starlee and her mother and Mrs. Nye. Mrs. Delange is already at the front table, where in a normal case a lawyer would sit. The boys go sit next to her while Starlee and her family go the galley. I sit next to Mr. Jameson at the opposite table, trying my hardest not to rip this freaking tie off my neck.

Judge Adams is a thin man with dark hair and a thick mustache. He’s fair, way more so than the dramatic Judge Burns, who loves to lecture from the stand for hours on end. He walks in from his chambers—behind the bench. Juvenile court isn’t like a normal, adult court, but slightly modified, and this isn’t a criminal hearing anyway. This is just to talk about my future, and I hope no one can tell I’m sweating under this stifling suit.

“Hey,” I whisper to Jameson. “Where’s Sierra?”

He finally answers. “She called. She’s not going to be here.”

“What?” Panic grips me. “Is she okay?’

He nods and shifts his gaze to the bench.

“Good morning,” Judge Adams greets the courtroom. He’s always been cool to me, even if he’s tough.

“Good morning,” everyone replies.

“Dexter,” he says, motioning me to stand up. I push back my chair and do so. “Come stand up here.”

I glance back and catch Starlee’s eye. She smiles, giving me the courage to face my future.

I walk in front of the bench and stand just below Judge Adams.

“Dexter, we’ve been doing this for a long time now.”

“Two years, sir.”

“Yes, two years.” He fiddles a pen with his hands. “The first time you walked in here you were a scrawny kid. A frequent marijuana user, petty theft, and had an uncontrollable temper. You were consumed with grief, loss, and fear. To be honest, I didn’t have much hope for you. I thought for sure you’d be remanded to the adult system sooner than later, but,” he pauses, “here we are.”

It’s one of those breaks I’m not sure if I’m supposed to speak or not. So, I just nod, letting his commentary roll off my back. He’s speaking the truth.

“I’ve spoken with both Mr. Jameson and Mrs. Delange about current circumstances. Charges will not be filed against you on the latest situation. As much as I wish you were not involved in any kind of fighting, I am aware that sometimes this can be a challenge, and to hear you made an attempt to de-escalate the situation and to protect others is a step in the right direction.”