Starlee's Turn (The Wayward Sons 2)

“Just wanted to see if you’re okay. I know coming back here is hard for you and this is a lot of rummaging around in your parents’ things.”

“Thanks, yeah it’s weird but okay. I think they’d be happy to know we’re using it to stay warm and safe.”

She smiles. “I think so, too.” Her hands slips in mine and I didn’t put handholding on the rules so it feels like I’m not cheating, although my heart immediately kicks off and I know it’s a thin line. “The guys found some food—nothing much, but a little to get through the night. You know Jake and George—they’re starving.”

I laugh at her making fun of their dramatics and follow her back to the fire. There we fuss and fight over space, but everyone keeps it respectful. Starlee bundles in the middle—she’s the smallest and needs the most of our heat.

We stay up late, keeping the fire going, telling ghost stories and silly tales about our families. George reminds of all his scars and broken bones and I tell them how I busted my lip on the fireplace corner playing “hot lava” with Sierra where we jumped from couch to couch across the living room. Starlee turns to me and kisses the corner of my mouth, and although my heart is pounding and I want to take it further, I don’t. I simply brush back her hair and pull her against my chest.

“Good night,” she finally says, playing with Jake’s fingertips with one hand and Charlie’s hair with another. Her back is pressed against my front and George lays across the bottom of the group, back to the scalding fire, rubbing her feet.

“Good night,” we say in turn, feeling exhaustion washing over each of us, one-by-one. I listen to the crackle of the fire and the breathing of my brothers. I feel the heartbeat of the girl I love and revel in the fact we survived the snow and the testing of our willpower. And although so much about the night sucked, it may very well be the very best day of my entire life.

41

Starlee

I wake to the pop and crackle of the fireplace and my cheek pressed against something warm and solid. My nose is cold—freezing, really, and I burrow closer for heat.

“Move over.”

“No, you move over.”

“My toes are freezing.”

“Hey, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, shut the hell up,” Dexter says. I reach behind him and realize he’s no longer next to me. I crack an eye open and see the room filled with bright white light.

“Morning, sweetheart,” I hear in my ear and lift my head to find Jake’s adorable, sleepy face. It was his comfortable chest I’d burrowed in. Makes sense.

I hear another log drop on the fire and regretfully sit up. The air in the room is frigid and I tug the blanket over my shoulders. Dexter is fully dressed. The twins are hovering near the fire trying to stay warm.

“How much did it snow?” Jake asks, rubbing his eyes.

“Enough that it’s going to be a pain to get out of here,” Dexter says.

“Is there any food in the kitchen?” George asks, predictably.

“Not much.”

We all know that we’re going to have to get out of here. It’s simply too cold and there’s not enough food and these guys will resort to cannibalism soon enough. I struggle to stand and Dexter reaches out, helping me off the ground and out of the pile of blankets. “If it’s okay, I’m going to go check Sierra and your mom’s stuff for some better shoes for the hike back to the Jeep.”

“That’s fine. Good idea.”

The boys stand and stretch and I’m just about to walk down the hall when we hear the sound of a vehicle approaching and footsteps on the front porch. We look at one another when there’s a knock on the wooden door.

“Sierra? Maybe she got our text?” Charlie asks with a raised eyebrow.

Dexter walks over to the door and unlocks the bolt. On the other side isn’t Sierra. It’s a police officer. He looks at Dexter and then over his shoulder at the rest of us.

“I need you all to step outside, please.” He eyes all of us suspiciously. I notice his hand is near his holster. Dexter doesn’t argue, but he does reach for his jacket. “No jacket. Step outside. Slowly.” He glances at us. “All of you, too.”

He follows the officer and I walk over to the door. That’s when I see the other four behind him. All on alert. I hear Dexter ask, “Can I ask what’s going on?”

“Get your shoes,” the officer says to me and the boys. They’re all by the fireplace. Mine are still wet. Quickly, we get them on while he looks around the house. There’s nothing out of place other than the pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. His eyes skim over that.

Outside it’s freezing, but the sun is bright and I blink at the glare against the snow. As cold as it is, honestly, it may be warmer than inside. I wrap my arms around my chest, shivering.

“Seriously, what’s this about?” Dexter asks again. I can hear how hard he’s trying to keep calm.