Starlee's Hope (The Wayward Sons 4)

Just like I’d told Charlie earlier tonight, I realize the truth. I’m scared to let go and find my real happiness. Somehow, I’ve become mired in the between. One foot in the past and one hovering over the future. I’m the girl that had the courage to run away. I’m the one that started a new life, built a new family. It’s foolish of me to be scared because I can’t completely control what’s ahead.

I walk over to my computer, opening it up to the college application sites. I pull up the one to Emory and delete it, wiping away any record it had ever existed, and then move to the other two, submitting them both.

I turn off the lights and crawl into bed, smiling to myself with the knowledge that I’ve taken things into my own hands tonight.

Twice.

“I’ve been looking over this list of test strategies and I feel like they could really help you.”

Jake leans back in the kitchen chair, skepticism etched on his face. “Like what?”

“Well, things like budgeting your time, blocking out distractions, positive self-talk…”

“You really think that’s going to help me.”

“A good attitude goes a long way—it’s pretty proven.”

He stares at the stack of books on the table, the reading, the study guides, everything we’ve been going over each day after school. We’d given up on A Separate Peace an hour ago and he’d also refused to take another practice test. Tensions are escalating with the test approaching tomorrow. “I don’t need test strategies, Starlee, I need a new fucking brain.”

“Babe,” I say, reaching for his hand. “Don’t say that. You’re so smart.”

His glare is filled with loathing. Not at me, at himself. It’s getting worse every day. There’s too much on the line.

“I’m done with this. If I pass, I pass. If I don’t, I’ll stay here and work at the shop. It’s not like I’ll be homeless.”

He pushes his chair back with a loud screech.

“Jake, come on.”

He doesn’t respond, just leaves me in the kitchen. A moment later I hear his feet echo off the stairway. I leave the packet of information on the table and head down the hall, passing what was Sierra’s room and is now my mother’s. She and LeeLee are down in Mammoth Lakes, leaving the shop in the hands of the other guys. I get to the landing upstairs just in time to hear him slam the door.

I haven’t spent much time up here—the boys' rooms being off limits to females, including me. It smells like a combination of the four—their various shampoos and body sprays. I pass Dexter’s room, still as tidy as it was the last time I saw it, when I slipped him an apology note at the beginning of our relationship. George’s is still a mess, filled with clothes, books, and paintings. I stand before Jake’s door and knock.

I hear a thud behind the door but after a moment it ope

ns. “There’s no point in studying anymore. I can’t get it, Star, it’s like it goes in my brain and vanishes.”

I reach for him, pulling him to me by the waist. “Stop being so hard on yourself. If you want to stop, we’ll stop.” His hand rests on my hip. “The last thing I want is for you to go in there pissed off and irritated.”

He mutters something low and under his breath—something I can’t hear. I raise an eyebrow in question, but his jaw clamps shut, the back muscle a ball of tension. “Why don’t we figure out a way to help you de-stress.”

My comment is simple. Easy. It could mean a million things but something in Jake pulls away from me and barks, “I don’t need to de-stress, okay? I just need this fucking test to be over. I’m sick of studying, worrying, thinking about the future. You know it’s not as easy as pressing submit for me. Nothing ever is.” He runs his hands though his blond hair, making it stick up. “There’s so much pressure. So much. I don’t need you pressuring me too.”

“I’m not pressuring you?” I snap back. I try to keep my cool. I know he’s freaking out but this is just over the top. Annoyance combined with worry rushes through me just as I hear footsteps on the stairs. I look over my shoulder and see Dexter on the landing. It’s pretty clear he heard the argument.

“Tell him he’s being unreasonable,” I say. “That I’m not pressuring him about anything. I’m just trying to make sure he’s prepared and being a ball of stress isn’t going to help—”

Dex holds up his hands. “Nope. Keep me out of this.”

“Thank you,” Jake says.

“I’m not taking your side, Jake. You need to deal with your issues, dude, this has gone on long enough.” He gives Jake a pointed look, walks in his room, grabs something and bolts down the stairs.

I turn to face Jake. “What issues is he talking about?”

His face, already cut from marble, turns to stone. “Nothing.”

I stand before him with my hands on my hips. “Seriously? Nothing. Because this doesn’t feel like nothing.”