Starlee's Hope (The Wayward Sons 4)

“She found out I didn’t apply to Emory.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I applied here and to Berkeley.”

A tension in my chest unfurls, one I didn’t exactly know I’d been carrying. The fear of her leaving to go back east. “You’re staying close?”

“I want to, but Mom thinks I’m just doing it for you guys and that I’m about to throw my life away for a guy, or well, guys, the way she did with my father.”

I know a little about Mrs. Jones’ history. Enough to say, “I don’t see you taking that path.”

“Well she made it clear what a mistake I was and how trapped she felt by having me.” Tears glisten in her eyes and I wrap my arm around her. “I can’t ever please her, Jake. I always thought it was because of everything that happened when I was in middle school, but I think it started long before that. I’m just tired of disappointing her.”

I kiss her temple and hold her tight. Her arm lies between us, the tail end of her tattoo visible under the cuff of her sleeve. I push it back and run my fingers down the words.

“I’ve gotten to know your mom a little better since Sierra left. She’s done a good job filling in and there are times when I can see where you get your spark—your light. She has it, too. But the worry that brought you here tonight about being a burden? And the anxiety you’ve carried since childhood—you inherited that, too. I think you’re both self-sacrificing and I think you’re both flawed. You both have the urge to run and then save everyone in your path.”

“You’re saying we’re too much alike.”

I nod. “Sometimes, yeah. I just think you’re going to live the life you want, Starlee. You’ve never been running away. You’re always running to something. There’s a difference.”

She holds my eye for a moment then kisses me. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being honest with me.” She stands, hand still connected to mine. I go with her. “I need to get back to San Francisco.”

I look at the time. “It’s almost eleven and at the risk of sounding like a controlling dick, I’m just not comfortable with you getting in a rideshare by yourself. Call your mom and tell her you’re staying here.” I gesture down the street to the hotel.

“You want me to tell her I’m staying with you? That will only confirm her suspicions.”

“You can’t stay in my room because I have a roommate and he’s a three-hundred-pound defensive lineman that snores, but we can get you a room and you can meet up tomorrow.”

She relents and together we walk down the street, things settled and easy between us for the first time in months.

28

Starlee

I sigh as I hang up the phone, assuring my mother that I’m safe, not staying in a room full of football players, and that we’ll talk first thing in the morning. Her voice was wobbly when she apologized. Mine just exhausted. Jake and I wait at the front desk while she calls and talks to the reception desk, approving and paying for the room.

The woman looks between Jake and I, probably assessing my tired expression and lack of luggage and his unnatural beauty. She slides the key across the table and as we walk to the elevator I whisper, “I hope she doesn’t think I’m a prostitute.”

He looks down at me with amusement and kisses my forehead. “You’re ridiculous.”

If he’d left it to that single chaste kiss and hadn’t pushed me against the wall of the elevator, hands on both sides of my head and done it again, properly, things maybe wouldn’t have escalated.

But he did.

It’s been so long since I’ve felt his mouth on mine without the strain of tension, without him fighting against me, that my insides melt like butter. In the small, cramped space, I’m overwhelmed by his scent—his nearness. My heart pounds like a hummingbird’s wings, the area below my belly button flutters with desire.

The door opens and we break apart, my knees and breath both wobbly. His hand grips mine and I see the flush of want on his cheeks as his eyes skim the room numbers. He stops abruptly before the door and kisses me again at the same time he slips the key in the slot.

“I can leave now,” he says quietly. “We don’t have to do this.”

“Are you seriously trying to cockblock me again, Hollingsworth?” I ask, actually terrified he may run. “Do you really want another cold shower?”

He smiles, slow and confident, the kind of smile that won me over months and months ago. The smile that tells me that once we close this door all bets are off—that everything he’s been holding back will let loose like the walls of a dam breaking.