Starlee's Hope (The Wayward Sons 4)

He’d been offered a three-month apprenticeship with the art department through the University of Madrid. There’s no way he could say no. I don’t want him to. “I just hate that it’s over summer break. You know how much I look forward to us all being together.”

“The timing sucks, but when I get back we’ll get a few weeks before the semester starts.”

My heart pounds with nerves. I’m not sure why I’m so anxious about it. Some of it’s the summer thing I mentioned. The rest is just that our worlds are expanding, inch-by-inch, and I feel like it’s hard to keep all our threads together. George is going to Spain. Jake is getting interest from professional teams. Charlie’s being recruited by the biggest security companies in the US because of his computer skills. And Dexter, he’s at home living the easy life in Lee Vines and every day I worry he’ll get tired of waiting for us to come home.

My wayward sons are growing up, maturing, and the idea that they may not need me—us—anymore freaks me out.

But it’s not fair for me to dump this on George when he’s moments away from the biggest adventure of his life. I suck it up and look up at him, taking in his handsome face one last time. “Send me lots of pictures.”

“I will.” He brushes a tear off my cheek. “Keep an eye on my brother.”

“Of course.”

He holds my face in his hands, kissing me slowly, deeply, with zero concern about the people walking by. It’s ridiculous, like something you’d see in a movie, but I don’t care. It’s the last kiss I’ll get from him for months and I’m going to make the best of it. He pulls away and whispers in my ear how much he loves me and squeezes my hand one last time. I feel like a chunk of my heart vanishes when he disappears through the doors toward security, but I also feel the tether—the tug of knowing how much we’ve already been through and that this is just another obstacle we can survive.

Fall, Junior Year

I stand among the sea of red, wearing a Cardinal jersey, number eighteen on the back. A black and red tattoo is stuck on my cheek and it’s cold enough that I’ve got a red hat tugged over my ears.

It’s homecoming, so there’s a bit more energy in the crowd than usual. The whole week has been packed with activities and Jake’s been super-focused on this game, not to mention stressing about all the exams coming up.

There’s only a minute left in the game and we’re ahead by nine. The marching band kicks into gear, anticipating the win. I train my eyes on the field, looking for the broad shoulders and the number eighteen. I spot him quickly, on the right side of the field, head in the game. Jake’s done an amazing job here and he’s getting attention from the NFL. There’s little doubt he’ll enter the draft.

I have a love-hate of this game. I worry about him. About his head and the chance of concussions. About his body and the bruises he nurses all week. I worry his dreams may get crushed and I’m not sure if I can imagine him without a football tucked under his arm.

But I’ve learned to think about today. Today’s game. Tonight’s celebration. The fact I’m lucky enough to share it with him.

The clock counts down and the tight knot that forms in my chest at the beginning of every game unwinds, knowing a win is seconds away. When the final horn blares and the crowd explodes into celebratory cheers, I’m already halfway down the stands, keeping my eyes on number eighteen.

“There’s your boy,” Rebecca says, a few steps behind me. Rebecca’s been my roommate since freshman year. She’s from Colorado, studies biology, and doesn’t get in my business. Luckily, she loves football and is willing to go to every home game with me and is perfectly happy to give me and Jake time alone in our dorm room. It’s been a perfect match.

We spill on the field like the rest of the exuberant fans, rushing to the players. Jake pats the heads and hugs his teammates, but his blue eyes search the field, I know looking for me. It only takes a heartbeat before we connect, his grin of excitement shifting to a wide smile that’s not about the game, but about seeing me.

When we reach one another, he grabs me in a sweaty, nasty hug and kisses me on the neck, the ear, and then lips.

“You played great,” I tell him.

“I was worried for a minute.” He kisses me again.

“Nah, I never had any doubt.”

His teammates shake their heads at us. They’re used to it. We’re that couple.

There’s the shrill sound of a whistle. It’s time for them to head to the locker room. He hugs me once more and says, “I’ll find you later?”

I nod. He’ll definitely find me later.

Because that’s a different celebration—the one between the two of us after every game. Win or lose. I love the feel of him after a game. He’s raw, full of adrenaline, and he takes me to new, exciting heights. After that we’ll join the rest of the school, satiated in our own way; happy. Content.

Mine.

Spring, Senior Year

“Thanks for coming with me.”

The Jeep rattles along, making the familiar trek through the desert. In my head I’m playing a game where I guess how far it is to the next mountain. Five miles? Twenty? Even after all this time, I’m fascinated by the terrain.

“I never tire of driving through here.” I look over at Dexter and scratch the back of his neck. “Or hanging out with you.”