Starlee's Hope (The Wayward Sons 4)

I look back at Dexter, seeing that same intensity from all those years ago, the one that brought me into his life. I take his hand in mine and push open the door to the future. One thing is for certain, we’ll do it together.

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Six Years Later

If there’s one thing Dexter Falco is good at—it’s using his hands. He has the perfect touch, whether rolling out dough, manipulating fondant or bringing my body to its breaking point, it’s like he instinctively knows what’s needed.

Which is why, when he settles my back against his chest and begins rubbing my shoulders in slow, deep movements, I’m putty in his hands.

“That feels so good.”

“I could tell you didn’t sleep well.”

“Did I keep you up?” I did sleep badly. It’s hard these days.

“Not really,” his lips press against the nape of my neck. “There’s a lot to get done today and I couldn’t settle my mind.”

“I know the feeling.” I lean back and his hands wander, kneading my arms. “I can’t believe today is my last day of official work.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“What? Like you’re going to really hand over everything to your managers for the next month.”

“I promised I would.” But slowing down was hard for us. All of us, which is why we’d made a deal that first summer after graduation.

June is for the five of us.

It’s the month we met one another. The month we fell in love. The month we all typically had off and our favorite time of year in Lee Vines. This year is no different—although incredibly different.

Dexter’s hands graze the swell of my breasts. It’s like he can’t help himself and it’s like I can’t get enough. I lean back so he has better access and he kisses the shell of my ear.

“Jake should be here by noon. He’s coming to see me in June Lake for lunch and will probably drive me home. The twins are coming in from the north. I think Charlie had a little more work in Lake Tahoe. We’ll meet here for dinner.”

"Here" is LeeLee’s house. My house. When she and Tom finally retired, I moved in. Dexter bought the Epic Café to keep it in the family. So between the restaurant, the Lodge, and the Wayward Sun, we own the whole block.

I’d made some changes to the house. Making it more my own—more ours. It’s where we sleep and live when we’re together. It’s where I spend time with my men—individually. Privately. It’s a home base for us and even though careers and success keep us apart at times, it’s okay. We’ve always believed in following dreams—just always come back home.

Today, they come home.

“I’ll get everything ready for tonight.” Dex’s hand skims over my belly, lingering, before pushing to the edge of my panties. “I told George I’d make him a pie.”

I laugh, some about the pie, more because his fingers tickle my lower belly, but that turns to a small gasp when he reaches between my legs.

The last time we were all together like this was January, which is when we agreed this was it for us. That we’d had time to stretch our wings, build our careers, see the world. No one was stifled. No one forced. This is where we each wanted to be and, together, we were ready for more. As Dexter’s hands work his magic, I rest my hands on the swell of my stomach, round and firm. Five months of carrying the child of a wayward son. Four months before we add to our family.

This one last June for just the five of us—before we become six.

“Jason, I know that the rules here seem really overwhelming at first, but I promise that it’s for your safety and welfare.”

The boy across from me slouches in his chair. His foot, covered in a scuffed tennis shoes, moves quickly, making his knee bounce. His tone is harsh when he says, “I’ve never had a curfew before. Why do I need one now?”

“There’s a lot of reasons. Sleep is good for you. So is structure and routine. It’s also how you show respect to your fellow housemates and the staff that work here by not coming in late and disrupting everything. I think you also know that there’s a 10 p.m. curfew in this county and as well as a 9 p.m. curfew for people remanded to this program by the judge.” His frown deepens. “If you break your curfew again, you’ll end up back in front of Judge Adams and lose your spot here. Next stop, juvie.”

I hate repeating all of this. They know it, but it’s my job and I need Jason to really understand what’s going on.

“If there are going to be so many rules, I may as well be in juvie.”

I nod and lean back in my seat, trying to get the baby off my bladder. “Lock-up is a last resort. Do you really think you’re at that place, because I can make a recommendation. I can tell Judge Adams that you’re not interested in what the CrossRoads Group Home has to offer. He’ll ask me if you’ve participated in our programs. Therapy, group, art, life-skills, outdoor adventure, technology, and right now I can honestly tell him you’re borderline.”