by Angel Lawson
“I’ll miss you, too, but this opportunity…it’s a good one, Star.”
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.”
I’d agreed to drive with Dexter to the little town of Baker to pick up a bunch of vintage baking tools from an estate sale. It’s my spring break and George happily agreed to work at the shop while we took the overnight trip. We’d spent the night before in a little hotel with surprisingly clean rooms and an amazing room service. We relished in the privacy and being with one another—just happy to be with one another. Now we’re headed back to Lee Vines through Death Valley.
When we emerge on the west side of the desert, Dexter says, “There’s one last thing I need to show you.”
We roll through Mammoth Lakes, through the streets familiar to me from high school. We pass the downtown area, which is just two streets. The movie theater and the Diner. All places that bring back memories. High school seems like a million years ago. That one year I had here before I went to college, before my boys turned into men, when everything was harder and easier at the same time.
Dexter pulls the Jeep into a parking space in front of an empty storefront on the corner of Main Street and Second Avenue. The windows are partially covered in ancient newspaper, but some has fallen over time. The rest is thick with dust.
Confused, I look over at Dex, who’s holding a set of keys in his hand. Now I’m more confused. “What’s going on?”
“A few months ago, Sierra and I had to meet to go over some paperwork from my parents' estate.”
“How is she?”
“Good, things seem to be really going smoothly for her.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” There had been a lot of changes in Sierra’s life over the last few years. Surprising changes that I understood more than anyone. Sometimes you have to find your tribe—and for Dexter’s sister, that came from an unexpected place. “What kind of paperwork?”
“I’d always known there was some kind of trust set up following their death. Something I couldn’t have access to until I either went to college or turned twenty-one. At the time, I didn’t think much about it. Probably because I was too filled with anger about the whole thing and Sierra certainly never mentioned it. My parents weren’t wealthy people—not that I knew of. What I didn’t realize was that they had substantial assets in property and investments. There was also a large insurance payout.” He takes a deep breath. “Sierra used some of the money early on to pay off the mortgage for the Wayward Sun, and then was given a stipend to care for me, but now that I’m twenty-one, the rest of my money is available to me.”
“Oh,” I say, not sure how much money it is and what this means for him. “It stinks to know why you have this money, but it’s al
so good to have security.” Something always just out of reach for Dexter.
He nods. “It is. When Sierra and I met up, I told her that I wanted to expand to another location. Something bigger where I can have a bigger kitchen for the bakery. She thought it was a good idea and suggested down here. She also offered me the chance to buy into the Wayward Sun up in Lee Vines. Fifty-fifty.”
“So actual ownership.”
“Yeah.” He looks at me like he really wants my opinion. I don’t mind giving it to him. “I found this place. It’s perfect for a new coffee shop and bakery. It’s going to take a chunk of change to get it up to code and make the kitchen how I like it, but I think it can work.”
“So the Wayward Sun two?”
He nods at the street signs. “I’m thinking CrossRoads Coffee and Bakery.”
I smile. It’s the perfect name.
“I think it’s a great idea. You’ve basically run that place on your own for the last four years anyway and expanding sounds smart.” I take his hand. “You’re a smart businessman and baker. I think you can pull this off.”
He kisses my palm and I feel a tingle down my arm, pulsing to my heart.
“There’s something else.”
I raise an eyebrow. “More?”
“I want you and the guys to have a piece of this new place. Without you all, I would still be running around, getting into fights. At best I’d be a deadbeat stoned out of my mind, accomplishing nothing. Worst, in prison.”
“Have you told the guys yet?”
He shakes his head. “I wanted to ask you first.”
This proposal is big—it’s tying us all together just as we’re about to embark on the future. In some situations, I can see this is where a girl would run. But I’m not that girl. I don’t run anymore. I’m anchored to this man next to me and the three others back home. We’ve survived a lot in the last five years and I have no doubt we’re stronger today than ever before.
I smile and say, “I’m in. I think they will be, too.”
His gray eyes light up with relief, happiness. “Do you want to see it?”
“The business I just agreed to own?” I ask. “Of course, I want to see it.”
We get out of the car and meet at the door, the keys still tight in his hand. He holds them up, offering them to me and I don’t hesitate, slipping them in the lock.
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.
Untitled
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.”
“It’s all bullshit. Like climbing a fucking mountain or baking a cake is going to help me in the future.”
A shadow crosses the doorway to my office. No, not a shadow. An eclipse. My eyes flick over Jason’s shoulder to a fully-grown, just-retired-professional-football-playing-sized Jake Hollingsworth. My heart skips a beat at the sight of him and my hand lowers to my belly, just as his eyes drop down to assess it as well. I haven’t seen him in a few weeks and I know it’s already bigger.
Jason looks over his shoulder and does a double-take.
“Jason have you met, Jake?”
“Hollingsworth?” his voice cracks.
“Nice to meet you.” Jake r
eaches out a hand and they greet one another. “You giving Ms. Jones a hard time?”
“Nah, man,” he says, as Jake walks in and takes a seat. He looks so good. “I just don’t see the point in all the hassle. A few classes aren’t going to change my life.”
Jake leans back, the picture of ease and confidence. I know that boy is still under there somewhere. The scared, lost kid that could barely read and thought his dreams were just out of reach.
“You’re right,” Jake says, and I shoot him a glare. He ignores me. “None of that is going to change your life, not if you’re unwilling to invest in yourself and definitely if you don’t listen to Ms. Jones, because this woman is smart and good at her job.”
Jason gives me a skeptical look. “Good at forcing kids to do what they don’t want to?”
“Good at helping you realize that everyone has value and worth, but that it takes hard work and a shift in attitude to get there. I know you think those classes are dumb. Trust me, the whole time I was catching footballs I was making pies, or hauling garbage to the dump, and studying. A lot.”
Jason doesn’t want to look impressed but it’s hard not to when Jake Hollingsworth of the 49ers is telling you how to succeed.
“Today is a new day, Jason,” I say. “I think you’re ready to move forward but if not, let me know. We’ll talk to the judge.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He stands and Jake holds out his fist, giving him a bump. When he’s gone, Jake moves to close the door. I circle the desk, meeting him in the middle of my small office.
“Hey,” he says, after giving me a long-waited-for kiss. He drops to his knees and pushes up my shirt, kissing my belly. “Hi in there, too.”
I run my hands though his hair. “Thanks for helping with that one. He’s hard-headed.”
“Really?” he says, standing. His hand lingers on my stomach. “A stubborn teenaged boy? Never heard of such a thing.”
I touch his stomach, hard with muscle. “Were you able to get everything together in San Francisco before you left?”