Page 3 of When the Stars Rise
It’s a McCallister thing. We’re all competitive by nature. But as the eldest of my siblings, I don’t stoop to their level. Let them rise to mine.
Not to mention, they all act like I’m so hard to find.I’m right here. My Ducati is parked out front. Anyone with two eyes and half a brain would know where to find me.
I throw one duffel bag over my shoulder, grab the other one in my right hand, then brush past my siblings and jog down the stairs.
When I walk out the guesthouse door, both sets of parents are waiting for me.
I drop my bags onto the porch. They hit the wood with a thud. The tour manager arranged to have someone pick them up later this evening, so I won’t have to deal with them.
“What are you all doing here?” I ask.
“You can’t just take off like this,” my dad says, arms crossed over his chest, legs slightly spread like he’s ready to fight me on it.
Good luck with that.
“You just got home. We’ve barely spent any time with you,” my mom adds.
My parents are not married to each other. Nope. In typical McCallister style, it’s a lot more complicated than that.
My mom is married to my dad’s cousin, Jude. And my dad’s wife, Shiloh? She’s Hayley’s birth mother. A little fact we found out at sixteen.
Surprise!
“Good riddance,” Gracie says, using the porch railing like a balance beam. “I can’t wait to see what the paps say this time.”She jumps to the ground, sending up a cloud of dust, and laughs maniacally, like an evil mastermind in a low-budget thriller.
“Let’s talk about it over dinner,” Jude says, his tone firm despite his smile. He claps his hand on my shoulder, nudging me forward, and I know it’s not a request.
So I fall into step with Jude, and we cross the field of wildflowers, past the horses grazing in the paddock to my dad and Shiloh’s house.
It’s only the beginning of May, but it already feels like summer in Texas. Even though it’s at least ninety degrees, dinner is on the screened-in back porch. My dad installed air conditioning units made especially for outdoor spaces, bringing the temperature down to approximatelyeighty-nine degrees.
The food is Cajun, and tonight it’s extra spicy. My mouth is on fire and sweat suctions my T-shirt to my skin. The only cool thing is the beer in my hand. And me. I’ve perfected the art of always appearing cool and unruffled.
Over dinner, everyone makes small talk, but I know better than to think there’s no hidden agenda.
Sure enough, no sooner had we finished eating than Jude sent Gracie, Zane, and Levi away from the table to play a few rounds of cornhole in the field.
“I’m staying right here,” Gracie announces, crossing her arms over her chest.
Jude side-eyes her. “Suit yourself. Five rounds. One winner.” He slaps a twenty-dollar bill onto the farmhouse table. “The prize is twenty bucks and bragging rights.”
My sister’s out of her seat like a shot. “Why didn’t you say so?”
Jude smirks as Gracie streaks across the field and joins her brother and cousin for a ‘friendly’ competition that will undoubtedly turn ugly.
“So what’s the plan?” my dad asks.
“I’m going to ride my bike to New Or—"
“What?!” my mom exclaims. She massages her temples like I’m giving her a massive headache. “I hate you riding thatbeast.”
I laugh. “It’s nothing compared to half the shit I do.” Wrong thing to say. The crease between her eyebrows gets deeper.
Jude squeezes her shoulder, attempting to comfort her.
I clear my throat. “As I was saying, the tour manager arranged to haul it for me when I’m not riding it. So yeah. I’ll spend most of my time on the tour bus, where it’s nice and safe. This leg of the tour finishes in LA, so I’ll end up back where I need to be.” I stop short of sayinghome. California has been my home for four years, but my family hates to hear that.
If I thought that answer would appease them, I was wrong. My mom is still scowling.
