Page 18 of Rewrite Our Story

I’m all too aware of her plans. She seems to have them all the time now. Every boy in this town has been wanting to occupy her time.

My mind flashes to a little over two years ago, when Goldie accused me of not spending much time at home. It’s a little ironic considering how I feel like I never see her anymore. She’s got school, friends, fuck…maybe even a boyfriend. I try not to pay attention to it.

The problem is, Marigold Evans takes up way too much goddamn space in my mind. She’s my little sister’s best friend. Fuck, she’s pretty muchmybest friend. She’s in all of my earliest memories. It’s not weird for me to think about her, but it should be weird just howmuchI’ve been thinking about her.

“Honey?” My mom’s voice breaks me from my thoughts. I look up, finding her holding a piping hot mug of tea.

I must’ve been spacing out longer than I thought. I move to get another spoonful of cereal, but it has become soggy in the meantime. Pushing the bowl away from me, I try to soften my features as I focus on my mom. “Sorry, I don’t know where my head was at.”

I knowexactlywhere my head was. I just don’t want to admit that to her.

My mom gestures to the front door. “Sit on the porch with me?”

I nod. She heads outside as I walk to the sink and rinse my bowl out before leaving it in the basin. Opening up the cabinets, I pull out a mug and pour some tea from the kettle on the stove for myself.

When I step outside, we get hit with the chill of the fall air. It’s unseasonably nice for this time of year, and Mom’s been trying to take advantage of every moment of being able to sit in her rocking chair before winter seeps in.

“Did you know the girls are going to Bucky’s tonight?”

This catches my attention as I take a seat in the rocker next to hers. “They’re barely even old enough to go there,” I snap, maybe a little too harshly.

It’s confirmed my words may have come out sounding a bit too harsh by the rise of my mother’s eyebrows. “You know they’ve been dying to go there since your sister turned eighteen.” She takes a sip of her tea. “Marigold has been nice enough to wait to go until Pip was old enough. I’m shocked they didn’t go last week for your sister’s actual birthday.”

I decide it’s best I take a sip of my hot tea instead of responding hastily. Marigold is old for her grade. She started her senior year of high school already eighteen. It was something our parents did on purpose so Pippa and her could be in the same grade.

I swallow. “It’s really not that great of a place. It smells like smoke and the music is terrible and always played way too loud.”

My mom laughs. “Honey, that’s kind of the point. It’s an old bar and pool hall. There’s not much else to it.”

“Well, they’ll be let down. They can’t even drink. Buck won’t serve anyone underage.”

“Something tells me they’ll still have a blast—and probably get into some sort of trouble. I thought you’d be there to keep an eye on them, if we’re being honest. You love that place.”

I snort. The last thing I want to do is monitor them. I’m not their chaperone. While I spend most of my weekends at Bucky’s, I might have to find somewhere else to hang out if that’s going to be their new spot to linger.

“I heard Marigold tell Pippa that your friend Brendan asked her on a date.”

“Brendan is too old for her,” I bite. If he touches her, he’s as good as dead. Even if he’s one of my oldest and closest friends. He needs to look at girls his own age, not focus on girls still in high school. He’s always asked far too many questions about her. Now it makes sense—he’d been interested in her.

“Maybe you should stop by there and check in,” my mom offers softly.

The last fucking thing I want to do is show up to Bucky’s and find Brendan hot on Mare. I’ll rip him right from the dancefloor if he even thinks about putting his hands on her. I don’t give a damn if it embarrasses Mare or not.

“It’s best I don’t,” I clip, keeping my ass planted in the chair. Just as Brendan has no right to Marigold—I don’t either. I’d no doubt cause trouble by showing up, and I’m not trying to ruin my sister’s birthday celebration. She’d never let me forget it.

“Cade?” Mom says my name cautiously, catching my attention enough to look in her direction.

“Yeah?”

“It’s okay to feel something for her.”

My stomach plummets. Mom has always been observant, I just didn’t think my mixed feelings when it comes to Marigold had become so obvious.

I shake my head. “It’s not like that.” Even as the words fall from my mouth, I don’t know if that’s quite the truth or not. The simple answer is my feelings toward Mare aren’t—and never have been—simple.

Mom hums under her breath. “Whatever you say, honey. Just know I’m here if you ever need someone to talk about it with.”

Relieving me from having to respond, my mom reaches toward the table next to her. With a click of a button, she turns on the old stereo that Dad used to keep in the barn.

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