Page 39 of Rewrite Our Story

There’s too much emotion in his eyes, so many mixed-signals considering he’s done everything in his power to ignore me since his mom’s funeral. Since the night I thoughtmaybehe and I were turning over a new leaf. Frustrated, I rip out of his grip and throw myself into the bodies surrounding us.

“Goldie!” he angrily yells behind me.

Ignoring him, I force people out of my way as I try to get away. I haven’t had enough to drink to erase all the pain he’s caused me. I can’t do this with him. I can’t let him get under my skin—into my heart—again. I barely survived the first time I let him in my bed and heart. I’d be incredibly naive to let it happen again.

I refuse to look at anything but toward the back exit as I rush through the crowded bar. If Pippa were to see me right now, she’d immediately know something was wrong. She’s having the time of her life tonight. The last thing I want to do is bother her with my problems with her brother. I have to make sure she doesn’t catch me. She can think I’ve been held up waiting for drinks or something.

The moment fresh air hits my face as I push open the back door, I take in a relieved breath. I hadn’t realized how stifling the air was inside Slopes until I’m met with the air from outside.

Gravel crunches underneath my feet as I race to the edge of the back parking lot. I look at the mountaintops in the distance, their peaks lit by the moon as I continue to try and suck air into my lungs.

My entire body freezes when the door opens behind me.

21

CADE - PRESENT

Even with thecold air hitting my cheeks, my entire body feels heated with rage. With each minute that’s ticked by tonight, I’ve had to watch Brendan touch all of the places on Mare that I’ve only dreamed about for years—and it has my blood boiling.

I’ve got no fucking right to chase her out of the bar like this, to have any say on who she does something with. But it doesn’t stop me from crossing the parking lot with rage until I’m standing right behind her.

Her body stills. She doesn’t turn around, but I know without a doubt that she knows exactly who is standing behind her. There’s not a single movement from her body except for the blowing strands of her hair in the wind.

“I wasn’t done talking to you.” There’s not a hint of softness to my voice. I know exactly how my tone comes off—like an asshole. I swallow, trying to figure out how to get her to turn around and look at me without forcing her to.

I’ve already dug myself a deep enough hole tonight. I don’t know if I should make it worse or not. The problem is, I’m not sure I really care. She can hate me all she wants. I need the answer to my question. Desperately.

Finally, she moves. Her shoulders rise as she sucks air into her lungs. Her exhale is loud, even over the sound of the thumping bass that radiates from the building behind us. Slowly, Mare turns around to face me.

Her face is filled with so many contradicting emotions. The look in her eyes confirms how upset she is. There’s a defiant set to her jaw as she stares back at me. All of that is a stark comparison to the tears running down her pink cheeks.

“I can’t do this with you, Cade,” she whispers. It feels like someone has reached inside my chest and ripped my heart out after hearing her voice breaking saying my name.

“I can’tnotdo this with you, Goldie,” I answer, ashamed of myself for putting us through this. I wish I was a better man. If I was, I’d turn around and give her the space from me she deserves. I’d go back to the bar or wait in the truck so she can enjoy the rest of her night with Brendan without me jealously watching on.

But I’m not a better man. My feet don’t take me farther away from her. Instead, I take a step closer to her, crowding her space.

She shakes her head as she attempts to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Why do you care if I’m lying or telling the truth? It shouldn’t matter.Ishouldn’t matter to you.”

“Some days I’m fucking terrified because it feels like you’re the only thing that really matters.”

Her eyes go wide. She watches me with apprehension. Like she has no idea who I am, or if she can believe a thing that comes from my mouth.

It’s not like I blame her. I’ve done enough in the past that I can’t fault her for second-guessing every single one of my words.

Her tears fall even more freely now. They coat her lips, collecting for a moment in her prominent cupid’s bow before they continue their path down her face.

“You act like you hate me.”

“Maybe I do hate you.”

She sniffles. “Maybe I hate you, too.”

“Maybe we hate that we feel so many things other than hate.”

“I’m not lying.” She changes the subject, and I let her. I know she’s lying straight to my face by the way her voice shakes with every single syllable that comes from her mouth.

My jaw clenches in frustration. “Bullshit.”

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