Page 6 of Mine

The three of them are sitting on lawn chairs, and Callie looks up, her blue eyes sparkling when she sees me. “Hey, Marsh!”

She pushes to her feet and comes right over to give me a hug. Callie is one of the best people I know, and she and John couldn’t be more perfect for each other. I’ve always been thankful that it’s her John ended up with. She can be good at calming some of his more compulsive tendencies.

“Hey, you.” I hug her back and kiss her cheek. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s fine,” John answers. “As you can tell, JT isn’t here yet anyway.” His brown hair is wet as if he got out of the shower not too long ago himself. Callie is blond, and JT’s messy mop is a mixture of the two of them.

“Hi. I’m Amanda.” Callie’s friend stands, and I head her way.

“Marshall. Nice to meet you.” We shake, and she gives me a kind smile. Before we have the chance to say much, there’s a noise behind us, and I turn around to see JT.

“Sorry I’m late.” He runs a hand through his golden-brown hair the way he often does. He’s dressed casually in a T-shirt and shorts that are perfect for the warmer afternoon. JT is about three inches shorter than my six feet two, but he’s leaner than I am, his body type similar to John’s.

“We’re used to it by now.” John chuckles, and while I know he means it as a joke and he’s really not the kind of guy to get mad at his son for being late, JT flinches. I cock my head, paying attention because that’s not something I’ve noticed before.

JT immediately smiles, and I wonder if I imagined it when he holds out his hand for Amanda and says, “Hi, I’m JT. Nice to meet you.”

“Amanda. I’m friends with your mom,” she tells him before JT turns his attention to me.

“What’s up, old man?” He nudges me with his arm.

“Your dad said the same thing to me earlier. Is this Pick-on-Marsh Day?” I tease, enjoying the banter.

“Every day should be Pick-on-Marsh Day,” John adds.

“Like father, like son.” I flick my gaze to JT and see him look away. He doesn’t seem upset, nor does he flinch like he did before, but something is off about his reaction.

We move to the outdoor table, and JT offers to help his mom get everyone a drink, but she tells him she’s got it. JT nods and grins.

I tell myself I misjudged his reactions earlier. Or hell, that it’s normal—this is what families do. But I’ve always been the type to pay attention, to look for signs in people, and I realize I never have with JT before, or that I’ve missed a lot.

CHAPTER THREE

JT

Do my parentsthink I’m an idiot? I’m pretty sure they do. Amanda has been talking all afternoon about NC State, where she’s a professor and where Dad went, as if that’s going to turn on some light bulb in my head that makes me realize college has always been my dream and I won’t be happy unless I try to enroll right now.

It’s not even like I could get into a university like that for next year, considering it’s past the deadline, and while Dad would have loved for me to go to his alma mater, I know that’s not a must for him. He just feels like I should be doing something other than what I am.

Amanda doesn’t come right out and ask me about my plans for the future, but it’s clear there’s a reason she’s here, and it’s to subtly make sure I know that I should be doing more with my life than I am.

“How are you doing?” Marsh asks when Dad is at the grill and Mom and Amanda go inside.

“I’m fine, despite what other people seem to think.” Marsh has always been great. He’s successful like my parents, but where it always feels like they’re disappointed that I’m not like Dad, I don’t get that from Marsh. Not that he would have a reason to be since I’m not his son, but he’s not the type to judge others. He doesn’t have the same expectations my parents have. He’s a way more live-and-let-live guy.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

That’ssomething he always does that’s annoying, though. He has questions about everything, like he’s looking for some kind of hidden meaning.

“Nothing. It’s not a big deal.”

Marsh frowns, which draws my attention to his face, to his hazel eyes and the black scruff along his jaw and his dark hair which always looks neat and styled—not as if he spends time doing it, but like the hairs wouldn’t dare disobey him. “Your dad means well.”

“He has a shitty way of showing it.”

“He loves you.”

“I know that. Never doubted it, but…”He wants me to be him. He loves me, but he’s not proud of who I am. He’s disappointed in me.

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