Rewrite the Stars

“I’m used to it.”

“Why the rosary?”

“Why so talkative?” he throws back.

I shrug. “Just curious.”

“Where are you going to be tonight?” He changes the subject, digging out a pack of cigarettes. “Today is what we call a soft open. Most of the rides won’t even be up until tomorrow. Won’t be gone long.”

“You don’t need to take care of me, you know,” I inform him. “I’m not your responsibility.”

He runs a hand through his mussed-up hair, giving me a long, hard look before responding. “Stay close,” he warns. “No one knows you’re with me yet.”

“With you?”

“The carnival isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, Evan. We’re not exactly known for our virtue. Some of us lie, cheat, steal…and worse.”

Worse? Like breaking into a hotel room for revenge? I shake the thought from my head. He said he didn’t do it, and clearly, I believe that, or I wouldn’t be here. Sebastian sees the wheels turning, somehow knowing exactly where my mind went.

“I may not be an honorable man, but I won’t lie to you.”

I refrain from pointing out that his statement means nothing if he is, in fact, a liar. Instead, I nod. “I know. Go…break a leg. Or something.”

His lips twitch, like he might smile but doesn’t want to give me the satisfaction of putting it there. My eyes fall to the moon-shaped scar below his bottom lip, and once again, I wonder how it got there.

My stomach growls audibly, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Truthfully, I haven’t had an appetite until this very second. Sebastian hears it and mutters a curse. So sorry for bothering you with my need for sustenance. “For fuck’s sake, you live here now.” He walks over to a high cupboard above the table and flings one open, then he marches over to a fridge, not quite mini, but definitely not a full-size refrigerator, and gestures to the contents inside. “Feed yourself. I’m not your babysitter.”

I don’t even have time to formulate a rebuttal before he’s gone.

“Welcome home, Evan,” I mutter to myself.

After shooting a quick text to my mom—I haven’t heard a word from her since she left—and rummaging through the cupboard, I conclude that these guys eat like kindergarteners, seeming to live off fruit snacks, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and chips. I’m lucky enough to find a protein bar shoved in the back. That and a bottle of water will have to hold me over until I venture out to get some real food. What am I saying? I’m at a carnival. Greasy, fried goodness is right outside this door.

So is Sebastian.

Unable to resist the temptation, I quickly change into a pair of maroon jean shorts and a flowy, black spaghetti strap top. I toss my hair up into a ponytail, then push the door open, only to run into Elliot.

“Ow,” he says, stumbling backward down the three steps.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were there.”

“It’s all good,” he says, his eyes scanning me up and down. When he notices me noticing him, I could swear his cheeks pink just a little. “I came to see if you wanted to go to the show.”

Elliot is handsome with his dark hair and square jaw. His eyes

are more hazel than Sebastian’s green, and he’s a little shorter. Despite sharing some generic physical similarities, their personalities couldn’t be more different. Sebastian’s presence is larger than life. Even without opening his mouth, you can feel his commanding energy. He walks around with this give-no-fucks-attitude that should act as a repellant, but it has the opposite effect, much to his dismay, I’m sure.

Elliot is…softer. Quiet like Sebastian, but without the brooding. Where Sebastian treats the world like it owes him something, Elliot just seems to be trying to find his place in it. I feel bad that it’s been two years, and he still hasn’t managed to make much headway with Sebastian. I wonder if he’s had any luck with Eros, Lathan, or Tres.

“Sure. That’s where I was heading.”

We make our way through the crowded fairgrounds, once again earning curious looks from every employee who takes notice of me. It’s as if I have a big, flashing neon sign above my head that reads outsider.

“Don’t worry about them,” Elliot says. “In a couple of days, some jointee will get caught screwing another guy’s wife, and you’ll be old news.”

“Is that right?” I ask, quirking a brow.

“I’d bet on it.”