ALWAYS || RAFE CAMERON

8

Rafe, Top and i were golfing.

the midday sun was hot as the boys chatted away about the party i wanted to forget about.

"that was badass what you did, Ju." Top hit a ball.

"apparently so." i sighed.

"Klaud's still in hospital,"

"Klaud?" i raised my eyebrows. "you're on nickname terms?"

"Mirren," he corrected, clearing his throat. "Mirren's still in hospital."

Rafe swung his club and his ball landed in another hole, the old man golfing there yelled at us.

"shut up!" Rafe shouted back.

"hey, it's Pope," i gestured with my club at a boy walking across the course, laden with bags.

i wasn't sure if i was seeing things.

Topper and Rafe looked at each other, then made their way over, i followed.

"hey, can we have a beer?" Top yelled.
Pope kept walking.

"we can see you have it, Pogue!" i called out.

still he ignored us.

he only stopped walking when we reached and surrounded him.

Rafe split his bag with his club, and i leaned on mine, using it like a cane.

"what the hell! you owe me for that!" Pope finally said, grabbing my club and snatching it away from me.

Rafe got up in his face, but Pope pushed him away, clutching the beers to his chest.

Topper made to wrestle them away, but Pope apparently had a death wish and held on to the stupid crate.

Top flipped him over in the dirt and Pope rolled over and over, groaning in pain.

he reached out, grabbing my ankle, trying to pull me down with him, but Rafe grabbed me before i hit the ground.

when Pope rose, he ran straight at Rafe, who hit him in the stomach with the butt of his club.

i reclaimed mine and thumped him over his back, sending his sorry ass down.

"stay down, bitch!" Rafe raised his club up, aiming for the Pogue's head.

"yo! Rafe! stop, dude!" Top yelled.

Rafe brought the club down, centimetres from Pope's head.

"stay off figure eight." he hissed. "and don't fucking touch my girlfriend again."

i picked up three cans of beer, cracking one open and chucking the others to Top and Rafe.

we left Pope on the ground, writhing in agony.

we walked down to the marina, swigging our beers and looked for Top's boat.

"you could've killed him, man." Topper identified his red boat.

"should've, you mean," i said. "they put a gun to your head."

Rafe held a hand out to me so i could climb into the deck.

"Maybank, not Hayward." Top untied the rope and chucked it next to me.

"a pogue is a pogue," Rafe shrugged.

he and Rafe stood up front as he started the engine.

"i want to drive," i called over the noise of the engine and water.

Rafe and Topper shared a look.

"she's got her license—somehow." Rafe shrugged. "probably blackmailed the instructor."