“What’s up, Fletch?”
He chuckles nervously, looking at the wood floor that’s pretty shiny for a shithole. “I asked Bree if she wanted to come with me to see this place.”
I tense up at the mention of Bree, and he notices, no doubt.
He studies me closely, and I don’t say anything, even though a million questions are running through my mind. Like how pissed off is she? Does she hate me? Why didn’t I just kiss her? I could have. Maybe.
“You’re not even going to ask?”
“Ask what?” I try to play coy, but he’s not having it. Fletch is pretty blunt.
“All the things you’re thinking about. Such as why she didn’t want to come with me.”
“Do you know why?” My chest feels uncomfortably tight. These two people are the closest thing I have to siblings. They’re my family, and I can’t lose them.
He rolls his eyes and lays back on my bed, looking up at the ceiling like I was doing only moments ago. “She won’t tell me anything, but she said to have fun and she’ll be over to see it soon.”
I lay down too, staring up. “She’s probably busy.”
“Bullshit.”
I wince. “What?”
He turns to look at me, but I won’t look at him. “What the hell happened? Seriously, you two are my best friends. I’m not going to choose between you, but I’m also not going to sit back and watch you lose each other.”
“I can’t tell you.”
He huffs angrily, still looking at me while I refuse to look at him. “So, she told you she’s in love with you or whatever, and you . . .” I close my eyes, hating that he’s so damn smart. “You what? What the hell did you do? Please tell me you didn’t crush our best friend.”
I open my eyes and turn to look at him. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Goddammit, Rhett.” He sits up. I know he’s mad at me, but really . . . What the hell was I supposed to do? And if Bree didn’t want to tell him about it, how much can I tell him without it being another betrayal to her?
I sit up too, feeling even more like shit. “I don’t . . .” I grip the back of my neck, trying to sooth some of the tension there. “I don’t think of her like that.”
He turns his head to look at me. I don’t see anger in his eyes. It’s more . . . Pity? “Why? Bree is great.”
“You date her.”
He snorts a laugh at that and shakes his head. “No. That’s gross. She’s like my sister.”
I shove his shoulder. “That’s what I’m saying, dumbass.”
He laughs again and then groans, “But she doesn’t see you like a brother. I don’t think she ever has. You guys have a different kind of bond.”
“Bree’s too good for me. Way too damn good. That girl is going to change the world.”
He nudges my shoulder with his much bigger one, shoving me over a little. “And you aren’t? You have to stop this shit. Assuming you aren’t good enough. That’s messed up.” His eyes catch mine. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
He has no idea.
“I can’t love her like that.”
He appears to be thinking it over. “Okay. I get that. I do. But can’t you let her down easy?”
“I tried,” I defend.
“Well, she’s hurt. You have to talk to her. She hasn’t been herself. It’s hard to put yourself out there, Rhett. And then to get rejected?”
I wouldn’t know. I’ve never thought about love, not really. I’ve just been focused on escape, on getting away from the people who love me. Because I’m that shitty of a human.
“I know. I’ll try.”
“Good. I’m glad.” He nudges me again. “You have nothing to do here. Not even a TV.”
“You don’t even watch TV.”
He grins and pulls his phone out. “I’m ordering food. We’re going to eat and talk about how to fix this shit with Bree.”
I sigh, knowing he’s not going to let this go. Because he cares too much. They all care way too damn much about me.
I love my family, but I know moving out was the best decision I could have made.
Because I have some pretty big things to figure out.
And I need to do it on my own.
SEVEN
Today was shit. It started off with my father addressing my plans for the future—a future, I might add, he already has mapped out for me. His exact path. I’m going to the same Ivy League school he went to. I’ll marry a good woman from a good family, but not until after graduating college, and then I’ll come and work for him.
Because developing real estate is exactly what I want to do.
Yawn.
But it’s all planned out. There were no questions. It was just told to me, like it has been my whole life, while my mother picked at her grapefruit and nodded her head in mind-numbing agreement.
I don’t want their life. I do want to go to college, but not an Ivy League school. I want to find out who I am and have time to explore. Not be swamped with so much schoolwork my eyeballs bleed and beg for a reprieve.
But it didn’t stop there. No. I had to run into my football coach and listen to him talk my ear off about playing football in college and how disappointed he is that I’ve turned down so many scouts. Mind you, it’s spring, and football has been over for months.
He’s still pissed at me.
And yeah—I used to love playing football until it became like a career. In high school. Like everyone’s lives depended on me being able to play. The coach. The school. The fans in the stands. Everyone watched my every move.
We’re prep-school kids. It’s not like we depend on scholarships to go to college like at some other schools. But we were a damn good team.
Crystal is pissed at me from the party and made a point at lunch to make out with Chad, while sitting on his lap, keeping her eyes on me the entire time. Like I’ll somehow start wanting her if I see her tongue down some other dude’s throat.
And then last period, I had to stay back to talk to my calculus teacher because I missed one fucking answer on a test, which was so unusual, she wanted to make sure I’m okay. No, I’m not fucking okay.
I feel like I’m drowning here. Letting everyone down, even though I’m doing everything their way. I’ve applied and been accepted to my dad’s choice of school for me. I played football all four years and brought them to state my junior and senior year. I tried to let Crystal down easily. I studied for the calculus test and still got an A.
But none of it matters.
That’s why, when I walked out of school and saw it was pouring down rain, I wasn’t even bothered, even though I was drenched by the time I got to my car. It seems like the perfect end to the day.
As I turn out of the parking lot, I see a figure walking in the pouring rain with a black hoodie pulled up over their head, but that’s the only thing protecting them against the downpour. As I get closer, my lips turn up slightly when I see who it is.
I pull up next to him and crack my window slightly. “I know you have a car.”
I have his attention. His eyes are angry and showing annoyance as he approaches me. “I walked today.”
I look up at the dark gray sky. “Not a great plan.”
“Fuck off, Lancaster.”
Something about his ever-present animosity really does it for me. “Get in.”
“Fuck. Off.” He starts walking again, and I’m glad no one is behind me because I slowly creep next to him.
“It’s pouring. Are you really this stubborn?”
“Yes. Go. Away.” I pull up a little farther and then park the car, leaving it running when I get out and walk over to him, ignoring the downpour.
“Just get in the car.” A loud crack of thunder echoes around us just after lightning ignites the sky, but he doesn’t flinch.
“What the hell is your deal?”
“My deal?” I’m soaked now, just like him. But neither of us move.
“Yes. Your deal.” He pokes my chest with a bony finger, dripping with animosity. “You stare at me. All the goddamned time. We never speak. You’re a preppy motherfucker.” He nods toward my vehicle—the one my parents paid for, though I’m not naïve and do realize it’s worth more than most people’s annual salary. “And I want nothing to do with you. So why are you stopping and offering me a ride?”
I step closer to him, the sky sluicing down in punishing rain, and look into those bright green eyes I can’t stop thinking about. “Because I stare at you a lot.”
He pulls back, clearly not expecting that answer. “What?”
I shrug. “I watch you. I know you have a car. I know you have a brother and a sister who also have cars. And yet . . .” I thrust my hand out, palm up catching the rain. “You’re walking in the rain. So maybe I’m curious about why that is when you could be driving or have asked someone to give you a ride.” I bring my hand back down to my side and step closer to him, continuing, “About why you always look so damn sad and why you have that blank stare on your face. About why, for someone who seems to have it all, you refuse all care.”
“Fuck you,” he spits with so much venom, I feel it viscerally in my soul.