Hostile(2)

“Don’t?” Yeah, she’s back to looking hurt.

Goddammit, why do I even exist? I should be in love with her. In the perfect world, I would be in love with her. Bree is beautiful—beyond beautiful. Every guy in our class salivates for her, but she wants no part of the preppy douchebags at our school.

No. She wants her moody, broken best friend.

I look away from her, that suffocating feeling coming back in full force. “Don’t say what you were about to say.” I lock eyes with her again. “I’m not worth it, Bree.”

“You’re . . .” She folds her arms. The hoodie she’s wearing is too big for her because it’s mine. “Don’t give me that self-deprecating bullshit. You’re amazing, Rhett. I mean . . . you’re so kind. You volunteer at shelters on the weekend, and you paint murals for free to make the world more beautiful. You’re . . .”

I stand up, trying to pull air into my lungs. “Stop. Don’t make me into some sort of saint. I’m fucked up, and you know it.”

She stands too. “No more than the rest of us.”

“You think two fucked-up people make a whole? They can’t. They just break each other more. I’ve seen it firsthand.”

Her eyes darken, and she’s pissed. And hurt. I hurt my best friend. “So, because I’m a former foster kid, you can’t love me back?”

Goddammit. “Don’t say you love me.”

“But I do.” Her eyes are shining with tears, and I want to die.

I hold onto her small shoulders with a loose grip. “I love you too, Bree . . . Just . . .”

“No.” She wipes at a tear, and I die a little more. “Don’t tell me it’s not like that. Or that you love me like a friend or a sister.”

But I do.

“I’m sorry.” I wipe another tear away with my thumb. “I’m so sorry.”

“Happy birthday,” she barely whispers before she pulls away and goes back inside, away from me.

Yeah. Happy fucking birthday to me.





TWO





“What’s up with you and Bree?”

Shit. I turn to look at Fletcher, who’s pouring cereal into his bowl, and as usual, making a mess. My best friend is a slob. And a genius. Like, a legit one. He looks like a jock but is actually a nerd.

“What are you talking about?” I try to play it cool and pour my own cereal.

He’s not buying it. His big, dumb brown eyes stare at me expectantly. “I’m not an idiot. I know something’s up. You guys didn’t talk at all last night, and this morning, she left without saying a word to you. She couldn’t even look at you, which is weird for her. She’s always watching you.”

Yeah, her crush on me or whatever the fuck it was, or is, hasn’t gone unnoticed by Fletch either. “Let it go.”

“No way, man.” He shovels a bite into his mouth and chews but barely finishes before he speaks again. “I know something is up, and I won’t pick sides with you two. What did you do?”

“Sounds like you are,” I grumble. “I didn’t do anything.”

He laughs, and I want to kill him. I’m sure my eyes portray that feeling, but he doesn’t care. He has a good six inches on me and at least thirty pounds of muscle, so he’s not scared in the least. “So, it’s what you didn’t do?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me in a way over-the-top manner.

“Bree is like our little sister. You should not encourage that shit. It’s sick, man.”

He laughs, “She’s not your sister. You share no blood. It’s totally fine, and I don’t know . . . It makes sense. I always thought you two would wind up together.”

“Who are you winding up with?” We both jolt at the sound of Blair’s voice just as she appears in the kitchen, dressed up as usual in a skirt, fancy blouse, and high heels. But don’t let the attire fool you, Blair is lethal when she needs to be.

“You don’t wanna know, Blair,” I say and glare at Fletcher, who’s trying not to laugh.

She pours herself some coffee and sits across from me. “Okay. Now, I have to know. You know that.”

My eyes are still shooting daggers at Fletch, but he remains unaffected. I turn back to Blair. “My hand and me, okay? Gross and awkward, but that’s who Fletch says I’ll wind up with because I won’t date.”

Not really a lie because he gives me shit all the time for that. Fletcher cracks up and then stands, scooping the rest of his cereal in his mouth and heading for the sink. “Yup, they’ll be very happy together.”

Blair sighs and shakes her head. “So glad I asked.” She cringes but then laughs because she’s cool as hell. “Although, totally normal and all that supportive parent shit I’m supposed to say.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Fletcher puts his bowl in the dishwasher and then grabs his backpack. “I’m off. I have a tutoring session.” He’s so smart, he actually volunteers to tutor the much, much dumber kids. He’s a year younger than me—Bree’s age, but he’s in my senior class because he skipped a grade.

And he can’t wait to go to college next year. More school. Fun.

“Do you need anything?” Blair rises from the table and crosses the room to him.