Hostile(44)

“Fuck you. I do. I want to know all the things.”

“No,” I say firmly, but shit, I smile too. “I’m not talking about this. I told you we’ve done stuff.”

“Stuff could mean so many things. I want details, dammit.” Her eyes are sparkling with mischief, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I have my best friend back.

“No.”

She huffs and lays her head on my shoulder. “So that’s why he’s not out?”

I nod, leaning my head against hers. “Yeah. I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to. He has some pretty big dreams, and if he wants them to come true, he has to play by his dad’s rules.”

“That’s fucked up, Rhett.”

I agree, and it guts me far more than I can admit. “I know.”

“But what about you?” I turn as she lifts her head to look at me again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were into dudes? You know I couldn’t care less about that. If it’s your truth, it’s beautiful.”

I love my best friend. I may not be in love with her, but I love her. I kiss her temple and then tuck her back into my side. “I don’t know my truth.”

“What?”

I don’t know how to explain this, but I give it my best shot. “Until Grayson . . .” I sigh and shake my head with a small smile just thinking about him. “I didn’t feel attracted to anyone that way. I thought I was broken.”

“Tell me more.”

“I knew when someone was attractive, but I didn’t want to . . .”

“Fuck them,” she supplies, and I nod my head.

“Yeah. Until him, which makes no sense whatsoever. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you, Bree. I was just trying to figure it all out, I guess. I still don’t get it.”

She turns her body so she can look up at me, a sad, sweet smile on her pretty face. “Tell me about him.”

“Grayson?” I gaze down at her in confusion, and when she nods, I shrug the shoulder she’s lying on. “You know him.”

She shakes her head, her hair moving against my shoulder and tickling my neck. “Not the real him. I know what I’ve seen at school and his jackass friends. I don’t know what led to you being attracted to him.”

I laugh at that. “Him being a real pain in the ass.”

Her nose crinkles, and her brows furrow, still with the pretty smile on her face. “What does that mean?”

“He saw me walking in the rain one day and insisted on giving me a ride. I was late for the mission, so I agreed, but the fucker wouldn’t leave. He stayed and volunteered too. God, Bree, he made Laney laugh. Full-on laugh. This kid who wouldn’t let anyone in, who has some insane trauma and trust issues, and he had her laughing on the first damn day within seconds. And then, he wanted to keep going back.”

She sits up straighter, watching me intently. “What else?”

“He draws.” I shake my head, still unable to believe it. “And he does it well. Ms. Holler showed me his old work, and it’s bold and bright. It’s perfect.” I realize I’m smiling way too big when her eyes light up, watching me talk about Grayson. I’m embarrassed and shrink back into the couch a little, wanting her to say something and move on from this awkward moment, but she keeps smiling at me.

“You’re an idiot.”

“What?” That’s not what I was expecting.

“Of course, you’re attracted to him. Those kids—volunteering—that’s the most important thing in your life. And he just waltzed in and was a natural with them. Hot.”

I fight a grin. “It was pretty cool.”

She lays back against my shoulder again, resting her head there. “We have issues. Fletch, you, and me. We don’t trust easily, not at all. It makes sense that you’d need a really solid connection before you could feel free enough to trust someone with your body.”

“Then why didn’t I want you?” The question may be hurtful, but it bugs the hell out of me. I can understand maybe I’m pansexual or even demisexual, but why didn’t I want Bree that way. She’s gorgeous, funny, and perfect in every way.

“Maybe you see me as a sister.” She shudders, and I laugh. “But also, I don’t think sexuality is that black and white. There are gray areas. It’s up to you what you identify as, I can’t tell you that. And if you don’t need a label, that’s okay too. But we both know I can’t draw for shit.” I snort because she can’t. She can barely draw a stick figure. She punches me and then goes on, “And those kids . . .” Her voice grows sad.

“Bree . . .”

She shakes her head, and she sounds like she’s about two seconds from sobbing. “I can’t be around them. Every time I went there with you, I felt like I was going to suffocate. And I feel guilty as hell because I got out and they didn’t, and they remind me of a time I don’t want to think about.”

I kiss the top of her head. “It’s okay. We all deal with our pasts in different ways. Something that’s therapeutic for me is traumatic for you. You don’t need to feel guilty about that.”

I feel her smile, and she wipes a tear from her cheek. “He can do that though. And he cares. I get why you see him that way. Why you can do stuff with him. And I’m happy for you.”