Hostile(8)

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.