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.
He looks at her fondly—like the mother he never had—and shakes his head. “I’m all set. I’ll see ya tonight.”
After a quick hug, he’s gone, and Blair sits back down with me. “What about you? You need anything?”
Blair is a badass, but she’s also a caretaker type. She wants and needs everyone around her to be okay all the time. And again—I should be grateful for it. But instead, it makes me uneasy because I don’t think I’m ever going to be okay.
And I feel like I’m letting her down.
“Nope. I’m fine.”
She narrows her eyes, searching—always searching. “You sure? You’ve been . . .”
Moody. Angry. Ungrateful.
I fill in the blanks with the words she doesn’t say and stand up from the table, taking my bowl to the sink to rinse it. “I’m okay. Just eighteen. I should probably get out of your hair soon.”
She doesn’t look relieved like she should. No. Instead, she looks hurt, just like Bree. I’m on a fucking roll.
The two most important women in my life, and I’ve managed to upset them both in less than twenty-four hours. “You don’t need to leave just because you had a birthday. That’s crazy.”
But I want to.
I know, I know. I’m an asshole. I should love living here in this big fancy house.
“Yeah . . . I know.” I stand awkwardly as she examines me, hoping for a good answer. A talk where I divulge a real piece of myself like she’s been trying to make happen since I was thirteen years old. “I just kind of think . . .” I grip the back of my neck. “I think it would be good for me.”
Again with the sad eyes as she leans against the kitchen counter. “Where would you go?”
Okay, be delicate with this. Don’t tell her you’ve had this planned for a while now. “Well . . . there’s this studio apartment. It’s not too far.”
She looks surprised and carefully asks, “You already found a place?”
“Y-yeah.” I drop my hand and sigh, trying my best not to hurt her feelings. “I’m going to move in this weekend.”
Her mouth drops open slightly and then closes. I think she’s searching for something to say, but I can’t take any more guilt thrown my way. No matter how well-intentioned it is.
“Yeah. So, um . . .” I grab my backpack, “I’ll move out this weekend, and yeah . . .” I give her a quick, awkward hug and kiss on the cheek. “Thanks.”
She blinks at me, and I start for the door. “Wait.”
Damn. So close. I turn to look at her. She has her arms folded and one foot slightly in front of the other. “Yeah?”
“You’re just leaving? Just like that? You know, even if you moved across the country, you’re still part of this family, right?”
I do know that. “I’m late for school.”
“Rhett . . .”
Damn, she’s using her mom voice. “I know. And I’m glad. I want to be. I just . . .” Shit. How do explain this to the woman who has moved the earth for me? Who has taken care of me for five years and loved me even though I’ve done my best to be unlovable? “I need this.”
Her eyes soften slightly, and she takes a deep breath before she nods. “Okay. We’ll help you move your things this weekend. And if it’s too far away, I’ll just have to move in next door.”
I laugh and shake my head. “I wish you were kidding.”
She laughs too. “Nope.”
I do love her. I love them all. It’s just weird how I show it, I guess. “It’s not far.”
“Good. Now get your ass to school.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I leave, grateful for the reprieve, even if it means I have to go to the school I hate.
Anything is better than talking about my feelings.
THREE
“Lancaster!” A big, meaty arm wraps around my neck, and then a hand ruffles my hair. “You ready to party tonight?”