6. Fletcher

Bree is a high-school graduate. I can't believe it. I mean, she's smart as hell, but still, there was a time when I didn't think any of us would get here. I'm in college. Rhett is a tattoo artist after graduating from high school, and now Bree is a high-school graduate and going to college.

That is, if she'd make up her mind about where she's going. She's been awfully dodgy about the question for a while now but especially today. And believe me, a lot of people asked her that very question today.

She always makes some excuse and just walks off. I asked Blair about it, who said she hasn't officially enrolled anywhere yet. I can tell Blair is getting twitchy about it and can't blame her.

But the party guests are long gone tonight, and when I sneak down into the kitchen to grab something to eat, I'm surprised to see Bree walking in through the kitchen door. Well, more like stumbling through the door.

"Shit," she curses when she trips but catches herself before actually falling.

"Bree?"

"Holy fuck," she gasps and places a hand over her heart. "What are you doing down here in the middle of the night?"

I size her up—she's wearing the same thing she had on at the party—t-shirt and tattered jeans with her favorite tennis shoes—but her long hair is a little tousled and even in the low light of the kitchen nightlight above the stove, I can see she's wasted. "I was hungry. Now you."

She waves me off and closes the door before walking further into the kitchen and closer to me. "I was celebrating." I can smell the alcohol on her breath but don't call her on it. It's not like I didn't party a little, here and there, in high school.

"You okay, Bree?" I ask her instead because I know she's not. I can feel it. Rhett was definitely right. Something is up.

"I'm fine. I'm going to bed."

She starts to walk past me, but I gently reach for her wrist. "Bree, talk to me," I plead with her, using my eyes.

She doesn't really fall for it like most people do, but she sighs heavily and drops her shoulders, pulling her wrist from my grip. "I'm fine, Fletcher."

"Are you?" Rhett's deep voice causes us both to turn around at the same time, seeing him standing there in his tank top and shorts, his hair all messed up from sleep—or his boyfriend, Grayson. Don't really want to think about that.

"Oh my God," Bree exclaims, but she keeps her voice to a harsh whisper. "No. I don't need the big-brother routine from you two. I'm fine."

"I mean, we are your brothers. And we are older," Rhett says as he walks further into the kitchen and stands next to me. We stand shoulder to shoulder, our arms crossed, as we face Bree. "And it's not an act or routine, Bree. We care about you."

She waves him off, and it hurts. My heart actually pangs when she waves that off. "We do," I say firmly.

She pulls in a deep breath and lets it out in a rush. "I know you both care about me, but you have your own lives. I'm fine. I don't need you guys to take care of me. I never did."

That stings too. "I thought we always took care of each other," I say, hating that I'm letting this get to me. I want to make a joke. Brush it off. But I can't. These two have seen me at my worst. They know about most of the things I've been through.

She looks slightly guilty at that, her eyes going from mine to Rhett's and then back to me. "I got into New York."

Rhett and I stare at each other for a moment before I look back at Bree. "Bree! That's fantastic news. Why the hell are you so salty?"

I go to hug her, truly happy for her, but she holds her hands up to stop me. I don't know what her problem is. Bree wants to go into interior design. She loves it. You wouldn't think so, but she does, and she has a real eye for it. And she's had her eye on this prestigious college in New York for years. "I can't go."

"What?" My jaw drops as I lower my hands, giving up on hugging her.

Rhett takes a step forward. "What do you mean you can't go? This is your dream, Bree."

"It is." She seems to sober up a little bit and goes over to the sink, grabbing a cup and filling it with water. She takes a big swig as Rhett and I turn to look at her head-on. Waiting for her reply. She places the cup back down on the counter and leans against it, her eyes full of sadness. "But I can't leave them. After all they did for us, I can't just pick up and leave. Go to New York."

She shakes her head as if that idea is insane. I know she's talking about Blair and Rhys, but I don't understand why she feels that way. "Blair and Rhys are going to be thrilled. They want the best for you."

"You know they do, Bree," Rhett adds.

"They do, but I can't leave them like you two shitheads did." Bree hits back, and my eyebrows jump up to my hairline.

"I didn't leave them." I point at Rhett. "And he still lives in the same damn town as them. We're growing up, Bree. It happens."

She scoffs at that and then points at Rhett. "He left Rhys." Her voice has no venom in it, it's more sad. But I wince anyway because I know that was hard for Rhett to decide to work for someone else at their tattoo shop instead of at Rhys's already established, very successful one. But Rhett needed to make his own way.

"Don't do that," I say firmly.

Rhett puts his hand on my shoulder and shakes his head at me. "I did what I needed to do. It hurt like hell, and I felt like I was letting him down. But you know what? Rhys wasn't mad or upset with me. He was proud that I was doing this on my own. And he'll be happy for you too, Bree. They don't want you to put your life on hold for them."

"I'm sorry I said that, Rhett." And I can tell she means it. "We just..." She lifts her eyes, and I see the profound conflict in them. "They rescued us. Isn't it a slap in the face to go across the country?"

"No. It absolutely is not." All three of us startle this time at the sound of Blair's voice, and when I look toward the edge of the kitchen, I see she's not alone. Rhys is firmly by her side.

Bree walks back over to where Rhett and I are standing, moving between us as she faces our parents. "Oh, you are in so much trouble," I taunt, and she elbows me in the side.

"Shut up."

I can't help laughing, but stop when Blair and Rhys approach, Blair stepping closer than Rhys and grasping Bree's cheeks in her hands. "Bree, you got in, and you didn't tell us?"

"I wasn't going to go," Bree says, her voice strained with tight emotion. "I don't want to leave you all."

My heart breaks, thinking about her going that far away, but I know this is important to her. Which makes it important to all of us.

"You won't be leaving us," Blair says with that confident smile. "I know how to book a flight, and if you think I won't be stalking your life just as much as I stalk these two,"—she gestures toward Rhett and me, and we both smile before she continues, her eyes on Bree—"you're crazy, kiddo."

Bree sniffs, and Rhys walks up next to Blair, placing his hand on her shoulder. "We love you, Bree. If you want to go—and we all know you do—you should. We aren't going anywhere. We'll be here when you're ready to come back." He gives a half smile, which is massive for Rhys. "If you come back."

Blair nods easily. "Or I'll just have to pack up the whole family and move us all up there."

"Oh, God," I groan. "Bree you better come back someday because I'm not moving to New York."

She smiles brightly at me then, and I laugh because we all know if that's what we must do, we'll do it.

Blair hugs Bree close to her. "I love all of you, but you're totally insane if you think you're getting away from me."

Bree sniffs and lets Blair hold her. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I knew you'd make me go."

Blair pulls back enough to look Bree in the eyes. "Do you want to go?"

Bree bites her bottom lip for a moment, taking a brief pause before she nods her head slowly. "It's my dream."

Blair kisses her on the forehead and smiles as she does it. "Then it's our dream too. We're gonna make it happen." She hugs Bree again, and then we all wind up in a weird sort of group hug. With the non-touchers—Rhys and Rhett—awkwardly on the outside, it works for us.

Afterward, Rhys makes grilled cheese for all of us, and Blair makes hot chocolate before we sit around the kitchen table, talking about everything under the sun.

We keep it down, so we don't wake Grayson, Max, and Ian, but still, it's a damn good time.

Reminiscent of the many times we did this over the years. And there really were many. Anytime anyone couldn't sleep, we'd wind up right here. Talking everything out.

I have no idea how the hell I got so damn lucky, but regardless of what anyone thinks, I'll never take this for granted.