They moved us into this big-ass house that’s full of shit I could never have imagined, including a heated pool in the backyard I use frequently. We each have a car of our own, although I rarely drive mine because I feel guilty. I feel like I didn’t earn it, so I shouldn’t drive it.

They want us to focus on school. And they pay for a fancy prep school kids like me would never have a shot at. And I hate it. I fought going there for a while, but when Fletch gave in and went, I went too. To be with Bree and him. I hate the pretentious, preppy rich kids at that school. I hate the teachers who tell me I’m not applying myself. I hate the football games and the players who rule the school simply because they can catch a ball. I mean, a fucking dog can do that, but sure, let’s give them props.

I live under the same roof—a safe roof, I might add—with Bree and Fletcher, my best friends in the world. But I feel like I’m suffocating every single day when I wake up and go into my very own bathroom with the heated marble floor.

I stare at myself in the mirror, and all I feel is that I’m a fraud. That this is not me. That I don’t deserve any of it.

But I can’t tell Bree that. And I can’t tell Fletcher. Because they’re nothing but grateful, as they should be. And I, for sure, can’t tell Blair and Rhys because they’re everything I could have ever dreamed of and amazing people I do love. But none of that changes the fact that there’s something broken deep inside me.

Something clawing its way out, and I’m sinking every single day. And now, I’m eighteen.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m just in a mood.”

Bree nudges my shoulder with her smaller one, and I turn to look at her, wishing like hell I could explain it. To describe to her everything swirling around in my mind, but I don’t know how. Fletcher and she are the best things to ever happen to me and yet, I can’t talk to them anymore. Not about me.

Her small hand slides through my hair that’s grown out a little too long, and she rests her hand on the back of my head, searching my eyes with hers. I think she’s trying to comfort me. I’m sure she’s worried. I’ve been a moody asshole for a while now. But then, I notice her eyes on my lips and see her starting to lean in.

Oh. Shit.

No.

“Bree.”

“It’s okay, Rhett . . . Really.”