Page 5 of Rhett

“Get out of the way, Dust,” Morgan seethes.

“No.” He tries to put a hand on Morgan, but Morgan jerks away.

“Don’t touch me. I can’t believe you…”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I don’t know what happened.”

“Fuck you, Dusty. And fuck you too, Rhett. The two of you can have each other,” Morgan spits while that darkness inside me, the parts of me that are like my dad grow.

Dusty tries to stop him, but Morgan says, “I can’t do this with you. Don’t talk to me. Don’t follow me. You chose him.”

And then, my brother is gone.

“Fuck!” Dusty shouts. “Why the hell did you kiss me?”

Because of course it’s my fault. Everything always is. I stand, wiping the blood off my face. “You kissed me.” The night spinsthrough my head, making me dizzy. “I’m not… I haven’t… I’m not into guys.”

The pain on Dusty’s face damn near breaks my heart. He’s crumbling right before me, knowing he just lost the most important person in the world to him…and that’s what this was about. I knew it then, but it hits me like another punch, this one to the gut. I don’t want Dusty…but for once it would be nice to be the one someone wanted. “I’m not him.” I turn away.

“I know. We’re not like that. He’s my best friend.” Now, it seems, it’s Dusty’s turn to lie.

“So that’s me you wanted to kiss just now?”

The look he refuses to give me says it all. “Why did you kiss me back? You said you’re not even queer.”

I’m still wrapping my head around all the reasons, but there’s no denying part of the truth. “We both know why.” To get back at Morgan. At least…I think. What kind of person does that make me?

Dad, Dad, Dad.

“What’s wrong with me?” I ask. “I can’t… I gotta go.”

“Rhett!” Dusty calls after me, but I keep going, walking away, to be anywhere but here.

I stumble around most of the night, wishing I could be like Morgan—independent, leave for good.

When I get back to the house, East is heading inside while Morgan’s walking down the porch steps.

“Don’t go,” I say.

“Fuck you. Like you care. You just wanted to hurt me.”

“Yes,” I admit. Lying won’t change the truth.

“I fucking hate you!” he says, and then we’re yelling at each other again, always yelling.

When he shoves me away and heads to the car, I say, “Don’t leave him. Don’t throw everything away because of me.”

But Morgan doesn’t reply…and then he’s gone.

I stand in the middle of the yard, watching the sunrise, looking out at the water where we lost Ella when she and East were nine.

It’s early morning when I make my way into the house. East is in the kitchen, and he looks like shit, beat up and clearly drunk.

“What did you do?” he asks, knowing where the fault lies.

“Morgan was always going to leave.”

“You did the same.”

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