Page 132 of Well That Happened

I call an emergency house meeting.

And by “call,” I mean I hobble into the living room with my ankle wrapped and my hospital bracelet still half-attached, dramatically drop onto the couch, and announce:

“We need to lie. A lot.”

Caleb’s head pops around the corner. “You rang?”

Grayson appears behind him, drying his hands with a dish towel. Hunter’s the last to enter, lingering in the hallway like he’s considering whether he can pretend he didn’t hear me.

He can’t.

“This sounds like trouble,” Caleb says, dropping beside me and flinging an arm across the back of the couch. “I’m in.”

“You don’t even know what the situation is,” Grayson points out.

“Doesn’t matter,” Caleb says. “If Rilee’s calling an emergency meeting, it’s either dramatic or illegal, and both are my favorite categories.”

Hunter crosses his arms. “What now?”

I take a breath. “Fletcher’s coming.” With everything that’s been going on—Thanksgiving and then twisting my ankle, I kind of let it slip my mind.”

All three guys freeze.

“Here?” Grayson asks, like maybe I meantemotionallycoming, notgeographically.

“Yes. This house. This weekend.”

“That’s in two days,” Gray points out.

There’s a beat of silence. Then Caleb says, “Well. That’s going to be… intense.”

“Intense?” I echo. “Fletcher once threatened my junior prom date with pepper spray. For bringing me home at 10:06.”

Grayson blinks. “Was your curfew ten?”

“No, it was ten-thirty,” I say. “He’s always been this way.”

“Reasonable,” Hunter mutters.

“Fletcher isveryprotective,” I say, unnecessarily. “And considering he can’t know about—this,” I wave my hand toward them, “we need a plan.”

“A lie,” Caleb says, nodding. “An elaborate one. I like it.”

Grayson frowns. “I don’t know…”

“Do you want to be the one to explain the fleshlight in the bathroom?” I ask.

Grayson raises both hands. “I’m in.”

Hunter just scowls. “This won’t work.”

I turn to him. “You have a better idea?”

“I have arealisticone,” he growls. “Your brother’s fragile. He’s in recovery. He was addicted to chasing highs—physical, emotional. You drop him into a house full of lies and secrets, and what happens when it unravels? We don’t know if he’s recovered enough to have solid coping skills.”

I bite my thumbnail. “He can’t know. I can’t stress him out, Hunter. He’sbetter, but he’s not—he’s notsteadyyet.”

Hunter’s jaw clenches. “Then we don’t give him something to obsess over.”

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