Leaving muddy puddles on the kitchen floor, I strip off my sodden jeans and throw them in the hamper. Thankfully, the shirt I’m wearing is oversized, and even when wet and sticking to every inch of my skin it still comes down to my knees.

I do all this with a frantic abandon, forgetful and uncaring of the others probably sleeping, and it’s no surprise when I finally reach the top of the stairs to find Rhys there, rubbing his sleep tired eyes.

I don’t know what it is, but the sight of my brother awake, having rushed out of bed because he heard someone in distress, is the crack that breaks the dam of my emotions. I whimper and fall into his arms, fitful sobs pouring from trembling lips.

The old Rhys wouldn’t have cared if the house was being burgled around him. This Rhys—this grown-up version—cared, and seemingly cared a lot.

“Shh,” he soothes as he pulls me into his arms and guides me to his bedroom. “Don’t cry, Flower. Everything is going to be alright.”

His easy acceptance of my crying leads me to believe he thinks I’m upset about Max’s surgery tomorrow, nothing more nothing less, and that makes me sob harder until his t-shirt is wet with my pain, guilt, grief, and shame.

He gathers me up, sets me down on his bed and passes me a tissue—I don’t even want to think about why he has a jumbo box of them on his bedside table. Rhys doesn’t suffer from colds, and I can’t imagine he’s a much of a crier—unlike me, it seems.

I wipe at my face until I feel my skin began to get red and sore, and when I’ve finally used up the last of my meagre energy, I lie down on his pillow and offer him a weak, “Sorry.”

“Is this about Max?” he asks concerned. “Because if it is, you shouldn’t worry. He’s got this.”

When I don’t say anything in return, he sits down next to me and questions awkwardly, “Or is this about Galen?”

My eyes snap up to his face, and he shrugs and adds, “I saw him just as wet as you at the foot of the stairs. You probably didn’t notice because of all—” He makes a circular motion with his pointer finger around my face. “—that.”

“It’s hard for him,” I croak through my tight throat. “He only has his dad.”

“He’s got Mum and us too,” he says simply, looking at me like I should know this already.

“I mean proper relatives. Blood. Family.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Blood? Family? I didn’t peg you to be so judgmental of who or what is family, Sis. It doesn’t matter that we aren’t his blood. We’ve had two homes for a long time now, and Galen is our family, Fflur. You know it, I know it, and he knows it.”

Who is this strange, adult-like boy, and what has he done with my brother?

“When did you suddenly decide not to hate them all?”

“I never hated them.”

Now it’s my turn to snort. “You could’ve fooled me and everyone else. What’s changed?”

“Life, Fflur,” he says slightly exasperated with me, like he’s old enough to have figured out the meaning of it all, including the universe, and black holes, and quantum physics. And love and emotions. “Life changed. This is ours now. Besides—” he winks at me and gives a little smirk. “—you can’t choose your family so why should getting to choose Galen and Max be any different?”

I would have picked you, Fflur.

If I’m truthful with myself, that was the moment I allowed my heart to be honest with my head. It was the moment I stopped trying to bury my love for Galen and plastered over it with a band aid called ‘friendship’. In hindsight, his declaration was what eventually led me to tonight—the night I confessed I was in love with him. The night I gave him my immature heart and he gave it right back.

“I think you’re wrong,” I say, my fingers fussing with a loose thread on his covers. “I would’ve chosen them. Both of them. But you are right about one thing, this is our life now. Our family.”

Rhys accepts my response and turns serious. He brushes hair from my forehead, wipes the remaining wetness from my cheeks and promises, “Even when I’m not around, you know I’m here for you Fflur. Don’t you?”

His words drive straight into the ache in my chest.

Soon Rhys will leave for University, and Galen’s plans were to take a year out and work on the band, but will all that have changed now?

I must prepare myself to lose them both and be alone. It’s the natural progression of life. These boys I grew up with are now young men, and I soon will become a young woman.

We won’t be kids anymore.

We likely won’t live together anymore.

“Have you been accepted into your first choice uni?” I ask, knowing that Max’s illness has taken precedent over everything else, including the important news in each other’s lives.

“Yeah, I’m heading to Loughborough. They have a great sports department. I’ve been accepted on their Sports Science degree course.”

How did I not know this?

“Wow,” I say genuinely impressed, and I force a fake smile of excitement on my face. I mean, I’m proud of my brother, but this makes everything more real.

He’s leaving.

“That’s amazing, Rhys. Are you going into dorms?”

“Yeah,” he says excitedly. “I’m sure Mum will let you visit sometimes if I promise to look after you.”

“I’d like that,” I offer softly, my thoughts turning inward towards Galen.

Will he be leaving soon too?

Will I end up alone?

Max is home.

His operation deemed a success.

Mum and Galen hug—cwtch—in the doorway to their bedroom, watching as Max sleeps. Despite being allowed home, he’s still tired, still in need of care.

They turn to face Rhys and me, both their faces equally as worn out and weary as the other’s. Neither has eaten or slept well over the last few months. Both of them consumed with Max and his illness.

“Thanks,” Mum says as she walks towards us, guiding Galen out of the room. Her eyes land on each one of us, and a tear escapes her eye. She wipes it away with the pads of her fingers. “I love you all so so much. I’m proud of us all, what we have. Our family means the world to me, and Max.”

Her words are a magnet, and we knot together, arms encircling each other, into a brief group hug before Rhys and Mum head downstairs to make lunch.

I walk towards Max and Mum’s bedroom door just as Galen walks away towards the TV room. As I peek through the open doorway, the first sounds of Galen playing his guitar trickle through the air.

The melody is light, hopeful, and filled with life.

Max is tucked up underneath the bed covers, his eyes fluttering open to stare at the open window. When he hears Galen’s music, his eyes slide shut once more, and he smiles.

I look at the vase of white Anemones sitting on the windowsill—a flower that symbolizes, fragility, hope and get-well wishes—and without entering the room, I tell them about my day. I tell them about a strong, patient man, an enduring love, and the boy and woman that own his world.