My Girlfriends Brother || Reddie

Chapter Twenty Five

The week leading up to Richie's 18th birthday party was chaotic, emotional, and filled with an almost palpable tension for everyone involved. While the Losers Club was busy organizing the big event, Richie himself was trying to ignore the storm of feelings swirling in his chest. Between his unresolved feelings for Eddie and his lingering guilt over his breakup with Lexi, the impending milestone of adulthood felt more daunting than celebratory.

Richie sat in the school cafeteria with the Losers, half-heartedly picking at a bag of chips while Beverly rattled off a checklist for the party.

"Okay, so we've got the venue—Mike's barn," she said, twirling a pen between her fingers. "We've got the music—Bill's bringing his speakers. And Stan and I are in charge of decorations."

"Yeah, yeah," Richie muttered, slouching in his seat. "Just make sure there's plenty of beer."

Beverly rolled her eyes. "We're not turning your party into a frat house, Richie. But sure, we'll grab some."

Across the table, Eddie glanced up from his notebook. He hadn't said much all lunch, and his silence didn't go unnoticed by Richie. Their eyes met briefly before Eddie quickly looked away, his cheeks tinged pink.

"Who's handling the invites?" Stan asked, ignoring the tension between Richie and Eddie.

"I am," Richie said, sitting up straighter. "Texted half the school already. The rest'll hear about it by word of mouth."

"Subtle," Stan said dryly, earning a laugh from the group.

Eddie stayed quiet, but his mind raced. He hadn't officially been invited, but the Losers had already made it clear they expected him to come. Still, the idea of being at Richie's party—surrounded by Richie's energy—made his stomach twist in ways he didn't want to think about.

Later that week, the barn where the party was to be held was a flurry of activity. Mike, Stan, and Beverly spent the evening stringing up lights and setting up tables, while Bill worked on getting the sound system just right.

Richie showed up late, claiming he'd been "busy," though no one believed him. His mood was lighter that night, cracking jokes and throwing straw at Stan whenever he wasn't paying attention.

"Can't believe you're finally turning 18," Beverly said, nudging Richie with her elbow. "Feel old yet?"

"Old enough to buy lotto tickets and cigarettes," Richie quipped, grinning. "What more could I want?"

Eddie arrived briefly to drop off some decorations he'd made with Stan, but he didn't stay long. Richie noticed the way Eddie avoided looking directly at him, and it left an ache in his chest he couldn't explain.

The day before the party, Richie found himself pacing his room, his nerves getting the better of him. Turning 18 felt like a line in the sand—a shift into adulthood that he wasn't sure he was ready for.

He thought about Eddie. About Lexi. About the mess of feelings he'd been wrestling with for months.

Nancy poked her head into Richie's room, her sharp eyes immediately taking in the mess—clothes scattered across the floor, his desk buried under loose papers, and his guitar propped up in the corner with a broken string. She raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.

"You okay, Rich?" she asked, her tone equal parts concerned and teasing.

Richie, who had been pacing back and forth like a caged animal, froze mid-step. He shot her a quick glance before flopping onto his unmade bed, his arm slung over his eyes. "Yeah," he muttered. "Just thinking."

Nancy stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. She walked over to his desk and started picking up the papers, glancing at the doodles and scribbled lyrics. "You sure? Because you've been stomping around up here like an elephant for the past hour."