Page 30 of Pucking Revenge

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “We need to talk.”

She nods, and with the key in the lock, she lets us both in.

Walking into her space for the first time since the bomb dropped feels different. I peer into every corner, survey every inch of this place, with a new awareness. Are there pieces of him here? Did he sit in my spot on the couch? Did he kiss her up against the door the way I’ve fantasized of doing? Was he here living every moment I’ve ached to share with her while I sat alone in my apartment only a few floors below, completely oblivious to it all?

“He’s never been here.” She slips off her shoes and shuffles to the kitchen.

Damn, she’s so fucking perceptive. At least when she wants to be.

When she returns, she’s taken her hair down, and she’s carrying a bottle of peanut butter whiskey and two glasses. Holding them aloft, she smiles. It’s not her real smile. She’s nervous. And feeling guilty. I hate that, but I can’t erase her guilt. Can’t ease it either. There are still too many things to talk about before I know how to proceed with her.

She pads back in my direction. “Figure we might need this.”

A little lightness seeps into me then, because even when she does shots, they’re so her. Full of sugar and sweetness. This is Sara. She doesn’t have a devious bone in her body. She didn’t seduce my uncle knowing he was married. There’s no question about that. If there was even a hint of doubt in my mind, I wouldn’t be sitting here.

She sets the glasses on the coffee table and unscrews the cap from the bottle. Scooting to the edge of the couch, she pours the whiskey, but her hands shake so badly, the bourbon sloshes over onto the table.

I put my hand over hers, steadying it. “Let me.”

With a long sigh, she hands me the bottle, then slumps back against the couch. Her messy blond curls fall like a curtain around her face, hiding her eyes. The burgundy silk of her dress folds against her chest as she slides her legs beneath her and turns in my direction.

I hold out her shot, and when she takes it, the feel of her warm fingers against mine has me pulling away and throwing back my own shot quickly.

“How long?” The question escapes me as I’m refilling my glass.

“We’re diving right in, I see.” She’s zeroed in on her full shot glass, lips and hands trembling.

“Need to rip the Band-Aid off, Sar. Let’s get it all out now, and then we don’t have to talk about it again.”

Her eyes meet mine. “During the playoffs,” she breathes. “But I didn’t know he was married, Brooks. I swear to God, he told me he was divorced.”

With an elbow on one knee, I turn toward the dark window and take a deep breath. That motherfucker. “He married my aunt when I was five. I always thought I was so lucky to witness a love like theirs. To be his nephew.” The words are bitter and sharp as I release them, like shards of glass tearing at my lungs.

Beside me, Sara sniffles, garnering my attention. Her eyes are welling with tears again, and as they crest over her lashes, she swipes them away quickly.

I sit up straight and bat at her hand gently, using a thumb to wipe at the fat tear forming on her lash line before it can hit her skin again. Tender. Soft. “I’m sorry he lied to you.”

She shakes her head, and a sob breaks free of her chest. “Why are you apologizing? If I’d just talked to you, if I hadn’t listened to him and agreed to sneak around, I would have known the truth a long time ago.”

“Love makes people do stupid things,” I whisper.

Her lips twist at that word—love—but she doesn’t deny it, and another piece of my heart splinters.

I remove my hand from her face and run it through my hair, pushing away the pain so we can get through this.

“Why did you act like you were my boyfriend tonight? Why did you come to my rescue after you found out about what I’ve done? You must hate me.” Sara licks her lips and finally takes her shot, though she keeps those teary blue eyes trained on me as she does.

My elbows fall to my knees as I consider her question. Really think about it and try to recall what I was thinking. But the truth is, I wasn’t.

“I know you, Sara. You would never knowingly have an affair with a married man. But the truth is, I didn’t think before I acted. When I saw my uncle in your face, when I heard the way he was speaking to you, I reacted.” I take in a deep breath and tug my hair out of its tie. “Since I was a kid, my uncle has preached about what I need to do in order to be successful. I’ve always listened and worked hard to obey his every instruction. He was my idol. My entire life, I’ve done everything he’s told me to do.” Anger surges up inside me at the memory of his disapproving look at practice this morning. “He told me to stay away from you—that I should avoid relationships—but he never had my best interest in mind. He convinced me to stay away because he wanted you for himself. He took the fears I’ve held on to since childhood—the hurt that came every time my parents put work above me and my siblings—and he used them to keep me from being honest with you.”

She nods as a tear slides down her face. I don’t brush this one, though. I don’t trust myself to touch her when we’re both this raw.

“And what would you have told me if you were being honest?”

I close my eyes to steady myself. The alcohol is making me woozy. Now is not the time to admit to feelings I’m not sure still exist.When I open them again, I force myself to look at her. “Nothing.”

She winces, though she tries to cover it with a heavy breath. “So what happens tomorrow?”

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