Page 18 of My Brother's Best Friend

My breathing quickened, and I rocked back in the seat, hitting my head against the rest. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I hadn’t even had a choice. I’d wanted to spend the night with Maddie, but my drunk ass had had to ruin it by being myself.

Why the fuck did I mention Sandra’s name? What is wrong with me?

Another hour of staring at flashing ambulance lights and sick men and women walking into the ER. And then two o’clock turned to three o’clock. And three turned to six at night.

My phone buzzed on the seat beside me—messages from my teammates, coach, and parents, all wondering why I hadn’t shown up for hockey or dinner. Part of me never wanted to set foot on the ice. I wanted to stay in bed forever.

No more parties. No more drinking.

That would never happen to me again.

If I told my coach, he wouldn’t believe me. If I told my parents, they wouldn’t believe me. If I told my teammatesagain, they wouldn’t believe me either. They’d all ask me if I had been drinking, if I had really wanted it, if I didn’t remember coming on to the girl.

My memory was shot from that night.

Fucking shot.

Chest tight—almost to the point where I couldn’t breathe—I slammed my fist into the steering wheel. Then, I picked up my phone, ignored all the other messages, and scrolled to Maddie’s contact. We had each other’s numbers—from that one time years ago when I had gotten up the courage to talk to her—but we had never once messaged each other.

Me: Can we talk?

Almost instantly, she read the message.

Little gray bubbles appeared next to her profile picture that I had snapped of her at one of my games, standing in the bleachers, her frizzy red hair curled and a complete mess on top of her head. But I thought she looked cute.

The bubbles disappeared.

Fuck.

After running my hand over my face, I turned on the car and drove out of the hospital lot. I couldn’t go in. Not now. I’d do it before I did anything else with Maddie—ifI did anything else with her—but … now, it was useless.

I wouldn’t be able to deal with the questions.

Once I merged onto the main road, I headed home.

Maddie wanted nothing to do with me, and I didn’t blame her. Oliver had made it seem like I had basically cheated on Maddie with whoever the fuck had drugged me the other night. And if I were Maddie, I wouldn’t want a sorry excuse for an explanation either.

We barely knew each other, but she was the only person who could calm me down. She didn’t even know it either. Every time I looked up into the student section of the bleachers during a hockey game. Every time my thoughts got the worst of me at school in AP Calc. Every time I made an excuse to hang out with Oliver when I really just wanted to see her.

When I pulled into my driveway, I blew out a deep breath, leaned against my seat, and closed my eyes. The door opened, and Dad appeared in front of it with a glass of top-shelf whiskey in his hand.

I cursed to myself and slipped out of the car, grabbing my hockey gear from the back. Walking up the walkway, I could smell the thick scent of ham and pineapple from one of the open windows.

Dad stepped out into the chilly fall night and held the door open for me. “You missed dinner.”

You miss dinner every Friday and Saturday with your fucking business meetings.

“Sorry,” I forced myself to say instead.

He slung his arm around my shoulders. “How was practice?”

“Good.”

He leaned even closer to me. “And the party Friday night?”

I tensed. “It was fine.”

“Something happen?” he asked, a small smirk on his lips and a brow arched.

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