Page 19 of Don't Puck Your Best Friend’s Girl

I watch his profile, the way his jaw works as he speaks, the subtle shifts in his expression as memories surface.

"My dad used to cheat on my mom all the fucking time, and I guess a part of me thought it was okay because my mom always just took him back. Sandy hated it, but I wanted her to take him back because I didn't want my parents to divorce."

Something painful twists in my chest as I recognize the echoes of my own broken family in his words.

"My dad resented Sanderson, and then I became his pride and joy, which I didn't have before. I took pride in that because my mom favored Sandy. But my dad still favored him somehow because of hockey. Being smart was all I had."

He pauses, and I find myself hanging on his every word, desperate to understand this version of him I've never seen before.

"But outside of that, I like to go hiking. I like to travel. I'm a nerd when it comes to business. I love knowing the ins and outs of all the numbers like business expenses, the income, net profits, gross, you name it. Uh, what else? I can speak Spanish, some German, and some Mandarin."

"Wow," I interrupt, overwhelmed by the realization that I've misjudged him entirely. Beneath the cocky exterior is someone much more complex, someone with wounds and dreams I had no idea existed. And he is actually smart. I thought it was just a façade. "I'm sorry. Continue."

He clasps his hands together, staring down at them. "I don't know what else to say. I guess I can add that I know what I'm like and how it comes off. I know I'm being a turd by joining the hockey team, but I think there's a side of things you don't understand. I am actually good at hockey," he laughs softly. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to be on the team so quickly."

"Tell me that again," I say as I lean in, "You know you're a condescending ass?"

He nods, unsurprised by my bluntness. "Oh, I know." He runs a hand through his hair. "I guess it comes from when my parents split. I would hear my dad yell certain things and then take it back, and my mom would always say that he didn't take responsibility for any of his actions, and I didn't want to be like that. I knew that if I did something, it didn't matter how fucking stupid or reckless it was, I would hold myself accountable. That's why I was so open about Hannah and my brother, and how I cheated on her. Look, I know it's fucked up. I do. We all make mistakes, don't we? I can't be perfect."

He appears stressed after that last sentence. He inhales deeply, and without conscious thought, I reach for his hands and intertwine my fingers with his. The contact sends a shiver through me, an electric current that makes my skin tingle. I'm seeing him, really seeing him, perhaps for the first time.

"What's this?" he asks, his fingers playing with mine. Each light touch sends sparks racing up my arm.

"I see you," I whisper, offering a tentative smile.

"It's your turn," he says, gently pulling his hands away and rubbing his palms together.

My heart races at the thought of him pulling away from me, at the prospect of opening myself up to him, of showing him the parts of myself I normally keep hidden. I rub my hands together too.

"I… I haven't sat with myself long enough to understand myself like you have. But if I had to start somewhere, it would be the fact that my dad left when I was very little."

The words come slowly at first, then faster as I find my rhythm. "My mom had a gaping hole where he once was, but he went on to have another family with a few different women."

I swallow hard, pushing past the lump forming in my throat. "He used to cheat on all of them, and it made me so mad because he left me and my mom, and then to find out he was just cheating over and over again was so…"

To my horror, a tear slips out and slides down my cheek. Cade's fingers brush against my skin, gentle as he wipes it away. I stare into his eyes, shocked by his touch. Why am I telling him, of all people, things I've never even fully admitted to myself?

I take a deep breath, steadying myself as he tends to the other two tears that fall out. My fingers wrap around his wrist, drawing strength from the solid feel of him as I continue. "I knew it bothered me, but I'm not like you, Cade. I don't face my problems. I bottle it up, and I guess it comes out in all the wrong ways because I know I've been really mean to you."

He wipes the next tear, his touch surprisingly tender. He whispers, "It's a defense mechanism to protect yourself."

I laugh through my tears, grateful for the moment of lightness. "Look at you using your smart brain to figure me out."

He shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. "It's pretty simple actually, and it makes sense."

"Are you always this kind?" I ask, suddenly realizing that he's not annoying me or being condescending.

His eyes stare into mine as he says, "Would you hate me more if I told you that I am?"

I can't help but grin at him. "Why am I even crying? It must be the alcohol. This is so embarrassing." I chuckle, wiping my tears.

"Mm," he hums, studying me. "You're one of those." He pulls his hands back, and I immediately miss the warmth of his touch. "One of those people that continue to brush things under the rug. Maybe you should write a letter to your dad and burn it."

I roll my eyes, grateful for the excuse to break eye contact. "Okay, are you a therapist now?"

He shakes his head. "Tell me more."

I sigh, wiping at my eyes. I pull out my phone to check my makeup in the camera, a habit whenever I cry. The screen shows no texts from Byron, and the reality of our breakup hits me anew, a fresh wound layered over old scars.

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