Page 17 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

I want her.

More than I've wanted anyone in a long time.

And while I'll give her space—for now—I'm not giving up.

Not when I know, beyond any doubt, that she might feel the same way.

Chapter 7

The crying has finally subsided, mostly. I still feel the occasional wave crash over me without warning, but at least I can make it through a lecture without excusing myself to the bathroom. Progress, I guess.

The guilt, though—that lingers like a permanent shadow, following me everywhere. Cade hasn't called or texted since our confrontation outside the humanities building, which somehow makes me feel both better and worse. Better because I don't have to face his hurt and confusion. Worse because his silence feels like confirmation that whatever we had is truly over.

I hear people talking about the hockey game this Friday. Conference semifinals. It shouldn't matter to me at all, but I find myself listening more intently whenever Sanderson's name comes up in conversation. I'm curious about him in a way I don't want to be. Why haven't I seen him around campus before? What is he studying? Is he actually a good athlete, or just riding the bench?

And why—why—did Cade never once mention that his brother attended the same college? Why didn't he ever introduce us?

The thought sends an uncomfortable realization through me. Maybe Cade was never that serious about me. Maybe he was keeping his options open, compartmentalizing his life. If that's true, then maybe the breakup was inevitable.

On Friday night, someone knocks on my door. I ignore it at first, assuming it's my RA checking on why I've been such a hermit lately. But then I hear a familiar voice.

"Hannah! Open up! I know you're in there—I can hear you breathing."

Lennox. I drag myself off the bed and open the door. She stands there with a shopping bag in one hand and her laptop in the other, eyebrows raised at my disheveled appearance.

"Wow," she says, pushing past me into the room. "You look like shit."

"Thanks," I mutter, closing the door behind her.

"Lucky for you," she continues, unpacking the bag, "I come bearing gifts. Sour Patch Kids, chocolate-covered pretzels, those weird Scandinavian licorice things you like, and…" She holds up her laptop. "The entire collected works of early 2000s rom-coms. Your favorite cinematic era of questionable feminism and unrealistic expectations."

Despite everything, I feel a smile tug at my lips. "You didn't have to do this."

"Yeah, well," she shrugs, arranging the candy on my desk, "I haven't seen you in days. You're talkative on texts anymore. You broke up with your boyfriend? I mean, come on."

I sit cross-legged on my bed, watching her set everything up. "How did you know about the breakup?"

"Small campus," she says, not looking at me. "Plus, Cade's been moping around like someone ran over his dog."

Something in my chest twists painfully. "He has?"

Lennox turns to me then, arms crossed. "Okay, enough. What happened? One minute you're all 'tonight's the night, I'm finally going to sex him up,' and the next, you're ghosting everyone and he looks like death."

I open my mouth to give the same vague excuses I've been rehearsing, but instead, to my horror, I burst into tears.

"Shit," Lennox sits beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Hannah, what is it? What did he do?"

I shake my head, unable to form words through the sobs.

"Did he pressure you?" Her voice hardens. "Did he hurt you? Because I swear to God—"

"No," I manage to choke out. "No, it wasn't him. It was me. I did something. I made a huge mistake. A massive, life-altering mistake, and I can't…I can't even…"

"Hey, hey," she soothes, rubbing my back. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

I laugh, a wet, hysterical sound. "Oh, it can. It really, really can."

She waits while I pull myself together, handing me tissues from my nightstand.

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