Page 21 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

We're sitting at a corner table at The Grind, the coffee shop where not too long ago I was spilling matcha down Cade's shirt and pants. I push the memory away, focusing instead on the cup between my hands, the familiar chatter of my friends.

"Classic Tyler," Lennox rolls her eyes. "Always trying to be the smartest guy in the room."

"Speaking of smart guys," Greta says, flexing her arm dramatically, "did I tell you what my new trainer said about my form? Apparently, I've been doing deadlifts wrong for like, six months."

"No way," Finley gasps with exaggerated shock. "The great Greta, form queen, doing something wrong?"

"Shut up," Greta throws a napkin at her. "It was a minor adjustment. He said my hip hinge was too shallow."

"Ooh, hip hinge," Lennox wiggles her eyebrows. "Sexy."

"It's functional anatomy," Greta protests, but she's smiling. "You guys should come with me sometime. The endorphin rush is better than sex."

"Hard disagree," Lennox says, glancing at me. "Right, Hannah?"

Before I can answer, the bell above the door chimes. And because the universe hates me, Cade walks in.

I inhale sharply, my grip tightening on my cup. Lennox, bless her, immediately places a reassuring hand on my forearm.

Cade's eyes sweep the café, landing on our table. For a moment, we lock gazes, and I see a storm of emotions cross his face—surprise, hurt, anger. Then his expression hardens, jaw clenching as he deliberately looks away.

I watch as he orders, his shoulders rigid, his movements stiff. Everything about him screams discomfort. When he leaves with his drink, I let out a breath.

"Okay, what was that with Cade?" Finley asks, looking between me and the door.

"You guys broke up, right?" Greta asks.

I nod, unable to find my voice.

"Things didn't work out," Lennox jumps in smoothly. "Hannah's ready to move on."

"His loss," Finley declares loyally. "You're a catch, Han."

I manage a weak smile, grateful for friends who don't press for details. "Thanks."

The conversation shifts back to Greta's gym adventures, but my mind stays on Cade, on the anger in his eyes. I hadn't expected him to be happy to see me, but the intensity of his reaction caught me off guard.

Back in my room that evening, I find myself dissecting what it means to be an "ex." The word feels strange applied to Cade and me. We never slept together. We barely did anything physical beyond some heated kissing sessions. We dated for less than two months.

So why does it hurt so much? Why did he look at me with such betrayal? How much did he actually like me?

I think about his apparent anger at the café, the way he couldn't even bear to be in the same room as me. He must have liked me more than I realized. The thought brings a fresh wave of guilt.

But in the cusp of a breakup, there's nothing to do but move forward. I've cried enough tears. I've confided in Lennox, and somehow, sharing the burden has made it lighter. The only way past this is through it, and the only way through it is to put it behind me completely.

I pull out my Bio Ethics textbook, determined to focus on something I can control. As I flip to the chapter on medical confidentiality, I try to convince myself that forgetting is possible. That I can leave this mistake—and both Connolly brothers—in the past where they belong.

Chapter 8

The bus hums beneath me, vibrating through my aching muscles as we head back to campus. We won—barely—but Coach still ripped us a new one for sloppy defensive play in the third period. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I half expect it to be another girl whose name I barely remember.

Instead, it's Cade.

Cade:You back tonight? Can you get me into the athletic gym? Need to blow off steam.

I stare at the text, guilt and curiosity warring in my chest. We haven't really talked since that brief, awkward call.

Sanderson:Yeah. Meet you there at 10.

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