Page 22 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

Part of me hopes he doesn't show. The other part hopes he does, just so I can gauge how much he knows, how much Hannah told him. Because that's the thing that's been eating at me—did she tell him the truth, or is he just nursing a broken heart with no idea what caused it?

He's waiting outside the gym when I swipe us in, a duffel slung over his shoulder, his face drawn and tight. We don't speak as we change, as we claim side-by-side treadmills, as we set the same pace. Three miles at a steady clip, breathing in sync like we used to do as kids racing around the neighborhood.

I watch him from the corner of my eye, trying to read his mood. Something's definitely off, but my guilt has faded over the past week. It was an honest mistake—a fucked up joke of a mistake, but not something I planned. How Hannah handled it is on her. I didn't ask her to break up with him, only suggested to do it over text because she confessed she couldn’t face him.

"So, you going to tell me what's going on?" I finally ask, breaking the rhythm of rubber on belt.

Cade just shakes his head, eyes fixed straight ahead.

Fine. If he doesn't want to talk, I'm not going to force it. I hit the stop button on my treadmill and grab my towel, turning to leave.

"My girlfriend broke up with me," he says suddenly.

I turn back, finding his eyes for the first time tonight. Fuck, I need to act surprised. According to him, I don’t know he had a girlfriend. Instead, I just don’t say a word.

We stand in silence for a moment, the low hum of the gym's ventilation system the only sound between us.

"That sucks," I finally say, because what else can I say?

"Yeah," Cade agrees, stopping his treadmill too.

I slap his chest in what I hope passes for brotherly comfort. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

We leave the gym together, but the silence between us feels heavier now. I find myself wondering just how much my brother liked Hannah. He seems genuinely bummed, which somehow makes the whole situation worse. I fucked up something real, not just some casual fling. We say our goodbyes, he hits the weights, and I head out.

Back in my car, instead of heading home, I find myself driving toward campus—toward the dorms where I dropped Hannah off that night. I park in the visitor lot, engine idling as I stare up at the rows of windows, wondering which one is hers.

What the fuck am I doing? Sitting here like some weird stalker isn't going to fix anything. But I can't seem to make myself leave, can't stop thinking about the way she felt under me, around me. The look in her eyes when she realized who I was. The mixture of horror and desire when I pressed her against that wall days later.

I finally force myself to drive away, but I know I'll be back. Whatever this pull is, it's not going away on its own.

The next day, I'm cleaning my gear—a ritual after every away game—when I decide I need to see her. Just see her. Talk to her if possible. Make her understand that what happened wasn't entirely her fault.

I head to the library first, figuring a girl like Hannah probably spends time there. I walk through the stacks, scan the study carrels, check every floor, but no sign of her. The coffee shop is next, then the student center, then even the arts building where I never go. Nothing.

I'm crossing the quad, debating whether to just show up at her dorm again, when I spot Cade. He's got his arm draped around some brunette, her head tilted back in laughter at whatever he's saying. For a heart-stopping moment, I think it's Hannah—that they've reconciled somehow—but as I get closer, I realize it's definitely not her. Similar build, similar hair, but not Hannah.

Cade hugs the girl and she walks off, heading toward the science buildings. I wait until she's out of earshot before approaching him.

"Was that her?" I ask, even though I know damn well it wasn't Hannah.

"No," Cade shrugs. "Just some girl."

I watch her ass as she walks away—can't help myself—and something about her seems vaguely familiar. "From where?"

Cade watches her for a moment longer, then says casually, "The night you stayed at my place."

My jaw tightens so fast I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He just shrugs again, like it's no big deal.

"Last night you were saying you were torn up over a breakup, and that's not the girl?" My voice sounds strange even to my own ears, tight with an anger I shouldn't be feeling.

Cade sighs. "Relax, just keeping my options open. You were in my fucking bed, so I needed somewhere to sleep."

"So, you cheated on your girlfriend that night?"

"Don't make it sound so fucking bad, Sandy. Jesus."

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