Page 23 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

"Are you fucking serious?" I gasp, unable to process what I'm hearing.

Cade laughs, and something in that sound makes my blood boil. It's too familiar—the same dismissive laugh our father used to give when caught in his own bullshit. The same "what's the big deal" attitude that broke our mother over and over again.

I remember finding Dad with Mrs. Castillo from next door, remember the parade of women he'd bring home when Mom worked nights, remember the devastation on her face when she finally figured it out. The way Dad shrugged it off, like Mom was overreacting to something trivial.

Cade blows out a breath, misreading my silence. "You're just like dad too. Aren't we both?"

The comparison lands like a slap. It's not the first time he's said it—we had this argument in high school, when Cade blamed Mom for Dad leaving, said she should have just "dealt with it" to keep the family together. I'd disagreed, had begged Mom to kick him out, to stop letting him manipulate and lie and cheat. Cade was all about the family image, keeping us intact no matter the cost. I cared more about the ethics, the morals, the reality of what our family had become.

It's why I keep every girl at arm's length. I've watched my mom's heartbreak, and it wasn't easy. So, Cade brushing it off hits a nerve. After everything, he turns out to be just like Dad?

"I'm not like that selfish son of a bitch," I say, my voice low.

"You know saying son of a bitch really puts down grandma."

I roll my eyes, and he hits my chest in that familiar way of his. "Come on, bro, like you're any fucking better. All you do is fuck and leave."

"At least I'm not cheating!" I retort, my voice carrying more than I intended.

A few girls walking by turn to stare at us.

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Cade snaps, whisper-yelling as he pulls me toward a less crowded part of the quad. "Shit."

"What?"

"I don't want—never mind, you wouldn't fucking understand."

"No, I'm starting to see things clearly now. You are just like Dad."

"And you're a little bitch like Mom."

I grab his shirt, fury coursing through me. "What the fuck has gotten into you? Can't keep up the good guy act?"

Cade meets my anger with his own. "Let me go."

"Or what?" I push.

"Why the fuck do you care if I'm fucking somebody else? My girlfriend, my ex, she didn't fuck me. I had to go find it elsewhere."

I loosen my grip just enough for him to push me off. I let him go as he straightens his shirt, glaring at me.

He spits on the ground. "Yeah. She wouldn't fucking put out. I think she found out about that night because she broke up with me with no fucking explanation. I bet it was that bitch Lennox."

Lennox. The name rings a bell––I think from a party. Is that Hannah’s best friend? I study Cade's face, almost relieved that Hannah didn’t sleep with him first. It makes this entire situation a lot better.

I turn and walk away, not trusting myself to say another word to my brother. Before I know it, I'm at Hannah's dorm again, but this time I don't stand in front of the entrance. This time I walk straight in.

The weekend vibe of a girls' dorm is surreal—everyone in pajamas with messy hair, lounging in common areas, heading to or from the showers. They all stop to stare as I walk in, all six-foot-three of me obviously out of place in their domain. I don't want to draw attention to Hannah by asking for her directly, so I keep walking like I know where I'm going, even though I have no clue what floor she's on.

"You can't be in here," someone says from behind me.

I turn, hoping it's the RA. Perfect.

"I need to find Hannah," I say. A few girls glance at each other, confused.

"What's this about?" the RA asks, arms crossed.

"If it wasn't important, I wouldn't be here. What floor is she on?"

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