Page 28 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

"I'm so sorry," I cry, trying to hide my face in my hands. "I didn't mean to. I thought it was you."

He closes his eyes, rubbing them with his fingers.

"I'm sorry, Cade," I sob. "I didn't mean to."

When he opens his eyes again, they're rimmed with red.

"Hannah," he breathes. "Fuck." He kicks the dresser, making me jump.

"Fucking shit, Hannah!" His eyes are bloodshot but tearless, which seems like a good sign. My own tears begin to slow.

"I fucked Anna because I wanted it to be you."

He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. He plays with my fingers gently.

"Hannah," he says softly, and now I see a single tear in his eye. "How do we move on from this?"

I squeeze his hand and offer a small, sad smile. Then I pull away. "I'm sorry, Cade."

"What?"

"We can't do this," I whisper. "You cheated on me."

"You cheated on me, too."

"In my defense, I thought it was you. You texted and said you were home, so I rushed over. You lied to me, and I don't like being lied to."

He stands, rage transforming his features. "You fucking lied to me first! You fucking said you're failing your classes, and so you skip out on the hockey game. And when you broke up with me, I fucking asked you why and you said nothing about fucking my brother!"

"I know," I admit quietly. I can’t even argue when everything he’s saying is true.

"So, if you don't like liars, then don't like yourself because you're a fucking liar."

I shake my head. "I don't like any of this, Cade. Please keep your tone down."

"So, you're not willing to give this a second chance? You're just breaking up with me?"

I nod because what else is there? "Yes," I mutter.

He slams his fist against the top of the dresser, making me jump again. My body begins to tremble with adrenaline. "Please don't do that."

He grabs the dresser and shakes it.

"Cade!" I shout. "Stop!"

He gets right in my face, eyes blazing. "You're a fucking whore!"

"And what're you?" I call out.

He lets out a cold, cruel laugh. "At least I'm willing to give this a second chance."

"Get out."

His face stays close to mine, challenging me with his stare.

I add, "And don't call me a whore because I'm not one."

His jaw clenches. All the softness I've seen in him over the past two months vanishes, replaced by pure rage. I can smell the soda on his breath, feel the heat of his anger radiating toward me.

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