Page 9 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

"Let me grab water and see if the coast is clear," I say. "I'll be right back, I promise, and I'll get you home safely."

She nods, and I can see she's accustomed to being cared for. I can only imagine how my brother probably worships the ground she walks on, probably gives her everything she asks for and more.

I slip into the hallway, noticing one of his roommate's lights is on. That's fine—he won't be a problem. I make my way to the living room, finding the couch empty. Where the hell is Cade? I check the kitchen, my pulse quickening with every step, half expecting to find him there, but the space is deserted. I grab two water bottles from the fridge, condensation cool against my palm.

When I return to the bedroom, I open the door and grab my car keys. Hannah startles, jumping behind the door and closing it quickly.

"What're you doing?" she whispers, panic threading through her voice.

"Coast is clear, Han," I say, the nickname slipping out naturally. "I'm taking you home."

She's still crying as she looks up at me, vulnerable in a way that makes me want to protect her. I rub her back gently as we slip out of the bedroom and through the house.

Outside, our nerves are high. A raccoon stares at it on top of a trash can and we both jump like it's Cade catching us red-handed. I open my passenger door for her, scanning the neighborhood like I'm on some covert operation.

"Did you drive?" I ask, suddenly realizing her car would be a dead giveaway.

She shakes her head. "No, I took an Uber here." Her eyes dart around the driveway. "Actually, I didn't realize Cade's car isn't here."

I follow her gaze, confirming. "Yeah, it's not."

"That's so weird because he said he was home."

When she turns to me, I meet her eyes, struck by the strange intimacy between us. The comfort she's finding in my presence after what just happened shouldn't feel as natural as it does. This girl is secure, confident, radiating a quiet strength that's rare, and far too trusting. For all she knows, I could be the kind of guy who'd use this situation to my advantage.

I won't lie to cover for Cade—his absence doesn't make sense—but I silently promise myself I'll get to the bottom of it. Where the fuck is he, and why did he tell her he'd be home?

I drive away, my attention divided. I want to look at her, study the profile of her face in the dashboard lights, but I force my eyes forward.Just stare at the road. This is fucked.

"What happens next?" I ask, breaking the heavy silence. We should be using this time to talk.

"I'm mortified," she says simply, the words carrying the weight of her world.

"Yeah," I agree, because what else is there to say?

"I can't see him," she admits, shaking her head. "I can't face him."

"So, break up with him over text," I suggest, hating how callous it sounds but knowing it might be the cleanest break.

She nods, and then leans closer, her eyes narrowing. "Hey, what's that on your chin?"

Fuck. I glance in the rearview mirror and see the bruise from tonight's game. "Shit."

"Are you okay?" she asks, genuine concern filling those expressive eyes. Something twists in my chest at her worry.

"Yeah."

She keeps looking, waiting for more.

"Hockey," I finally offer.

"Oh," she says, understanding dawning. "So you're the reason why he's always going to the games?"

"You don't go with him?" I ask, surprised.

She shakes her head. "No."

"That's too bad," I say, meaning it. "Maybe you should come to the next one."

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