Page 97 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

"Depends," I say cautiously. "What for?"

"I have a surprise." His smile widens. "In the living room."

"How the fuck did you get in here?"

"Door was unlocked. Relax, Sandy. I brought a real treat. Come on."

Something in his tone sets off warning bells, but curiosity wins out. I follow him down the hallway, bare feet silent on the hardwood, a strange tension building with each step.

"Ta-da!" Cade says with theatrical flourish as we enter the living room.

For a moment, I think I'm still asleep, caught in some bizarre dream where past and present collide. Because sitting on my couch, legs crossed, smile as practiced as I remember, is Megan Davis.

My first girlfriend. My first love. My first lesson in how cruel people can be.

"James!" she exclaims, rising from the couch with fluid grace. "Look at you!"

Her use of my first name sends a jolt through me, wrong and jarring from her lips. Only two people call me James—my mother, and now Hannah. Not this ghost from my past who has no right to such intimacy.

"What are you doing here?" The words come out flat, emotion locked down tight as memories flood back.

Senior year of high school. Captain of the hockey team. College scouts at every game. And Megan—beautiful, popular Megan who everyone wanted and somehow wanted me. Six months of first love intensity, planning our futures, making promises neither of us could keep.

Then the acceptance letter from this university, full hockey scholarship, a path away from our small town. I'd thought she'd be happy for me. Instead, she'd been furious, accusing me of abandoning her, of thinking I was too good for her. The breakup had been ugly, painful, but necessary.

A week later, the text that changed everything:I'm pregnant.

Two months of panic, of secret meetings to discuss options, of my future suddenly derailed. My grades slipped. My hockey suffered. I became a shell of myself.

Until the night I found her at a party, drunk and carefree, confiding in a friend that she'd "fixed her Sandy problem" with a fake pregnancy scare. That she'd teach me to "think with the right head next time."

I haven't seen her since that night. Until now, with her standing in my living room like the last four years never happened.

"James?" she says, taking a step toward me. "It’s been so long. How are you?"

"Don't call me that," I say, my voice low. Something must show on my face, because she stops advancing, her smile faltering slightly.

"Sandy, then," she amends. "How are you? You look good."

I turn to Cade, ignoring her question. "Why is she here?"

Cade's smile has an edge of cruelty I've rarely seen in my brother. "I ran into her at the bar last night. We got talking about old times, and she mentioned she moved here. Thought you'd want to catch up."

The deliberate calculation in his voice makes it clear—this isn't a coincidence. This is payback.

"Both of you need to leave," I say, keeping my voice even through sheer force of will. "Now."

"Don't be like that," Megan says, her voice taking on the honeyed tone I once found irresistible. "I just wanted to see you. Talk about old times."

"Nothing to talk about," I say flatly.

"Actually," she continues as if I hadn't spoken, "Cade was telling me all about what happened with his girlfriend. History repeating itself, huh?"

The implication hits me hard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She gives me a look of practiced sympathy. "Come on, James. You've always had a thing for the wrong girls. When are you going to learn?"

I feel like I’m in a dream right now. What the fuck? My hands clench at my sides, jaw tight enough to crack teeth. "You don't know anything about anything, Megan."

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