Page 11 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

I curl into a ball on my bed, still wearing the clothes I ran out of Cade's apartment in, my special lingerie bunched uncomfortably beneath them. I should shower. I should wash away every trace of that man on my body, of what happened tonight. But I can't move. Can't bring myself to stand under the spray of water and face what I've done.

The tears won't stop. They leak from the corners of my eyes, soaking into my pillow until it's damp against my cheek. How did I make a mistake this big? I went to Cade's place to take our relationship to the next level, and instead, I slept with his brother.His fucking brother!

I keep seeing Sanderson's face when I close my eyes—that moment when the light hit him and I realized he wasn't Cade. They share the same eyes, but where Cade's are warm honey, Sanderson's are amber fire. There's something harder about him, darker. A roughness that Cade's gentle nature lacks.

God help me, I was attracted to him instantly. Even in that moment of horror, something electric passed between us. He seemed more difficult than Cade, more brooding, more entitled to take what he wants. And that shouldn't be appealing—it should send me running in the opposite direction—but my body betrayed me. And it still is.

I press my thighs together, trying to ignore the persistent ache between them. I never finished. The moment of crisis interrupted what would have been—what was already becoming—the first orgasm of my life. And now I'm left with this ghost of pleasure haunting me, a physical reminder of my betrayal.

I wish I had pulled out my phone, just for a second in that dark room. If I'd looked at his sleeping face, I would have known it wasn't Cade. Would have seen the differences that are so obvious now—the sharper jaw, the hint of stubble Cade doesn’t have, the slightly broader shoulders.

The night stretches endlessly before me. I check my phone: 2:17 AM. I have class at nine. Five hours of this hell to go, and I know I won't sleep through any of it. I'm a wreck, my mind racing between crushing guilt and flashes of unwanted desire. I have no idea what to do next, but there's no coming back from this, no way to look Cade in the eyes and not see his brother, not remember what happened tonight.

My alarm blares, and I realize I must have fallen asleep. My eyes feel swollen, gritty with dried tears.

Fresh tears spring to my eyes from the thought of last night as I drag myself to the shower. The hot water does nothing to wash away the memory of his hands on my skin, the feel of him inside me. If anything, it makes it worse, my body flushing with the memory.

My phone chimes as I'm getting dressed, and my heart is racing out of control.

Lennox:Sooooo??? How did it go with Cade last night? I need details!

I can't even look at the message, much less reply. How could I possibly explain this? "Oh, it went great, except it wasn't Cade, it was his brother, and I didn't even realize until he was coming." Yeah, that would go over well.

I throw on a hoodie and jeans, not bothering with makeup to cover my puffy eyes. Let people think I'm sick. I am sick—sick with guilt, sick with shame, sick with the knowledge that I've ruined everything with my boyfriend.

The day passes in a fog. I sit through Comparative Literature staring blankly at my notebook, not writing a single word. In Bio Ethics, Professor Henley calls on me twice, and both times I have no idea what she's asked. By lunch, I've ignored three more texts from Lennox, two from my study group, and—worst of all—one from Cade.

Cade:Hey beautiful, sorry about last night. My phone died and I crashed at Jake's after the party. Want to grab dinner tonight?

My stomach turns. Sorry about last night? He has no idea what happened last night. No clue that while he was partying with Jake, I was in his bed with his brother.

I hide in the library during my free period, tucked into a corner desk with my hood pulled up. I need to end this. Every minute I let pass without telling Cade the truth is another minute of betrayal.

With shaking fingers, I finally type out a text.

Hannah:Cade, I don't think we should see each other anymore. I'm sorry.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then immediately regret the wording. It's too cold, too abrupt after two months together. But what else can I say? "I had sex with your brother by mistake and now I can't face you"?

His response comes almost instantly.

Cade:Wait, what? Hannah, where is this coming from?

I bite my lip, trying to find words that won't reveal too much but won't be completely dishonest either.

Hannah:I just don't think this is working for me. I need some space.

Cade:That's bullshit. Everything was fine yesterday. What happened?

My hands tremble. What happened?I fucked your brother, that's what happened.

Hannah:Nothing happened. I've just been thinking about this for a while.

Cade:No, you haven't. Is this because I didn't come home last night? I told you my phone died. I was going to explain everything tonight.

A spark of suspicion ignites in my chest. There's something defensive in his tone, something that doesn't quite ring true.

Hannah:Where were you last night?

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