Page 17

"You're overthinking this," Lennox says, flopping onto my bed as I hold up two nearly identical pairs of jeans.

"I am not," I insist, examining both options again. "These are completely different. These are high-waisted with a straight leg, and these are mid-rise with a slight flare."

"They're both blue denim, and Sanderson won't notice the difference."

"It's not about what he'll notice," I say, finally deciding on the high-waisted pair. "It's about what makes me feel confident."

"For an 'extended social interaction' that isn't a date?" She air-quotes with her fingers, grinning.

"Yeah."

"You know what? I'm not even going to tease you about this," Lennox says, folding the jeans neatly and placing them on my bed. "I'm just happy to see you excited about going out with him."

"You are? I thought you liked me and Cade?"

She shrugs. "Honestly, you were never this nervous or this––"

"What are you talking about, Len? I was very much so."

She shakes her head. "Let’s not even talk about him, okay? I am mad that he cheated on you. Period. It’s a dealbreaker. I won’t ever let you go back with him. It’s over with Cade, and now you have someone else who is…hotter."

I laugh.

She points, "Your color-coded outfit options are hilarious, Han."

I glance at the three tops I've laid out, arranged by color family. "That's just basic organization."

"Mmhmm." Lennox picks up my phone as it buzzes with a new notification. "Lover boy again. That's the fifth text in an hour."

I snatch the phone from her, checking the message.

ETA 10 minutes. Hope you're ready for animal therapy.

"Animal therapy?" Lennox reads over my shoulder. "What kind of date is this?"

"I have no idea." I type back a quick reply: Ready when you are. Animal therapy??

His response comes immediately: All shall be revealed. Prepare to be amazed.

"He's unpredictable," I say, but I can't help smiling.

"And you're into it," Lennox observes.

I don't bother denying it this time. Instead, I slip on a forest green sweater and apply a final touch of lip gloss.

"How do I look?" I ask, turning to Lennox.

"Like someone who's 'adequately interested' in her non-date," she teases. "You look beautiful, Han. He won't know what hit him."

My stomach flutters with a mix of nervousness and anticipation. What am I doing? A week ago, I was convinced that getting involved with Sanderson was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. Now I'm primping for another freaking date like a lovesick teenager.

"It's just one date," I remind myself aloud.

"Extended social interaction," Lennox corrects, mimicking my voice.

"I regret ever telling you anything."

"No, you don't." She pulls me into a quick hug. "Have fun tonight. And text me if you need an emergency extraction."

"That won't be necessary," I say, though I appreciate the offer. She gives me knowing eyes.

My phone buzzes again: Outside whenever you're ready. No rush.

"He's here," I say, grabbing my purse. "How's my hair?"

"Perfect. Go." Lennox practically pushes me toward the door. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"That leaves a disturbing amount of options open," I call over my shoulder.

I take the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, my heartbeat quickening with each step. When I push open the door to the parking lot, I spot Sanderson leaning against his car, looking unfairly attractive in dark jeans and a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

He straightens when he sees me, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Hey."

"Hi," I reply, suddenly shy. "So, animal therapy?"

"You'll see." He opens the passenger door for me. "Trust me?"

I hesitate for a dramatic second. "I suppose I have no choice."

"That's the spirit." He waits until I'm settled before closing the door and walking around to the driver's side.

As we pull out of the parking lot, I notice a small cooler in the back seat. "More ice cream?"

"Not this time," he says, eyes on the road. "Just some essentials for our destination."

"Which is?"

"A surprise."

I roll my eyes. "You and your surprises."

"You liked the last one," he points out.

"It was okay," I concede, fighting a smile.

We drive for about half an hour, the city giving way to countryside. Sanderson keeps the conversation flowing effortlessly, asking about my bio ethics presentation and actually listening to my detailed explanation of the moral complexities of genetic testing. Most guys would have glazed over two minutes in, but he asks insightful follow-up questions that make me wonder why he is so nice and kind and intuitive. All while being hotter than hell.

Finally, we turn onto a gravel drive leading to a large, barn-like structure surrounded by various enclosures. A wooden sign reads "Second Chance Wildlife Sanctuary."

"What is this place?" I ask as we park.

"An exotic animal rescue," Sanderson explains, looking pleased with himself. "They take in animals that were kept as illegal pets or retired from entertainment."

My eyes widen. "Are we…visiting?"

"Better." He grins. "We're getting a private tour. My friend works here."

"Sanderson," I say, genuinely touched. "This is so cool."

"Don't thank me yet." He grabs the cooler from the back seat. "You haven't met the residents."

A pretty girl around our age waves at us from the entrance. "Sandy! You made it!"

Sandy? She has an awfully warm smile and beautiful wavy hair. A pit is in my stomach as I look at her.

"Winnie," he greets her with a one-armed hug. "Thanks for doing this."

"Yeah, anything for you," she says, then turns to me. I don’t know who this friend is, but it seems like she may have been more than a friend at some point? I glance at Sanderson to see if he had something with her once upon a time. "You must be Hannah."

I smile, turning to her. Let it go. "Hi, I’m Hannah. It’s nice to meet you, Winnie."

"Winnie's been working here for three years," Sanderson explains. "She's basically Dr. Dolittle at this point."

"Hardly," Winnie scoffs. "But I can tell when Max the lemur is about to throw his poop, which is a valuable skill. Trust me, you don’t want to clean that mess."

I picture that, wondering if Winnie would clean up Sanderson’s messes too.

God, I need to stop those thoughts right now.

"So, shall we start the tour?" Winnie gestures toward the building. "Most of the animals are inside for the night, but they're used to visitors."

For the next hour, we're introduced to the sanctuary's residents—a one-eyed bobcat rescued from a roadside zoo, a pair of capuchin monkeys who were kept as pets until they became too aggressive, a sulcata tortoise the size of a coffee table who was abandoned when he outgrew his terrarium.

Winnie gives us the background on each animal while Sanderson helps distribute treats from the cooler he brought. I'm impressed by how gentle he is with them, this big hockey player who's supposedly known for his aggressive style on the ice.

And yes, I am no longer entertaining the idea that something had happened between Sanderson and Winnie. If he can manage to not care about me dating his brother, I sure as heck can get over whatever jealously spiked in that parking lot.

"Here's the newest addition," Winnie says excitedly, leading us to an enclosure where a small, spotted wildcat is curled up on a branch. "This is Luna, a serval. She was confiscated from an apartment last month."

"She's beautiful," I breathe, crouching down to get a better look.

"She's also surprisingly easy to handle," Winnie says. "Would you like to feed her?"

My eyes widen. "Really?"

Winnie nods, handing me a pair of feeding tongs with a small piece of chicken. "Just hold it steady and she'll take it gently."

I extend the tongs toward Luna, who eyes me warily before approaching. She delicately takes the chicken, then retreats to her branch to eat it.

"I always wanted to work with animals," I admit. "Until my fainting incident."

"What happened?" Winnie asks, genuinely interested. She’s really not as bad as I thought.

"Field trip to a vet clinic. They were spaying a cat and I hit the floor before they even made the first incision." I grimace at the memory. "Not my finest moment."

"Blood's not for everyone," Winnie says sympathetically. "But there are plenty of ways to work with animals that don't involve surgery."

"True," I acknowledge. "Though I'm pretty committed to my bio ethics track now."

We continue the tour, meeting more animals—a blind raccoon, a three-legged fox, even a small alligator who was kept in a bathtub until he grew too large.

"This is amazing," I tell Sanderson as Winnie steps away to take a call. "How did you know I'd love this?"

"You mentioned wanting to be a vet," he says with a shrug. "I figured the animal part was what appealed to you, not the medical procedures."

I stare at him, remembering that reveal. "That's…really thoughtful."

"Don't sound so shocked," he teases. "I'm capable of listening and retaining information."

"Oh, right. You’re not just a jock meathead."

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the animals, the sanctuary, the complications of our situation. It's just us, standing together in this unexpected place, connecting in a way I never anticipated.

Winnie returns, breaking the moment. "I hate to cut this short, but we've got a rescue coming in, and I need to prep."

"No problem," Sanderson says. "Thanks for showing us around, Winnie."

"Come back anytime," Winnie tells me. "We can always use volunteers if you're interested."

"I might take you up on that," I say, genuinely considering it.

As we walk back to the car, Sanderson's hand brushes against mine. I don't pull away, and neither does he, our fingers loosely intertwined as we cross the parking lot.

"Hungry?" he asks as we get in the car.

"That’s my favorite question," I say, not wanting this to end.

He smiles. "There's a place about ten minutes from here. Nothing fancy, but they make a mean burger."

"Okay." I press my lips together, trying not to smile back.

The diner is exactly what I need after the emotional high of the sanctuary—cozy, unpretentious, and far enough from campus that I don't have to worry about running into anyone who knows us. We slide into a booth by the window, and I find myself relaxing completely for the first time in weeks.

"So," Sanderson says after we order, "on a scale of one to ten, how's this extended social interaction ranking so far?"

I pretend to consider carefully. "I'd say…eight point five."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Really? That's almost excellent territory."

"Don't let it go to your head," I warn, but I'm smiling. "The night's not over yet. You could still drop to a seven."

"Well," he says, a determined glint in his eye. "I'm aiming for a solid nine by the time I drop you off."

"That's ambitious."

"I'm an ambitious guy."

Our food arrives, and the conversation flows as easily as it did at the sanctuary. We talk about everything and nothing—classes, hockey, our childhoods, favorite movies. I learn that he's studying sports management, that he has a secret fondness for sci-fi novels, that he once broke his arm trying to jump his bike over a homemade ramp when he was eleven.

"Cade dared me to do it," he explains, dipping a fry in ketchup. "I couldn't back down."

The mention of Cade brings a momentary awkwardness, but it passes quickly. We're getting better at navigating around that particular landmine.

"Sibling rivalry?" I ask.

"Something like that," he says. "Though it wasn't always that way. We were best friends when we were little."

"You’re not anymore?" I ask, the thought making me sad. I always fantasized about having a sibling, knowing they’d be a built-in best friend. But I guess that’s not always true.

He shrugs, but I sense there's more to it than he's letting on. "Life, I guess. Our parents split when I was fourteen. Dad pushed me harder in hockey because I showed more potential. Cade resented it."

"That sounds hard," I say softly.

"It was what it was." He changes the subject smoothly. "What about you? Any siblings?"

"Just me," I say. "Though I always wanted a sister."

"Trust me, siblings are overrated."

I smile but make a mental note of how quickly he deflected from the topic of Cade. There's clearly more to their relationship than simple rivalry.

After dinner, we take the long way back to campus, the radio playing softly in the background. I'm not ready for the night to end, which is a dangerous feeling.

"Thank you for tonight," I say as we approach my dorm. "It was really…special."

"Special enough for a nine?" he asks hopefully.

I laugh. "I'll give you an eight point seven."

"Damn," he says, pulling into a parking space. "I'll take it, but you're a tough cookie."

"Progress is progress though," I smile.

He walks me to the door, maintaining a respectful distance that both disappoints and relieves me. I'm not sure I'm ready for what comes next, for the complications that a physical relationship would bring.

"So," he says, stopping at the entrance, "any chance I can convince you to go for a hat trick?"

"A what?"

"Sorry, hockey term. Another extended social interaction," he corrects himself with a grin.

I should say no. I should tell him this has been fun but it's too complicated, too risky. I should walk away now, before I'm in too deep.

"Yes," I hear myself say instead. "I'd like that."

His smile is worth the moment of panic that follows my answer. "Great. I'll text you."

"You always do," I tease.

He laughs. "Goodnight, Hannah."

"Goodnight, Sanderson."

For a moment, I think he might kiss me. Part of me wants him to. But he simply squeezes my hand once, then steps back.

"Sweet dreams," he says softly, and then he's walking back to his car.

I watch him go, feeling both disappointed and relieved. The night was perfect as it was—why complicate it with a kiss that would just lead to more questions, more confusion?

I head upstairs, fielding Lennox's nosy questions with vague answers and a promise of details tomorrow. I'm too wrapped up in my own thoughts to properly debrief her now.

As I get ready for bed, my phone buzzes with one last message from Sanderson: Thank you for tonight. Already planning our 9.0.

I smile, replying: Don't get ahead of yourself, Sanderson. 8.7 is still within the margin of error. Goodnight, puck boy.

I fall asleep with a smile on my face, the complications of our situation temporarily forgotten in the warmth of a perfect—nearly perfect—night.

The next morning, I'm practically floating through my classes, replaying moments from last night in my head instead of taking proper notes. I can't remember the last time I was this distracted, this…happy.

It's a dangerous feeling, one that makes me vulnerable in ways I'm not entirely comfortable with. But I can't seem to stop it, can't turn off the little flutter in my chest every time my phone buzzes with a new text from Sanderson.

I'm walking across the quad after my last class when someone calls my name. I turn, expecting to see Lennox or maybe one of my study group partners.

Instead, it's Cade.

My stomach drops as he approaches, his expression hard to read. We haven't spoken since our disastrous breakup and seeing him now—knowing what I've been doing with his brother—sends a wave of guilt through me.

"Cade," I say cautiously. "Hi."

"Can we talk?" He doesn't wait for an answer, just gestures toward a nearby bench.

I follow reluctantly, hyperaware of the students passing by. This isn't a conversation I want to have in public, but refusing would only make things more awkward.

"How are you?" I ask as he stands in front of me, keeping a careful distance between us.

"Cut the small talk, Hannah," he says, his voice tight. "I know about you and my brother."

My blood runs cold. What?

He scoffs when he sees the look on my face. "Don't play dumb, Hannah. Sanderson told me last night."

"It's not—" I start, then stop. What can I say? It's not what you think? But it is, isn't it? Maybe not yet, not physically, but emotionally? I've been connecting with his brother in ways I never have with Cade, never have with anyone.

"It's not what I think?" Cade says bitterly, almost laughing. "You dumped me and ran straight to him. Was that the plan all along? Trade me in for the hotshot hockey player?"

"That's not fair," I protest. "It was a series of events that were bizarre, Cade! It’s not just something we can brush off. And you cheated on me, remember? With Anna?"

"That was one fucking mistake because you wouldn’t put out!" he counters, almost yelling. "I really––it was one fucking night that you seem to want to forget, so let’s fucking forget about it, Han. But instead, here you are fucking my brother!"

The sound of that makes me shiver. I glance around at all the eyes staring our way and tears pool to my eyes. The shame and embarrassment start to eat at me. This man standing before me had been a fun boyfriend, but with Sanderson it’s different. He sees me, understands parts of myself that I barely do.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," I whisper, trying to swallow in air that’s refusing to enter my lungs. "I do want to forget that night ever happened, but––"

"Then let’s fucking forget about it and move on, Hannah! Don’t date my fucking brother!" He throws his arms. "Are you out of your mind? He’s just with you to get back at me, you realize that, right? He can’t fucking handle knowing that he doesn’t deserve you, so he’s going to butter you up and then spit you out when he’s done. If you continue doing this with him, do you have any idea what that says about you?”

I freeze, starting to tremble from within. A shiver that starts in my heart and travels outward. Is he really saying this right now? Is he really making me doubt his brother’s intentions, pointing out what could be so obvious? I glare at Cade, not knowing if I can trust him. I’ve never known him to be untrustworthy, but Sanderson seems transparent and genuine. I’m confused, but as the confusion tries to keep my mind spinning, the anger I feel from my last encounter with Cade burns through me. Cade stoops down to levels I didn’t think he ever would.

So, I snap.

"You made it very clear what it says about me, Cade. I’m a ‘whore’, remember? And you know what? All of this can't just be forgotten. You lied to me, made me think you were home when you weren't. Then you called me a whore when I broke up with you. I broke up with you because it was the right thing to do!"

He scoffs, "The right thing to do, Hannah? You fucked my brother in my bed. My bed! I have to sleep in that fucking room every night, knowing that you seduced him while he was asleep because you were too much of a bitch to admit in person that you wanted to sleep with me!"

"Great, so I’m a bitch now?" Tears fall down my cheek, but I quickly wipe them away.

Someone approaches us, and Cade warns them with his hand. More people walk over, trying to protect me from him. Suddenly all eyes are on him like he’s the bad guy. I don’t agree, so I push past them and shake my head. Cade is hurt, and I am the one who hurt him.

Cade almost laughs at all the faces staring his way. He shouts, "My girlfriend fucked my brother, everybody!"

Some glance my way, and my stomach is in turmoil. I can’t help myself, I yell back, "And you fucked Anna!"

Cade laughs. "She’s a lot fucking hotter than you in every way."

A guy hovers over Cade, trying to get him to walk away.

I snark, "That’s so nice, Cade. I hope you and Anna live happily ever after!"

He’s walking backwards now. "And you," he points at me. "If you continue to see my brother––"

"What?" I ask, ready to throw down with a man twice my size. He wants to threaten me? That’s when I notice the smartphones pointing at us. Everyone and their fucking phones are recording us––the most embarrassing moment I’ve ever had in public. I pray to God this doesn’t get posted and go viral. "I can do whatever I want, Cade. And you can do whatever you want! We’re not together anymore."

A familiar body cuts through the crowd. I would be able to point out that walk anywhere.

"Cade, what the fuck are you doing?" Sanderson calls out.

Suddenly it’s quiet. I hadn’t realized that people were joining in on our fight. When I think back to what the voices were saying, most were echoing me. She’s her own person. She can do whatever she wants. Leave her alone. Don’t call her a bitch.

My heart flutters as I watch the two brothers come head-to-head. Sanderson’s eyes are ready for war, and I hate the sight. I hate all of this.

"Brother of the fucking year is here, everybody," Cade announces.

"What’s going on?" Sanderson asks, glancing over at me. With the amount of people here, I find myself unable to cry now. My tears have dried.

"We were just having a conversation," Cade says, his tone falsely casual. "About you, actually. About how you've always wanted what I have." He’s jabbing him with his finger.

"Cade," I say sharply. His tone, his body language, the jabbing––I don’t like the direction this is going. "Please stop."

"No, let him talk," Sanderson says, rising to the bait. "Let's hear what he has to say. Let my brother get it all off his chest."

"I'm saying you're a piece of shit," Cade spits. "Both of you."

Sanderson's jaw tightens. "Hannah, we should go."

"She's not going anywhere with you," Cade steps between us.

I try to intervene. "Stop. Both of you!"

"Listen to her, Cade," Sanderson says, stepping closer to him. "Walk away before this gets worse."

"Or what?" Cade challenges, stepping closer to his brother. "I bet you can’t fucking wait to win this one, hmm, Sandy. Everybody… He thinks he wins this time."

"We’re done," Sanderson states, though I can see the muscle working in his jaw.

"You know you’re wrong," Cade presses his finger to his chest. "You've always been jealous of me. Always wanted what I have. Well congratulations, you fucked this one up for me too. You got her right where you want her, don’t you, Sandy? News flash to Hannah." Cade glances at me. "He’s just like our father. High and fucking mighty, thinks he knows everything. I bet Hannah would love to know––"

"Don’t," Sanderson warns.

Cade smiles. "Don’t want me to spill your secrets, do you?"

"Cade," Sanderson warns.

"Come on, Sandy. You should tell Hannah about your last––"

It happens so fast I barely register the movement—Sanderson shoves Cade hard, sending him stumbling back a step. For a moment, Cade just stares at his brother, a complicated mix of emotions crossing his face. Then he scoffs.

"Let's go, Hannah," Sanderson says quietly. I wonder what secret Cade is about to spill. The depths of families and how petty everyone gets during a fight never ceases to amaze me. I would know because my mom can be nasty.

"What’re you scared she’s going to find?" Cade taunts. "Huh, Sandy, you don’t want everyone to know––"

The rest of his sentence is cut off as Sanderson whirls around and throws a punch that connects with Cade's jaw, sending him sprawling onto the grass.

"Sanderson!" I gasp, shocked by the sound of his sudden violence.

Cade scrambles to his feet and lunges at his brother, tackling him to the ground. They grapple in the grass as everyone roars, years of sibling rivalry exploding into thrown fists and hard shoves. A circle of people forms around them, phones out to capture these brothers' brawling.

"Stop it!" I shout, but they're beyond hearing me now, throwing punches and insults at each other.

Sanderson gains the upper hand, pinning Cade beneath him. "I told you to walk away," he growls.

"And let you win? Again?" Cade struggles against his brother's hold. "Not this time, Sandy."

With a sudden burst of strength, Cade flips their positions, landing a solid punch to Sanderson's ribs. Sanderson grunts in pain but manages to block the next blow, shoving Cade off him.

They both scramble to their feet, circling each other like boxers in a ring. Blood trickles from Cade's split lip, and Sanderson's eye is already starting to swell.

"Enough!" I step between them, hands outstretched. "This is insane! You're brothers!"

"Move, Hannah," Sanderson says, his eyes never leaving Cade.

"No," I stand my ground. "This needs to stop! I'm not going to let you two tear each other apart over me. I'm not worth it!"

"She's right about that," Cade spits blood onto the grass. "She’s not fucking worth it."

Sanderson lunges forward, but I press my hands against his chest, stopping him. I almost stumble. "Sanderson, please. Let it go. Let’s leave."

For a moment, I think he's going to push past me. Then, slowly, the tension drains from his body. "Fine," he says, still glaring at Cade over my shoulder. "Let's go."

"You know I would kick your ass," Cade scoffs as we turn to leave. "This isn’t over yet, Sandy."

Sanderson doesn't respond, just places his hand on the small of my back and guides me away from the scene, away from the cameras and stares.

As we walk, I can feel him trembling slightly—with anger or adrenaline, I'm not sure. His knuckles are swelling, and a bruise is forming around his eye.

"Are you okay?" I ask quietly.

He glances down at me, his expression unreadable. "I'm sorry," he says instead of answering. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

"How was it supposed to happen?" I can't keep the edge from my voice. "You told him about us?"

"He called me last night, drunk. Said he wanted you back." Sanderson runs a hand through his hair. "I couldn't lie to him."

"So, you told him instead?"

"Just that we've been…seeing each other."

I stop walking, turning to face him fully. "Sanderson, what the hell are we doing? This—" I gesture between us, "—is clearly causing more problems than what it's worth."

His face falls. "Is that what you think? That this isn't worth it?"

"I don't know what to think," I admit, exhausted. "I just watched two brothers physically fight over me in the middle of campus. It's not exactly what I signed up for. That night with you was a huge mistake. It was supposed to be him that night!"

He pulls me around the corner. "Well, it was with me, Han. You fucked me! Not him. And I told you that night to keep this to yourself. I know my brother, knew that shit would hit the fan! I respected you for telling the truth, but don’t try to tell me that you wished you had fucked him instead."

"Sanderson," I inhale, trying to find the courage. "I fucked the wrong brother."

He scoffs. "Did you like what happened out there? With him?"

I shake my head.

"Then you didn’t fuck the wrong brother. Let’s go. I’ll walk you."

We walk the rest of the way to my dorm in silence, the weight of everything that's happened settling between us like a physical presence.

At the entrance, he stops. "For what it's worth," he says quietly, "I don't regret any of it. Not the drive-in, not the sanctuary, not that night, or the fight. I'd do it all again."

Before I can respond, he leans in and presses a soft, brief kiss to my forehead. "I’m sorry about all of it, Hannah," he whispers against my skin. "I’ll text you later."

Then he's gone, walking away with his shoulders set in a determined line, leaving me to sort through the emotional wreckage of a day that started with such promise and ended in chaos.

I watch him until he disappears, wondering how everything got so complicated so quickly, and whether I have the courage to see it through.

Because frankly, I’m not sure I’ll leave my room ever again.