Page 4

Hannah is surprisingly real. That's the first thought that cuts through the chaos in my mind as she clings to me like she's drowning. Her body trembles against mine, and I can feel each sob ripple through her—raw and unfiltered grief over a mistake neither of us saw coming.

I don't know who's to blame here, or if blame even matters at this point. What happened, happened. A series of coincidences lined up perfectly to create this catastrophe, and now we're both standing in the wreckage, trying to make sense of it.

Her immediate decision to break things off with Cade reveals more about her character than any words could. There's an integrity there I rarely encounter. I respect her for it, even as I grapple with the reality that I just slept with my brother's girlfriend because I thought I was fucking dreaming.

Thank God she's holding onto me like this. It's been months—hell, maybe years—since I've experienced a genuine human connection like this one. Not the fleeting physical connection of a hookup or the camaraderie of teammates, but something honest. She needs me in this moment, and at the very fucking least, I can be this anchor for her because we're both equally fucked.

Cade absolutely cannot know about this. And it's not about saving my own ass—it's about protecting him. I know how my little brother operates. He'll immediately cast me as the villain, accuse me of wanting everything he has, of deliberately taking what's his. The worst part is he'll distance himself from me again, just when we'd finally started rebuilding what we lost. I don't want that, not over a stupid mistake, one night that should never have happened.

How the fuck did this even happen? That's what I can't wrap my head around. One minute, he's calling my name from the doorway, and the next, I'm inside his girlfriend. The middle part is a blur, reality and dream bleeding together until I couldn't tell the difference. I don't remember anything before being inside her, but fucking hell, I need to get my story straight for when shit inevitably hits the fan, because this embrace is telling me volumes about what's at stake.

I hold her as she sobs, her body shaking against mine. Without thinking, I look down at the crown of her head, her hair catching the faint light from the bathroom. I press my lips gently against it, an instinctive gesture of comfort.

She shoves me away with surprising force. "Don't fucking kiss me!"

I grab her hand to keep from stumbling backward. "I'm sorry," I say in disbelief, but I mean it.

Tears continue to stream down her face, and call me fucked up, but she's mesmerizing when she cries. Not in a twisted way—there's just something about her. She's beautiful in a way that feels otherworldly. A fairy. A goddess. Someone who stepped out of a dream I didn't know I was having.

My chest aches looking at her, and suddenly I understand why my brother hasn’t mentioned he had a girlfriend. Hannah, with her rich brown hair and matching eyes, those full lips trembling, the perfect angles of her face. She doesn't need makeup to look beautiful, no lingerie to look sexy—it's those eyes. The depth of them, the way they reveal everything she's feeling, her bottom lip I have to force myself not to imagine on mine. My come is all over this girl, and I feel a painful responsibility for what happens from here on out.

"Do you want to go home?" I ask softly.

She nods frantically, like a prisoner who's just been offered freedom.

I want to tell her that despite everything, she's beautiful and that somehow this will be okay. But I know better. I need to keep my distance now. Girls like her wouldn't look twice at someone like me under normal circumstances, and I know this because Cade and I have always been drawn to different types of women.

"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."

I glance over and catch what might be the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips, or maybe that’s wishful thinking. I turn to get a better look, but it's already vanished.

"What?" I dare to ask.

She stiffens slightly. "I’m not coming to any hockey games. You just shouldn't say things like that and act all casual about this. There will be nothing between us. I’ve literally never seen you before."

I let out a dry laugh, releasing the tension. She has no idea, does she? I lean over and say, "You fucked the wrong brother."

The words hang in the air between us. Her spine straightens as she fixes her gaze on the road ahead. I sense her withdrawal, like she's just realized I might be dangerous in ways she hasn't considered. And maybe I am, because even though it's been less than an hour since this nightmare began, when I look at her, I feel something shift inside me. She's not just striking and sexy—there's an authenticity to her that cuts through all my defenses. I'm tired of the petty, jealous, insecure girls who cycle through my bed, never leaving any lasting impression. Hannah, this girl right here, is different. I can feel it just being in her presence.

"You shouldn't say things like that," she whispers. "It's very—"

"It's honest, Hannah," I say, glancing at her again.

We drive the rest of the way in silence. When we reach her dorm, I pull into a parking space.

"What're you doing?" she asks, suspicion coloring her voice.

"Walking you up."

I get out before she can protest, but she's already climbing out of the car. "I don't need you to walk me up."

I lock my car. "You lead the way."

She scoffs, cutting across the parking lot. I walk beside her, watching for any signs of trouble. It's well past midnight, so the campus is empty.

She wraps her arms around herself against the cool night air. I pull off my jacket and drape it around her shoulders. She immediately shrugs it off, throwing it back at me.

"We're not doing this," she says firmly.

The challenge in her eyes makes something inside me stir, but I see the conviction there too. This is a woman who knows her own mind, who sets boundaries and means them. I need to respect that.

When we reach the entrance to her building, she turns to me. "You can't walk me to my door. They won't let you in this late."

I nod, understanding. "Okay then."

"Okay then," she echoes, a hint of mockery in her tone.

"Hannah," I call as she turns away, wishing she would hug me again. "239-5728."

She glares at me.

"239-5728," I repeat, committing my number to her memory whether she wants it or not.

She walks away without another word, and I watch until she disappears inside, the glass doors closing behind her.

I run my fingers through my hair and look up at the rows of windows, wondering which one is hers. I turn to leave, heading back to my car.

And now I wait to see if she’ll reach out.

I get the feeling she won’t be that easy.