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The bus hums beneath me, vibrating through my aching muscles as we head back to campus. We won—barely—but Coach still ripped us a new one for sloppy defensive play in the third period. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I half expect it to be another girl whose name I barely remember.

Instead, it's Cade.

Cade: You back tonight? Can you get me into the athletic gym? Need to blow off steam.

I stare at the text, guilt and curiosity warring in my chest. We haven't really talked since that brief, awkward call.

Sanderson: Yeah. Meet you there at 10.

Part of me hopes he doesn't show. The other part hopes he does, just so I can gauge how much he knows, how much Hannah told him. Because that's the thing that's been eating at me—did she tell him the truth, or is he just nursing a broken heart with no idea what caused it?

He's waiting outside the gym when I swipe us in, a duffel slung over his shoulder, his face drawn and tight. We don't speak as we change, as we claim side-by-side treadmills, as we set the same pace. Three miles at a steady clip, breathing in sync like we used to do as kids racing around the neighborhood.

I watch him from the corner of my eye, trying to read his mood. Something's definitely off, but my guilt has faded over the past week. It was an honest mistake—a fucked up joke of a mistake, but not something I planned. How Hannah handled it is on her. I didn't ask her to break up with him, only suggested to do it over text because she confessed she couldn’t face him.

"So, you going to tell me what's going on?" I finally ask, breaking the rhythm of rubber on belt.

Cade just shakes his head, eyes fixed straight ahead.

Fine. If he doesn't want to talk, I'm not going to force it. I hit the stop button on my treadmill and grab my towel, turning to leave.

"My girlfriend broke up with me," he says suddenly.

I turn back, finding his eyes for the first time tonight. Fuck, I need to act surprised. According to him, I don’t know he had a girlfriend. Instead, I just don’t say a word.

We stand in silence for a moment, the low hum of the gym's ventilation system the only sound between us.

"That sucks," I finally say, because what else can I say?

"Yeah," Cade agrees, stopping his treadmill too.

I slap his chest in what I hope passes for brotherly comfort. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

We leave the gym together, but the silence between us feels heavier now. I find myself wondering just how much my brother liked Hannah. He seems genuinely bummed, which somehow makes the whole situation worse. I fucked up something real, not just some casual fling. We say our goodbyes, he hits the weights, and I head out.

Back in my car, instead of heading home, I find myself driving toward campus—toward the dorms where I dropped Hannah off that night. I park in the visitor lot, engine idling as I stare up at the rows of windows, wondering which one is hers.

What the fuck am I doing? Sitting here like some weird stalker isn't going to fix anything. But I can't seem to make myself leave, can't stop thinking about the way she felt under me, around me. The look in her eyes when she realized who I was. The mixture of horror and desire when I pressed her against that wall days later.

I finally force myself to drive away, but I know I'll be back. Whatever this pull is, it's not going away on its own.

The next day, I'm cleaning my gear—a ritual after every away game—when I decide I need to see her. Just see her. Talk to her if possible. Make her understand that what happened wasn't entirely her fault.

I head to the library first, figuring a girl like Hannah probably spends time there. I walk through the stacks, scan the study carrels, check every floor, but no sign of her. The coffee shop is next, then the student center, then even the arts building where I never go. Nothing.

I'm crossing the quad, debating whether to just show up at her dorm again, when I spot Cade. He's got his arm draped around some brunette, her head tilted back in laughter at whatever he's saying. For a heart-stopping moment, I think it's Hannah—that they've reconciled somehow—but as I get closer, I realize it's definitely not her. Similar build, similar hair, but not Hannah.

Cade hugs the girl and she walks off, heading toward the science buildings. I wait until she's out of earshot before approaching him.

"Was that her?" I ask, even though I know damn well it wasn't Hannah.

"No," Cade shrugs. "Just some girl."

I watch her ass as she walks away—can't help myself—and something about her seems vaguely familiar. "From where?"

Cade watches her for a moment longer, then says casually, "The night you stayed at my place."

My jaw tightens so fast I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He just shrugs again, like it's no big deal.

"Last night you were saying you were torn up over a breakup, and that's not the girl?" My voice sounds strange even to my own ears, tight with an anger I shouldn't be feeling.

Cade sighs. "Relax, just keeping my options open. You were in my fucking bed, so I needed somewhere to sleep."

"So, you cheated on your girlfriend that night?"

"Don't make it sound so fucking bad, Sandy. Jesus."

"Are you fucking serious?" I gasp, unable to process what I'm hearing.

Cade laughs, and something in that sound makes my blood boil. It's too familiar—the same dismissive laugh our father used to give when caught in his own bullshit. The same "what's the big deal" attitude that broke our mother over and over again.

I remember finding Dad with Mrs. Castillo from next door, remember the parade of women he'd bring home when Mom worked nights, remember the devastation on her face when she finally figured it out. The way Dad shrugged it off, like Mom was overreacting to something trivial.

Cade blows out a breath, misreading my silence. "You're just like dad too. Aren't we both?"

The comparison lands like a slap. It's not the first time he's said it—we had this argument in high school, when Cade blamed Mom for Dad leaving, said she should have just "dealt with it" to keep the family together. I'd disagreed, had begged Mom to kick him out, to stop letting him manipulate and lie and cheat. Cade was all about the family image, keeping us intact no matter the cost. I cared more about the ethics, the morals, the reality of what our family had become.

It's why I keep every girl at arm's length. I've watched my mom's heartbreak, and it wasn't easy. So, Cade brushing it off hits a nerve. After everything, he turns out to be just like Dad?

"I'm not like that selfish son of a bitch," I say, my voice low.

"You know saying son of a bitch really puts down grandma."

I roll my eyes, and he hits my chest in that familiar way of his. "Come on, bro, like you're any fucking better. All you do is fuck and leave."

"At least I'm not cheating!" I retort, my voice carrying more than I intended.

A few girls walking by turn to stare at us.

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Cade snaps, whisper-yelling as he pulls me toward a less crowded part of the quad. "Shit."

"What?"

"I don't want—never mind, you wouldn't fucking understand."

"No, I'm starting to see things clearly now. You are just like Dad."

"And you're a little bitch like Mom."

I grab his shirt, fury coursing through me. "What the fuck has gotten into you? Can't keep up the good guy act?"

Cade meets my anger with his own. "Let me go."

"Or what?" I push.

"Why the fuck do you care if I'm fucking somebody else? My girlfriend, my ex, she didn't fuck me. I had to go find it elsewhere."

I loosen my grip just enough for him to push me off. I let him go as he straightens his shirt, glaring at me.

He spits on the ground. "Yeah. She wouldn't fucking put out. I think she found out about that night because she broke up with me with no fucking explanation. I bet it was that bitch Lennox."

Lennox. The name rings a bell––I think from a party. Is that Hannah’s best friend? I study Cade's face, almost relieved that Hannah didn’t sleep with him first. It makes this entire situation a lot better.

I turn and walk away, not trusting myself to say another word to my brother. Before I know it, I'm at Hannah's dorm again, but this time I don't stand in front of the entrance. This time I walk straight in.

The weekend vibe of a girls' dorm is surreal—everyone in pajamas with messy hair, lounging in common areas, heading to or from the showers. They all stop to stare as I walk in, all six-foot-three of me obviously out of place in their domain. I don't want to draw attention to Hannah by asking for her directly, so I keep walking like I know where I'm going, even though I have no clue what floor she's on.

"You can't be in here," someone says from behind me.

I turn, hoping it's the RA. Perfect.

"I need to find Hannah," I say. A few girls glance at each other, confused.

"What's this about?" the RA asks, arms crossed.

"If it wasn't important, I wouldn't be here. What floor is she on?"

She studies me for a moment, then sighs. "Four."

I turn and head for the stairs, taking them two at a time. On the fourth floor, more girls stare as I walk past. I scan the name tags on the doors, looking for Hannah.

When I spot a vaguely familiar face, I ask, "Which room is Hannah's?"

She points down the hall. "48."

Relief washes over me as I approach her door. I knock three times, hearing music playing inside.

"Come in!" she calls, clearly expecting anyone but me.

I glance down the hall, where several pairs of eyes quickly look away, pretending they weren't watching. I twist the knob and step inside.

Hannah is sprawled on her bed surrounded by textbooks, notebooks, and her iPad. Her hair is in a messy bun, she's not wearing a bra under her thin t-shirt, and her legs seem to go on forever in those tiny shorts. The sight of her hits me like a physical force.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She flushes bright red, scrambling up from her bed. "You can't be in here! How did you even find my room? Please leave."

I close the door behind me and walk further in as she continues to panic.

"You seriously cannot be in here, Sanderson. You need to leave before I get in trouble."

"Nobody's getting in trouble. Guys come in here all the time," I say, though I have no idea if that's true.

She shakes her head frantically. "You need to leave. Are you here because I haven't texted? I'm not interested. You have to get out…right now!"

I reach the edge of her bed, unable to look away from the blush spreading across her face. "I need to talk to you."

"If this is about that night, let's forget it. I’m moving on."

I say, "It is about that night, but not what you think."

"What?" She looks confused, wary.

I shrug, making her work for it.

"Well then get on with it," she demands.

My eyes drop to her chest, where her nipples have hardened under my gaze. She crosses her arms over herself.

"I wasn't expecting visitors," she says defensively.

"I had my mouth on them before," I say, just to see her reaction.

She flushes deeper. "Don't remind me."

"How about I refresh your memory," I suggest, knowing I'm playing with fire.

She freezes, glaring at me like I'm the worst person she's ever met. But she has no idea what I'm about to tell her, how her world is about to be turned upside down.

"I found out where Cade was that night."

She goes still and hesitates for a moment like she didn’t hear me correctly. Then she says, "Where?"

I stare at those pretty brown eyes. "You're not going to like it, Han."

"What?" she gasps, her eyes already filling with tears. Shit, is she a mind reader? "No. You're lying."

I thought I would feel like a hero, instead I feel like a piece of shit. I mutter, "I'm not. I just had a fight with him in the quad and came straight here."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" she says, her voice rising.

Her phone dings. We both look at it. She glances back at me with dawning horror on her face. "Cade's calling me."

"Answer it," I say.

She shakes her head. "No, I'm ignoring him."

"Answer it," I demand.

She picks up the phone with a trembling hand. "Hello?"

I can just make out Cade's voice. "Hannah, are you home?"

I shake my head vigorously.

"No," she lies, her eyes locked on mine.

"Shit, where are you? I need to talk to you."

"About what? Is this about—"

I close the distance between us, not wanting Cade to be the one to tell her. I want to be the fucking hero in this story, as selfish as that sounds.

"Don't believe anything you hear," I hear Cade say.

"What do you mean?" she asks, her eyes never leaving mine. "What are you talking about?"

I mouth at her to repeat after me, "That night?"

"That night?" she repeats, staring at my lips.

"Shit," Cade sighs in frustration.

She's still staring at my lips, and something electric passes between us. "I need to go," she tells him.

Her bottom lip is hypnotic—plump and perfectly shaped. I want to run my thumb across it, want to feel it against my own again. She ends the call and takes a step back, breaking whatever spell was building between us.

"Please, go," she says, but there's less conviction in her voice now.

I shake my head. "That night—"

"I can put it together," she interrupts. "He was with someone. It doesn't take back what we did. It doesn't make me feel any better." Her eyes search my face. "Is that why you're here? You thought his wrongdoing would diminish what we did? It won't. But I can't talk about this. All these girls probably have their ears pressed to my door right now."

She might be right about that. I step closer to her anyway, reaching for her face, but she meets my gaze with defiance.

"You shouldn’t be here. Everyone who saw you walking in here is going to gossip. I don’t want the attention. Please," she says. "I'm trying to put this all behind me."

"I'm not trying to make things harder for you," I admit. "I can't get you out of my head. That night is on replay."

Her eyes lock with mine, and I know she feels it too—this impossible, inconvenient pull between us.

"I want to test a theory," I say softly, touching her cheek.

"I can't," she murmurs, but she doesn't pull away as I lean in. "San—"

"Han," I whisper back, cupping her face in both hands.

I can feel the energy humming through her body. She closes her eyes, like she's trying to resist whatever this is.

"I won't jump into anything with you. Cade and I just broke up and—"

I want to tell her it can be our secret, that I won't tell a fucking soul if that means I get to hold her like this. But I know what a woman like Hannah would say. She'd tell me she can't be kept in the dark, that she deserves to be in the light. That she needs to be pursued the right way, not treated like a hook up.

But she's not just a hook up. Not to me. She's the first and only thing I've wanted in a long time. Now that I have her in front of me, I don't want to let her go.

A sharp knock on the door makes her jump back, yanking herself from my grasp.

"You need to hide," she whispers urgently, pointing to her closet. "Right fucking now!"