Page 9

"Get in there," I hiss, shoving Sanderson toward my closet with both palms flat against his chest.

He resists, not budging an inch despite my efforts. His eyes drop to where my hands press against him, and I swear I feel his muscles flex under my touch. The audacity of this man, flexing while I'm trying to hide him before my life implodes completely.

"Sanderson, now," I whisper-shout, giving him another push.

He finally complies, stepping backward into the narrow space, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. I pull the door shut, my heart thundering in my ribcage.

"One second!" I call out, turning my back to the closet as I fumble for my bra on the floor next to my bed. I slide it on underneath my t-shirt, not bothering with the straps—just needing to cover myself enough to be decent. The entire time, I'm acutely aware of Sanderson's presence just feet away. Is he watching through the slats in the door? Is he listening to the rustle of fabric? The thought makes my cheeks burn.

I cross to the door and pull it open, feeling the blood drain from my face as I see who's standing there.

Cade.

"Thought you said you weren't home?" His eyes narrow slightly, taking in my disheveled appearance.

I shrug as nonchalantly as possible while he walks past me into the room. I laugh nervously. "I just got back."

Cade glances at the textbooks and notes scattered across my bed, evidence that I've been here for hours. "You're lying," he says, turning to face me.

"Actually, you're right," I admit, deciding a partial truth is better than digging myself deeper. "I lied. I'm home. Happy?"

I walk past him and perch on the edge of my bed, trying to appear casual, as if his brother isn't currently hiding in my closet. "Why are you here?"

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking beneath the skin. "You know, don't you?"

"Know what?" I ask, genuine confusion mixing with my anxiety.

"Don't play dumb, please. This is already hard enough."

Tears well in my eyes. Is he about to confirm what Sanderson tried to tell me? To devastate me further than I already am? How long has he been cheating? Has our entire relationship been a lie?

"Cade, I don't—"

"Save it," he cuts me off sharply. "Who told you?"

"Told me what!" I stand, frustration overriding my fear.

He presses his palms against my dresser, exhaling slowly. "About that night."

"What night?" My voice rises in pitch, the tension in the room building to an unbearable level.

He presses his lips together, thinking too deeply for too long.

"You need to tell me," I say, tears now falling freely. I'm shocked by how much this hurts, how much I still care despite everything. Two months shouldn't be enough time to feel this depth of pain. And yet here I am, breaking all over again as I stare into his eyes, realizing just how much I had genuinely liked him.

When he remains silent, I press further. "Did you do something, Cade?"

He clenches his jaw and then offers a slight nod.

I reach for him instinctively but stop myself midway. "I—" The word hangs between us as I glance reflexively at the closet. In this moment, I have a choice. Do I let him confess his sins while hiding my own? Or do I finally tell the truth, regardless of the consequences?

I know what kind of person I want to be.

"I have to tell you something you're not going to like," I blurt, forcing the words out before I can reconsider. I believe in honesty, in integrity. It would kill me to pretend nothing happened.

"What is it?" His voice is wary.

"Honestly, you need to go first," I say, swallowing hard. "Tell me everything and don't hide anything. I can handle it." I'm not sure I actually can, but I need to hear it from him.

He sinks onto my bed, shoulders slumping. "Her name's Anna. I was really drunk that night of the hockey game when you had to do homework. I went to a party, texted you that I was home, and I wasn't. My brother had some shit going on, so he crashed at my place, so I went home with her."

"Anna," I repeat, the name feeling foreign on my tongue.

He nods.

"Only the one time? Do you like her?"

He turns to me. "Not like I like you, and yeah, it was the only time."

I flinch when he reaches for me, pulling away instinctively. "Thanks for telling me."

He withdraws his hand. "Your turn."

I feel my throat constricting, my breath coming in shallow bursts. I glance at the closet, pretending to zone out while my mind races, terrified that Sanderson might burst out at any moment.

"So, remember when I spilled matcha down your pants?"

He grins at the memory. "Yeah."

Heat rushes to my face. Times were simple then. "I had this grand plan. I wanted to go out to lunch with you, watch a movie, and then end up at your place."

"Okay?" His expression is curious, uncomprehending.

"But then you needed to change your pants, and I chickened out and ran."

He watches me intently, waiting for me to continue.

"I wanted to sleep with you," I whisper, the admission sounding ridiculous aloud. "So, I went with plan B, which was to pretend I had homework to skip the hockey game. You know I don't really care about hockey." I glance at the closet, hating that Sanderson is hearing all of this. "I took an ‘everything’ shower. I really got ready for you. I wore lingerie, and I went to your place right after you texted me that you were home."

Realization begins to dawn on his face, his eyes widening. "What?"

My stomach sinks as I stare at my hands. I remind myself that the truth matters, that lies are for people who are insecure, immature, afraid. I'm afraid, but I'll say it even if my voice shakes. The truth isn’t always easy. It was an honest mistake.

The tears come hot and fast now. "I was so embarrassed to make the first move. I knew you wanted to have sex, and I know I kept pushing you away. I was scared."

"Where does this story end, Hannah? Because I wasn't in my fucking room that night." He stands abruptly, covering his mouth with his hand. "What happened next?" he asks, visibly trying to calm himself.

"I wanted to sleep with you ," I mumble. "I thought you were asleep in your bed, and…"

"And?" he demands, hands now on his hips as he looms over me.

"And I didn't know it wasn't you until…" My breath hitches in my throat, the words refusing to fall out. I feel myself starting to hyperventilate.

Cade inhales deeply. "Are you fucking serious?" He presses a hand to his forehead. "What the fuck, Hannah? Are you fucking telling me…"

He can’t say it out loud either.

"I'm so sorry," I cry, trying to hide my face in my hands. "I didn't mean to. I thought it was you."

He closes his eyes, rubbing them with his fingers.

"I'm sorry, Cade," I sob. "I didn't mean to."

When he opens his eyes again, they're rimmed with red.

"Hannah," he breathes. "Fuck." He kicks the dresser, making me jump.

"Fucking shit, Hannah!" His eyes are bloodshot but tearless, which seems like a good sign. My own tears begin to slow.

"I fucked Anna because I wanted it to be you."

He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. He plays with my fingers gently.

"Hannah," he says softly, and now I see a single tear in his eye. "How do we move on from this?"

I squeeze his hand and offer a small, sad smile. Then I pull away. "I'm sorry, Cade."

"What?"

"We can't do this," I whisper. "You cheated on me."

"You cheated on me, too."

"In my defense, I thought it was you. You texted and said you were home, so I rushed over. You lied to me, and I don't like being lied to."

He stands, rage transforming his features. "You fucking lied to me first! You fucking said you're failing your classes, and so you skip out on the hockey game. And when you broke up with me, I fucking asked you why and you said nothing about fucking my brother!"

"I know," I admit quietly. I can’t even argue when everything he’s saying is true.

"So, if you don't like liars, then don't like yourself because you're a fucking liar."

I shake my head. "I don't like any of this, Cade. Please keep your tone down."

"So, you're not willing to give this a second chance? You're just breaking up with me?"

I nod because what else is there? "Yes," I mutter.

He slams his fist against the top of the dresser, making me jump again. My body begins to tremble with adrenaline. "Please don't do that."

He grabs the dresser and shakes it.

"Cade!" I shout. "Stop!"

He gets right in my face, eyes blazing. "You're a fucking whore!"

"And what're you?" I call out.

He lets out a cold, cruel laugh. "At least I'm willing to give this a second chance."

"Get out."

His face stays close to mine, challenging me with his stare.

I add, "And don't call me a whore because I'm not one."

His jaw clenches. All the softness I've seen in him over the past two months vanishes, replaced by pure rage. I can smell the soda on his breath, feel the heat of his anger radiating toward me.

"You are a whore," he spits, then turns on his heel. I watch as he storms out, slamming the door behind him. I flinch at the sound, then rush to lock the door, my breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

A tall shadow falls over me, making me flinch again. Tears stream down my face, and I can't bring myself to turn around.

A warm hand settles on my shoulder. Sanderson steps closer, enveloping me from behind, his chest solid and reassuring against my back. He leans down, his breath tickling my ear.

Something in me snaps, and I whirl around to face him. His face is inches from mine, those warm brown eyes studying me intently.

But he speaks before I can. "You're brave as hell, Han. That took guts, and I respect you for it."

My gaze drops to his lips as he talks. The pain and anger inside me transform, melting into something new and unfamiliar.

I look back into his eyes. "San—"

His lips hover above mine. "Since we're all telling the truth right now, tell me if you keep thinking about that night."

I feel his breath against my mouth, and my own breath catches in my throat. A strange sensation pulses through my veins, electrifying every nerve ending. I close my eyes for a moment, then open them and shake my head.

"No," I say and then he takes a step back.

"Wait," I say, tugging him back to me. I pull him into a hug, and his lips land on top of my head.

I inhale his scent, clean and masculine. Much different than Cade. I hold him close, wondering how I've ended up in these arms again.

He pets my hair then rubs my back, comforting me. I melt into him. And we stay like this for some time. I can hear his steady heartbeat under my ear. It's not rapid, but it's not slow either. I place a hand on his chest and say, "I can hear your heart."

"And I see yours," he replies.

I look at his face to search for the bullshit tell. But nothing.

"You do?" I ask but it’s more of a mockery, wondering what the hell is happening between us right now. "But you don't know me."

"I would like to," he counters.

"Sanderson," I whisper. This guy doesn’t miss a single beat. I want to tell him that relationships aren't this easy to fall into, especially ones that began like ours. "I dated your brother. I liked him."

He shakes his head. "I don't care."

"You will…once this haze is gone and reality hits. This is already too complicated."

"Then we take it slow."

I realize we're still close. I can feel the outline of his cock against my body.

"I don't know," I say. "You could be saying all of this…" I trail off, not knowing how to spell it out for him, or if I even should.

"Continue that sentence," he says.

I exhale, pulling away. I walk over to my bed and plop. "You could be saying all of this because it's new, because maybe you have a rival thing going on with your brother, because you want what you can't have."

He slowly walks over. "Are you saying I can't have you?"

I sigh in frustration. "I'm completely off-limits. It would break all the bro codes in the book. God forbid I ever meet your parents and they ask how we met. All of it is wrong, and I have morals."

He nods, agreeing. "Strong ones."

I slouch further because he's not taking this seriously. "Sanderson," I warn.

"A chance," he says, sitting on the bed next to me. He's amazingly huge on my tiny twin bed. I don't think it's big enough for him.

I repeat after him. "A chance?"

His eyes search my face and then his hand cups my cheek. He rubs his thumb across my bottom lip, and the touch sends jolts through me.

"A chance. I want to get to know you. And I want you to know me."

I almost laugh because he's out of his mind.

"You might not like how we met, but I sure as fuck can't get you out of my head. I'm intrigued, and I want to know more. If you liked my asshole brother then I'm sure you'll love me."

He sounds so confident as he says that. He thinks his brother is an asshole? And the brother thing is even more reason not to pursue this.

"I don’t know. I guess I need to think about it," I find myself saying. I’m not exactly convinced, but I don’t know. I don’t know why I just said that.

He licks his lips, dropping his hand. "Okay. Thinking's good."

"Yeah."

Silence falls between us, thick with possibilities I don't dare examine too closely. I need him to leave before I do or say something stupid.

"You should probably go," I say finally. "People might notice."

He stands, towering over me. "When will you be done thinking?"

The question catches me off guard. "I don't know. This isn't exactly a situation with a handbook."

"How about I give you a deadline?" There's that confidence again, like he already knows the outcome.

"A deadline?" I raise an eyebrow. "For what? My moral crisis?"

"For deciding if you'll let me take you to dinner." He grins, and my stomach does something ridiculous in response. "Tomorrow night. Eight o'clock."

"That's not much time for thinking," I point out.

"I find that too much thinking just complicates things." He starts walking backward toward the door. "Besides, it's just dinner. Not a marriage proposal."

I stand too, crossing my arms. "And what if I say no?"

"Then I'll respect that." His expression turns serious. "But I hope you'll say yes."

"Why?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

He pauses, hand on the doorknob. "Because there's something here, Hannah. Something real. And I think you feel it too."

Before I can respond, he cracks the door and peeks out. "Coast is clear," he says, then looks back at me. "Eight o'clock tomorrow. Yes or no."

"I haven't decided yet."

"Text me when you do." And with that, he slips out the door, closing it silently behind him.

I collapse back onto my bed, mind spinning. What just happened? Did I really just consider going on a date with my ex-boyfriend's brother? The same brother I accidentally slept with? The one who just witnessed the most humiliating confrontation of my life?

My phone buzzes on my nightstand. Lennox.

Lennox: GIRL. There is a literal HOCKEY GOD walking out of your dorm right now. Sanders Connolly?! EXPLAIN YOURSELF IMMEDIATELY.

I groan and bury my face in my pillow. Of course, Lennox saw him. Probably her and the rest of the floor. Because this day couldn't possibly get any more complicated.

Hannah: It's a long story.

Lennox: I have time. And wine. Coming over.

Before I can talk her out of it, there's a knock on my door. I know it's her without even checking. I open the door to find Lennox standing there with a bottle of rosé and a judgmental expression.

"Start talking," she says, pushing past me into the room.

I close the door, leaning against it for a moment before facing her. "Cade came by."

Her eyes widen. "While Sanderson was here?"

"Yeah," I say, running a hand through my hair. "He hid in my closet."

"This is better than any Netflix series out there," she says, unscrewing the wine cap and taking a swig straight from the bottle. "So, what happened?"

I tell her everything—Cade's confession about Anna, my admission about what happened with Sanderson, the ugly fight that followed. By the time I get to Sanderson emerging from the closet after Cade left, Lennox is sitting on my bed, mouth agape.

"So let me get this straight," she says when I finish. "Your ex-boyfriend's brother, who you accidentally slept with, wants to take you on a date? After hiding in your closet while you and his brother had a knock-down, drag-out fight about how you both cheated on each other?"

When she puts it like that, it sounds even more insane. "Pretty much."

"And you're actually considering it?" She passes me the bottle of wine.

I guess we are drinking straight from the bottle, so I take a long sip. "I don't know. It's complicated."

"Complicated is an understatement." She studies me for a moment. "You like him, don't you? Sanderson."

I scoff, trying to brush that thought away. "I barely know him."

"That's not a denial."

I sigh, setting the bottle on my desk. "There's something there. I don't know what it is, but…"

"But it's enough to make you consider breaking every unwritten rule in the relationship handbook."

I meet her eyes. "Am I crazy?"

"Probably." She shrugs. "But I get it. Chemistry is chemistry. And if he's half as good in bed as the rumors say—"

"Lennox!"

"Just saying." She grins. "Though I guess you'd know better than most."

"Can we not?" I groan. "I'm still processing the fact that Cade cheated on me, called me a whore, and stormed out. Not to mention the whole closet situation."

Her expression softens. "Hey, for what it's worth, I think you handled it all pretty admirably. You told the truth when you could have lied. That counts for something."

"Does it? Because right now it feels like all it did was blow up in my face." I sink onto the bed beside her. "Maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut."

"And what? Let Cade think he was the only one who did something wrong? Let him use that to manipulate you back into a relationship?" She shakes her head. "Nope. You did the right thing."

"Then why do I feel so terrible?"

"Because doing the right thing often feels like shit in the moment." She puts an arm around my shoulders. "So…dinner with Sanderson? Are you going?"

I lean my head against her shoulder. "I don't know yet."

But even as I say it, I know I'm lying to myself. Because despite all the reasons I shouldn't, despite all the complications and potential fallout, there's a part of me—a growing part—that wants to say yes. That wants to see where this strange, unexpected connection might lead.

"You'll figure it out," Lennox says, giving me a squeeze. "And whatever you decide, I've got your back."

I close my eyes, grateful for her friendship. "Thanks."

What I don't tell her is that I think I've already made up my mind. I just don't have the courage to admit it yet.