Page 32 of Exes That Puck (The Honey Badger Puckers #4)

I snuck out while Dylan was in the shower. Now I’m sitting in my truck in the dark, hands on the steering wheel, key sitting in the ignition. Should I drive to her dorm? Should I find Lola on Instagram and see if she knows where Kara is? Should I just go back inside and accept that it’s over?

Someone walks into the garage, and I still. I see Kara’s brunette hair, and my heart races.

I blink hard, thinking I’m seeing things. But it’s definitely her. She looks her nervous. She stops at the side door and takes a deep breath, then hesitates before knocking.

What the hell is she doing here?

She peeks through the window, takes another breath, then walks away from the door. Then back toward it. Then away again, like she can’t make up her mind.

I open my truck door, and she screams, jumping in place.

“You scared the shit out of me!” she squeals.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“I... I...” She’s at a loss of words, so I’ll help her out.

“How’s Josh?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

She shakes her head. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You look hurt. Did you get hurt tonight on the ice?”

I shake my head but keep my distance from her. “Depends on what you did tonight.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“I’m just supposed to believe that?”

She nods. “Why else would I be here?” She hugs herself and shivers. “Can we go in your room? I’m freezing.”

I open the front door, and she follows me past the living room where Scott’s asleep on the couch, snoring loud enough to wake the neighbors.

She sits on the edge of my bed while I lean against the closed door, arms crossed.

“So you didn’t go?” I ask.

“I was going to because you told me to. I gave him Lola’s address, watched him pull up.” She looks down at her hands. “Then I couldn’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want him. I want––”

The words hit me in the chest, but I don’t move. “Don’t lie to me.”

She shakes her head. “Did you try to sleep with Brianne?”

I pause too long before answering. “For about five minutes, yeah. I was pissed and hurt and wanted to hurt you back. She turned me down. Said she wouldn’t be anyone’s rebound.”

Kara nods like she expected that answer. “I’ve been thinking about us. About why we keep doing this to each other.”

I scratch my head and throw my hands. “And?”

“I think we’re both broken in ways that make each other worse.”

I push off from the door. “So what, you came here to break up with me again? You’re ending it officially now? Breaking up what little we do have left together?”

“No. I came here to tell you something I’ve never told anyone. Not even Payton until today, and she told me that I should tell you, and that maybe you’d understand why I’m like this.”

“Like what?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

She’s quiet for so long I think she’s changed her mind. Then she starts talking, and the words come out in a rush like she’s afraid if she stops, she won’t be able to start again.

She tells me about her mom. Her real mom, who died when she was a baby. About growing up thinking her aunt was her mother, finding out the truth late in high school, learning that her real mom was reckless and self-destructive. About how that knowledge made her question everything about herself.

“I start fights,” she says, tears streaming down her face. “Not because I want to fight, but because I want to see if you’ll leave. If you’ll prove that I’m just like her—too much trouble to love.”

I want to go to her, but something keeps me frozen in place.

“And when you don’t leave, when you fight back and stay, it makes me feel crazy. Like I’m testing you and you keep failing the test by not walking away.”

“That’s fucked up, Kara.”

“I know. I know it’s fucked up. That’s why I’m telling you.” She wipes her face with her sleeve. “I’ve been thinking it was your jealousy, your control issues. And it is, partly. But it’s also me pushing buttons I know will set you off.”

“Yeah.”

“And I figure if you get mad enough, you’ll leave. And then I can tell myself it’s your fault, not mine.”

I sit down on the bed next to her but not touching. “I’m sorry for all of it. It’s not fair.”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry too.”

The pieces start clicking together in my head.

All those fights that seemed to come out of nowhere.

The way she’d accuse me of lying when I was telling the truth.

How she’d get suspicious when I was five minutes late, convinced I was hiding something.

The time she went through my phone looking for evidence of cheating that didn’t exist. The way she’d pick at small things until they became massive blowouts.

I always thought she was just being difficult or dramatic. But if she grew up believing love meant being abandoned, if she learned that the people who are supposed to protect you lie to you and put on an act for your entire childhood, then of course she’d approach relationships expecting betrayal.

The night she threw my keys across the room because I didn’t answer my phone during practice.

The morning she cried for two hours because I said I was “fine” when she asked how I was, convinced I was shutting her out.

The way she’d start arguments right before important games or big moments, like she was testing whether I’d choose her or hockey.

Even the good times make more sense now. How she’d cling to me after we made up from fights, like she was afraid I’d disappear if she let go. The way she’d ask, “Do you still love me?” multiple times a day, needing constant reassurance that I hadn’t changed my mind.

And my reactions to all of it—getting defensive, getting angry, proving her right that people leave when things get hard. Instead of understanding that she was scared, I made her fear come true by pulling away every time she tested me.

I slide off the bed onto my knees in front of her, looking up at her tear-stained face.

“I’m sorry you went through that,” I say. “I’m sorry no one protected you. I’m sorry you had to grow up not knowing who to trust.”

She looks down at me, surprised.

“At the away game tonight, I was going through hell knowing you might be with Josh. Not because I was jealous, but because I pushed you toward him. I told you to go be with him when what I should have said was that I was scared of losing you.” I take her hands.

“The dating thing was working. We were good when we were taking it slow, when we weren’t trying to be everything to each other all at once. ”

“Yeah, so what are you saying?”

“I’m saying let’s do that. Take it slow. Go to therapy—together, apart, whatever we need. Work on our shit so we don’t keep hurting each other.”

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “You really want to try again?”

“I love you so fucking much. I’m not just giving up on you. I want to try right this time. Not just keep repeating the same patterns and hoping for different results.”

She nods slowly. “I’d like that too.”

I stand up and sit on the bed beside her. “Come here?”

She leans into me, and I wrap my arms around her. She feels different somehow, not fragile but honest. Like she’s stopped carrying secrets that were too heavy for her.

“This is going to take time,” she says into my chest.

“We have time.”

“What if I can’t change?”

“And what if I don’t? I might still get defensive when you do. But at least now we know what we’re dealing with.”

She pulls back to look at me. “So we’re really doing this? Actually trying instead of just winging it?”

“Yeah. We’re doing this.” I grab her chin. “I love you, Kara.”

“I love you too,” she whispers, leaning in to kiss me.

This kiss feels really good like we’re finally passing a pivotal point in our relationship.

We’re not trying to prove a point to each other anymore, it’s obvious that we keep choosing each other.

I can taste the salt from her tears, feel the way she relaxes into me like she’s finally letting her guard down completely.

When we break apart, I rest my forehead against hers. “Are you sure about this? I’m what you want?”

She grabs my face. “I’m in love with you, Zeke. I can’t stop thinking about how I fucked everything up.”

I kiss her. “Yeah?”

She kisses me. “Yeah… and this time, can we just be us? Not trying to make up for fighting or prove anything. Just us.”

I kiss her again, softer. “Just us.”

We take our time undressing each other, no urgency or desperation. Just the quiet intimacy of being with someone who knows all your broken pieces and wants you anyway. When she shivers, I pull the blanket around us, holding her close.

Every touch feels like a promise. Every whispered word feels like forgiveness. When she looks at me with bright eyes with tears but smiling, I understand what people mean when they talk about loving someone with your whole heart.

“I love you,” I murmur against her neck as we move together. “I love your stubborn streak and your morning hair and the way you hum when you’re doing homework.”

She laughs softly, threading her fingers through mine. “I love you too. Even when you annoy me and eat the last of everything.”

The sex is everything we need. I feel so fucking connected to her like maybe it will be different this time.

Afterward, we lie tangled together, her head on my chest, both of us quiet and content. I trace her shoulder while she rubs my abs.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks.

“How different this feels.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

I nod. “Like we’re not trying to fix something broken anymore. We’re just... here together.”

She lifts her head to look at me. “I’m not perfect, Zeke. I think we’ve had so many up and downs that we’ll know how to handle them properly.”

I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I will give you all the space you need. I can live with that.”

“Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Even when it gets hard. Even when you mess up, or I mess up. I’m not running anymore.”

I pull her closer, memorizing the weight of her against me, the way she fits perfectly in the space between my arm and my chest. For the first time in months, maybe years, I’m not worried about tomorrow or next week or what might go wrong.

I’m just here, with her, and that’s more than enough.