Crosschecked By The Wrong Twin(A Hockey romance)

Chapter 7: Let it go

Juniper POV

When the door clicked shut behind Tristan, my body almost forgot to keep pretending.

I stood there for one stupid second—hand still on the back of a chair, eyes still tracking the hallway before the silence returned fully to the apartment. No footsteps, no murmured laughter from somewhere down the hall. No Nolan-shaped pressure in the air.

Just me and the faint hum of the place, like it was holding its breath for me too.

Tristan’s voice was the last thing that lingered.

“Matches,” he’d said, like it was a schedule, like it wasn’t also a leash. “I’ll be away on these dates. You’ll know exactly when I’m going to be gone, and you’ll be there when you’re supposed to be there. But tomorrow by seven.”

He’d told me when he’d be playing. He’d told me when I should be present. He’d even—of course—tied it all to Nolan’s attention, like timing was the only language Nolan understood.

I dragged my palms across my face, and exhaled sharply.

Then I started arranging my room as if order could overwrite what just happened. My fingers moved on autopilot, but my thoughts wouldn’t.

I kept seeing Tristan’s mouth when he said ‘matches’. Kept hearing Nolan’s footsteps retreat like they were slamming a door I couldn’t open.

And underneath all of it, I remembered the cause of all this problem.

The paper.

The memory of it hit me in the middle of folding a shirt.

The carpet.

I stopped folding my shirt and knelt by the carpet. I pressed my fingertips beneath the edge. Nothing.

I tugged at the rug’s corner, nothing.

I reached farther back, pushing the fabric aside with my palms, and still no paper.

My throat tightened.

“Goddamn it,” I muttered, quiet enough that it didn’t feel like a prayer.

I tried again, deeper this time, like desperation could make the paper reappear. My nails scraped against the floor. Still nothing.

Either I’d been wrong about where it skidded to, or Tristan was fast. My heart thudded once, hard.

I sat back on my heels, staring at the rug like it might confess.

What was inside the paper anyway?

With a sigh, I forced myself up. Maybe it was better not to know what was inside.

When I finished rearranging my room, I stepped into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. I watched my expression in the mirror. I looked normal. Like a girl who hadn’t just walked into a power struggle and gotten shoved into the middle of it.

My eyes were too bright anyway. I tried to blink it away.

By the time I returned to my room, my heart was still racing. My body hadn’t gotten the memo that Tristan had left. My brain kept replaying the memory.

The way Nolan had looked at Tristan.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall for a long moment, like I could see through it. Like I could see what was on the other side of my choices.

Then a knock sounded at my door .

My whole body snapped toward it. My pulse spiked like someone had hit a switch.

“Juniper,” a voice called, and my stomach dropped because I already knew the voice.

Mabel.

I stood up too fast. Like I’d been waiting for her. Like my nerves weren’t already on fire.

I moved to the door, hand hovering near the knob. I didn’t open it immediately—didn’t want her to see my face. When I finally pulled the door open, I meant to keep it just a crack.

Just enough to tell her no. But Mabel wasn’t slow.

The second the gap appeared, she pushed her way in like she owned my apartment.

“I can’t believe you—” I started, but I didn’t finish because my body was too busy reacting.

Mabel’s shoulder hit the door hard enough that I nearly jammed it into her on instinct.

I tried to wedge it between us anyway, trying to hold the line, trying to reclaim what I could.

“Get out,” I snapped.

“What?” Mabel laughed, loud and careless. She stepped further inside before I could even decide whether to block her with my body. “Relax. I knocked. You answered.”

I shoved at the door and at her—failed at both.

“You’re in my room,” I hissed, the words coming out sharp. “What the f**k do you think you’re doing?”

Mabel turned slowly, eyes scanning like she was enjoying the inventory of my life. Like she was looking for something to judge. Like she already had.

I hated how quickly she did it. I hated how comfortable she looked inside my space after what she’d pulled before.

“Look at you,” she said, and her grin was all teeth. “Still acting like you didn’t just pick a side.”

“I didn’t pick—” I started.

“Oh, you picked,” Mabel cut in. “You always pick. You just pretend you’re not the kind of girl who makes choices.”

I swallowed. My mouth felt dry.

There was no way she’d come here for a polite conversation. No way she’d walk into my room without an angle.

Mabel’s eyes flicked back to me, then she said it like it was a joke.

“Tell me,” she asked, voice dropping slightly, “does Nolan know you’ve been fantasying about him since you were sixteen?”

My stomach flipped, and the air in the room went thin. That was not something I said out loud. That was not something I ever said to anyone.

But Mabel said it like she’d been there, like she’d watched me from behind the wall.

I stared at her. “What the f**k are you talking about?”

Mabel chuckled, like I was entertaining her.

“Or is it that one time I caught you m**********g to his pic in second semester?” she continued. “Or the fact you had his face as your screen saver one summer term and he still didn’t notice you?”

My skin went hot.

I felt exposed in a way I couldn’t fix by wiping my face or changing my stance. I tried to speak again, but my throat locked up in rage.

“Okay,” Mabel said, leaning forward slightly, enjoying the space she’d taken. “So explain to me how you go from Nolan ignoring you to suddenly dating Tristan and acting like your heart just—what—woke up?”

I forced myself to breathe.

“Stop,” I said, but it didn’t sound like I meant it. It sounded like I was begging her to be less loud, less cruel, less real.

Mabel waved a hand like she was done with my discomfort.

“And now suddenly it’s Tristan,” she said, voice full of certainty. “C’mon. I know it’s fake.”

I blinked.

“It’s not fake!” My voice came out louder than I intended, and for a second I saw her eyes widen—because she wasn’t used to being challenged.

Mabel’s smile sharpened. “Oh, so you do love him?”

“Yes!” I yelled. “Tristan and I are in love with each other.”

Lies.

The word tasted wrong in my mouth.

But the emotion behind it, my anger, my need to be seen as something other than Nolan’s forgotten option, my desire to flip the script—was real.

Mabel let out a laugh, low and mean. “Sure.”

I stepped closer, not because I was brave but because I couldn’t stand the way she talked to me like she knew every secret I’d ever buried.

“You think I’m playing?” I demanded. “You think I’m doing this because it’s fun? Because it’s entertainment?”

Mabel leaned back like she was settling in for a show.

Then she tilted her head and said, “I would love to see how long you both can put up the act.”

My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

She was trying to bait me, trying to make me stumble, trying to force the truth out of my mouth.

So I gave her something else, something that would cut.

“I’m not the only one with appetite,” I said, and my voice turned colder. “Really. You have no shame, sleeping with both brothers at the same time.”

Mabel’s grin faltered for half a second, just enough for me to feel victory.

Then she recovered fast. “Oh, you’re going to act offended now?”

“I’m not offended,” I snapped. “I’m furious. Because you’re here acting like you’re the righteous one.”

Mabel blinked, and then her laugh returned, bigger. “You’re furious because you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” I repeated, and the word sounded ridiculous in my mouth. “Jealous of what? Of you? Please.”

Mabel shrugged, casual as sin. “Of the fact that Tristan moved on from me.”

My throat tightened.

I hadn’t expected her to say it like that. Like it was a competition. Like it was a score she’d kept.

But I couldn’t let her keep writing the story.

“Jealous?” I repeated again, and my anger focused into something clean. “Tristan didn’t move on from you. Tristan moved ‘forward’. And I’m not—” I swallowed, and it hurt. “I’m not still stuck on what you did.”

Mabel’s eyes gleamed. “And what’s that? The part where you imagine you get to replace me?”

I felt my face heat again. Like my skin couldn’t decide whether to burn or freeze.

Then, because she wouldn’t stop, because she kept pushing, because I needed her to hear exactly how small she was making herself, I said the thing that came out of me like a blade.

“I bet if you had the opportunity you would suck both d***s at the same time.”

The room went silent for one heartbeat. Mabel stared at me, then she lifted her hand, slow at first.

Then fast—like she’d decided the next move didn’t require planning.

Her palm swung toward my face.

I moved on instinct.

My hand snapped up and caught her wrist midair, fingers closing tight enough that her slap never landed. I held it there, feeling the vibration of her momentum.

Her eyes widened now—really widened. I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to. My grip was the warning.

Mabel tried to jerk her wrist free, but I kept control.

“Don’t,” I said, low.

“Let go of me,” she hissed, and her voice finally showed a crack underneath all the laughter.

I loosened my grip just enough to make it clear I didn’t plan to keep hurting her, but I didn’t let go fully. I pushed her back toward the door.

“Get out,” I repeated.

Mabel regained her balance with a sharp laugh that sounded forced. “You think pushing me around makes you innocent?”

“I don’t care about being innocent,” I said. “I care about my space.”

Then I shoved her out. She stumbled into the hallway like she’d expected me to freeze—and she didn’t get what she came for.

As soon as she stepped back far enough, I slammed my hand on the door.

“Stay out,” I said.

Mabel leaned in, head tilted like she enjoyed the confrontation.

“Tell me something, Juniper,” she called through the crack. “If it’s not fake, why do you look like you’re about to throw up every time Tristan’s near you?”

My stomach dropped.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

I could still feel the heat in my skin from earlier. The stress. The fear. The way I felt like I was one wrong move away from everything collapsing.

But I refused to give her that satisfaction.

I opened the door wider so she couldn’t hide behind it anymore.

“I said. Get. Out” I said.

Mabel studied me for a moment, then gave a slow nod like she’d collected something.

“Okay,” she said softly, which was somehow worse than her yelling. “Enjoy your little arrangement while it lasts.”

She turned to leave.

And I should’ve closed the door immediately, should’ve locked it, should’ve done anything to restore control. But I stared at her retreating back, and my thoughts dragged behind her.

I shut the door with more force than necessary and leaned my forehead against it. My breathing was uneven. My hands shook slightly.