Page 58 of Faking It with my Hockey Crush

Whump. Whump. Whump.

Someone’s banging on my door. Clearly, it’s not Emma. She went to work not long ago. It has to be my delightful brother. He rarely comes to this side of the house, but evidently, something’s eating him, and I’ll have no choice but to suffer his self-righteousness, whatever it is about.

Jumping out of the shower, I’m wrapping the towel around my waist when the sound comes again.

Whump! Whump! Whump!

“Alright. Alright. I’m coming,” I bark.

While I have no interest in talking to him, I know he won’t quit until I do.

“What?” I bark, flinging my door open.

Thomas has a face like thunder, and barging into my room, he growls. “You’ve done it again, haven’t you?”

“Hey. Come in.” I fling an open gesture into the bedroom. “Make yourself at home,” I drawl sarcastically.

“What is wrong with you?” he barks, spinning around to glare at me.

I slam the door shut—I don’t want anyone else to wander into my room on a whim—and turn to face him. Anger is rising in my throat at his intrusion, and his attack sure isn’t helping.

“What are you talking about?” I demand.

“You can’t help yourself,” he rants. “It’s like you have some disease, some mental affliction.” He stabs his finger into his temple. “Even when everything is going your way like it usually does,” he spits, “you still find a way to mess it up and hurt everyone else in the process.”

I’m now just gawking at him because I still have no clue what the heck he is on about, and I’ll be honest, I’m struggling to curb this rising rage.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I bellow.

Shaking with anger but not saying another word, my brother lifts the newspaper he has gripped in his hand and shoves it in my face. When I see the picture, my mouth drops open, my eyes fly wide, and a panic washes through me. I can feel my heart suddenly jump a few hundred beats, and a cold sweat covers my whole body.

Snatching the paper out of Thomas’s hand, I read the headline.

Star Hockey Player Likes to Play the Odds

“No!” I gasp. “No, no, no. This cannot be happening.”

I feel sick to my stomach as I read the small article, describing me as a player off the ice as well as on. The journalist is a snarky idiot with remarks that only make me angrier.

Let’s face it, Ryan Steele is not the greatest ice hockey player in the world. Maybe he feels like he needs to compensate for his lack of talent. One thing’s for certain: it looks like the wedding bells have come crashing to the ground at great speed.

“What did you think was going to happen?” Thomas spits, cutting into the silence. “You’re an idiot. A selfish idiot. You always were, and you always will be.”

But Thomas is wrong. This is all wrong. “No,” I shake my head frantically, “This didn’t happen.”

“You could have fooled me.” Thomas bares his teeth, throwing a hand at the paper.

“I never saw Megan after that night she showed up in the bar. I swear. This is—” I look back at the picture. “This is fake. It has to be. I never went anywhere—”

“Oh, come on, Ryan,” Thomas barks. “If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable, for heaven’s sake.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You are,” he bellows, snarling at me like a rabid dog. “I knew you were going to wreck this. I knew it. You’ve humiliated Emma just to get your five minutes with Megan. And what did she everdo to deserve you? Emma, I mean, not that other thing you hooked up with.”

I’m getting angrier by the second. Thomas, the photo, the article, Megan. Because I know she’s behind this, the little witch.

“Shut up!” I yell, teetering on the edge of exploding. “You’ve done nothing but be on my case since I came home.”

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