Page 33 of Pucking Fake

He glowers over at me, all hot and bossy. "You aren't allowed to endanger yourself, Peyton."

"The only danger to me in this vehicle is you, Logan. You are a hazard to my health." I lay my head back against the seatbelt. "You're giving me high blood pressure. I probably have angina now."

His laughter rumbles across the truck. "You do not have angina."

"Says you," I mutter. "If I spend much more time around you, I'll be gray and have wrinkles before I'm twenty-five."

"You'll still be stunning."

I crack an eye open to glare at him. "Start talking, Moreno."

"Ouch. You're using my last name now? I'm in serious trouble."

I reach for the latch on my seatbelt, ready to crawl over the console to kill him. Who cares if he's driving? Watching him struggle and panic will be worth the risk to my health and safety.

"I'm kidding!" he says through laughter, flipping on the blinker to get into the turning lane. "I'm just kidding, angel. Jesus. Settle down."

"Start talking," I growl. "Now."

"My sister, Lauren, has schizophrenia," he says, sobering instantly. "She's struggled with her mental health her entire life, and people have always treated her like shit because of it. Like it's her fault she was born the way she was. They compare her to me and treat her like a fucking failure. It's been that way since we were kids."

"That's awful," I whisper, my heart aching for her.

"Yeah, it is." His hands clench around the steering wheel. "Life is hard enough for her without constantly feeling like she doesn't measure up because of me. So when I was drafted, she begged me to keep her name out of the press. It's the only thing she's ever asked of me. She doesn't want to spend the rest of her life being Logan Moreno's poor little schizophrenic sister. And she doesn't want me to be poor little Logan Moreno, the motherfucker who accomplished so much despite having a sister like her. That's what they always fucking turn us into."

My heart clenches at the pain in his voice. At the guilt. He hates that she's treated that way. It's written all over his face. "You're trying to protect her," I say quietly.

He jerks his chin in a nod. "Montaque found out about her somehow and has been sniffing around, asking questions. He knows enough about her history to know she's been institutionalized in the past. I figured if I gave him something else to chase, he'd back off, at least long enough for me to figure out what the fuck I'm going to do." He sighs. "I have to find a way to tell her, and I need to ensure that her and Lachlan don't suffer for whatever bullshit he decides to print. It'll destroy her if she loses Lachlan because of him."

"Lachlan is your nephew, right?"

"Yeah. He's eleven months old." Logan sighs. "He's the reason I requested to be traded to the Carvers. She was struggling right after he was born and ended up in treatment again. His dad has a construction company and travels a lot. She doesn't trust herself to stay alone with Lachlan yet, so when Roland is out of town, she and Lachlan come and stay with me."

"You switched teams to be here to help with your nephew?"

"Yeah," he says, shrugging like it's not a big deal as he merges with traffic headed away from the city. "They needed me."

I stare at him silently for a long moment, anger dying a swift death. It's impossible to be angry at a man willing to change his entire life around for a baby that isn't even his. And I accused him of being like my father, who couldn't even acknowledge the baby that was his. I feel smaller than small.

"I'm a jerk," I whisper, regret heavy in my tone.

He glances over at me, a question in his eyes.

"I accused you of being a cheater and an asshole and a terrible person." I swallow hard. "I thought you were like my father."

"You didn't know, angel."

"Doesn't excuse the way I acted."

"I happen to like the way you act." He arches a brow, shooting me a smirk. "Your little attitude is sexy as fuck, Peyton. You don't take any bullshit, and you call me on mine. You know howmany people are willing to do that? Not many. Most people let motherfuckers like me do whatever the fuck we want. They roll over and take it simply because we are who we are. You have a voice and a spine, and you know what you are and are not willing to tolerate. It doesn't matter what my name is or how many people know it. In fact, that doesn't mean a goddamn thing to you at all. That's sexy as hell to me."

"I spent my whole life being bullied by guys like you, Logan," I mutter, glancing out the window as we crawl through traffic. "Eventually, you learn to stand up for yourself or you keep getting knocked down. I got tired of being knocked down."

"Why the fuck did they bully you?" he asks, a growl vibrating in his voice.

"Because I'm me?" I shrug. "Because I'm everything they aren't? A lot of reasons, I guess. I'm mouthy and combative and I didn't fall at their feet. I was awkward and made things uncomfortable. I didn't just go along just to go along. And…" I lick my lips nervously. "And I guess because my father made it easy. When you're a news story every few years because your father hates you, it makes you an easy target."

"Hold the fuck on." He glances at me, his expression sharp. "What do you mean, you were a news story every few years?"

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