Page 42 of Pucking Fake

"As for Lauren…" She tips her head to the side, sighing. "You need to prepare yourself for the very real probability that Montaque is going to print his story about her. Both of you need to decide if you want to head that off at the pass and tell it from your POV before he gets an opportunity to skew it. And believe me, he will skew it because that's the kind of ignorant prick he is. No one knows anything about her history, so there isn't going tobe any mitigating the damage there. The best you can do is take control of the narrative and allow Lauren to tell her story her way. It's what she deserves. You know it is."

Hell, maybe she's right. Maybe all I'm doing by stalling is delaying the inevitable here and giving Montaque more time to fuck her over and hurt her. I don't know anymore. But Alice has no idea what it's like to watch the sister you promised to protect slowly lose herself to a disease she can't control over and over again. She doesn't know what it's like to have to sneak into a mental institution to visit her or listen to her pleading with people only she sees not to hurt her. That's been my life…and it's been Lauren's.

How the fuck am I supposed to tell her that I fucked up and let her down? I don't know.

Just like I don't fucking know how I'm supposed to tell Peyton that maybe she was right about me and I'm the last motherfucker she needs in her life. I've been fucking up with her from the very beginning.

And the real hell of it? I don't know how to stop. When it comes to her, I don't know how to fucking stop. She's an addiction, something I crave with an intensity that borders on desperation. Even knowing that I'm fucking up and pissing her off at every turn, I keep doing it, because so long as she's pissed and fighting me and being mouthy and we're all over each other, maybe I don't have to admit that she's not the only one terrified out of her mind.

I am, too.

I am fucking terrified she's going to realize what I already know. She's been right about me all along. I am a fucking asshole who doesn't deserve her. And I have no clue how to become someone who does.

"Moreno!" Coach shouts, stomping into the locker room after the first period, his face red and his expression hard. The door slams behind him as he stomps in my direction.

Son of a bitch. He's been pissed all day because I'm all over the news again. There are few things he dislikes more than seeing our names on the news when it's unrelated to the game.

"What the fuck are you doing out there, kid?"

"Defending the goal," I mutter, mopping sweat from my face with a towel.

"I've seen toddlers stop pucks better than you have tonight," he growls, stopping in front of me.

Shit, he probably isn't wrong. My mind has been all over the place. The one place it hasn't been is on the ice. I need to get my shit together and get my head in the game before we lose it. They're killing us out there right now because I'm fucking up.

"Do I need to pull you from the net?"

"No, sir. I've got it," I say. "It was just a rough start."

"If you don't have it together soon, I'm pulling you out," he warns me before whipping his head in Diego's direction. "Get your head on straight in case Moreno has to come out, Tapia. And do not piss me off, kid."

"On it, Coach," Diego says somberly.

Coach shoots another quelling look in my direction before stomping away to talk to Archer. He pauses in front of Jordan briefly, shooting him a death glare. He doesn't say anything,though. He already reamed his ass on the bench once he got out of the penalty box for the third time.

I'm not sure what the fuck is up with Jordan tonight, but his mood is worse than usual. Actually, it's been worse than usual all day.

"Fuck," I mutter, bouncing my head against the wall behind me.

"You good?" Jordan asks, glancing over at me.

"Fucking fabulous."

"Right," he snorts. "You hit your head against that wall any fucking harder, Coach isn't going to have to pull you out. You're going to knock your own dumbass out."

"Maybe that's the plan."

"Whatever. Have a fucking ball."

I narrow my eyes on him. "What's up with you?"

"Not a damn thing. What's up with you?"

"Not a damn thing," I say.

"Well, at least we're on the same fucking page."

I snort, shaking my head before taking a big drink of water.

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