Page 14 of Pucking Fake

I launch my other shoe at him, watching in immense satisfaction as this one cracks him in the back of his stupid, gorgeous, cheating head.

"Goddammit," he growls, spinning toward me again. He reaches up to rub the back of his head. "Will you stop throwing shoes at my head and let me explain? I didn't mean it that way."

"There's nothing to explain," I mutter, turning toward the door. "You're a cheating asshole. And you can go to hell. End of story." I grab the doorknob, ready to get the hell out of here before he sees me cry. Hell will freeze over before I allow this man to see me cry. He's done enough damage for one night.

Apparently, he doesn't agree. Before I can wrench the door open and throw myself out, he grabs my arm.

"Peyton, it isn't what you think. Stop and let me–"

I don't stop. I don't think. I spin on him, bringing my knee up as hard as I can. It connects with his groin.

"Fuck!" he groans, doubling over. His grip on my arm loosens, allowing me to yank it free.

"Don't ever touch me again," I snap, rushing through the door into the backyard. Of course there's gravel.Of coursethere is.

I'm in a shoeless hell of my own making.

I hobble across the gravel toward the front of the house, cursing Logan the entire way. If I ever see him again, it'll be too soon. Way too soon.

So I keep telling myself.

Right up until I'm in my Uber and he's chasing after us down the driveway, naked. My stupid heart betrays me then, a tiny piece of it splintering away from the rest.

Serena was right. Logan Moreno is trouble. Too damn bad I didn't take her advice and avoid him before I slept with him and got my feelings involved. Because they're all kinds of involved now. And they arehurt.

"Friend of yours?" my driver asks, glancing at me in the rearview mirror as Logan gives up chasing us halfway down the driveway and clutches his head in his hands, staring after us like he's losing something important. Except…we both know that's a lie.

I wasn't important. I was just something he used to pass the time.

"Nope," I lie, closing my eyes to hide the tears. "I don't know him at all."

Chapter Four

Logan

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Lothario himself." Micah smirks, dropping his shit onto the bench beside me bright and early on Friday morning.

"Fuck off, Micah," I growl, bending to lace up my skates. I'm not in the mood for his bullshit this morning. Actually, I'm rarely in the mood for his bullshit first thing in the morning. But I'm even less so today. He's one of those assholes who loves mornings. And I've barely slept since Peyton dipped out on me yesterday. We have practice today and a game tomorrow. I'm not in the mood for either.

I tried tracking her down to plead my case but couldn't find a single fucking piece of information on her aside from her Instagram. And her infuriating little ass blocked me after telling me to fuck all the way off back to my wife. I don't think she even bothered to read my message.

Maybe I should have led withI'm not marriedinstead of,Hey, it's Logan.

Goddammit. Why didn't I think of that earlier?

Actually, why the fuck didn't I think to tell her about Lauren and Lachlan before I took her home with me? I'm a fucking idiot for thinking I could bring Peyton into my world without explaining the woman and child who live with me half the time.

But the simple fact is, I've spent so long purposefully not talking about Lauren that I didn't even think about filling Peyton in. I just did the same shit I do with the rest of the world and acted like Lauren doesn't exist. That's not me being a dick. That's me honoring my sister's wishes the best way I can.

Growing up, I got the medals. I was the golden child who could do no wrong. It wasn't like that for Lauren. She spent half her time in treatment for her mental health. By the time they finally diagnosed her with schizophrenia when she was fifteen, she'd already been committed six different times. My life was damn near perfect. Hers was hell.

It hasn't gotten much better for her in the years since. When she's on her medication, she's able to function normally. But off it, her mind is a terrifying place.

She sees and hears things that aren't there, monsters that want to hurt her. They torment her, dragging her down to hell. The world isn't a magical place to her. It's a waking nightmare when she's off her meds. She's paranoid, terrified, and a danger to herself.

It's been that way her entire life. And people always made her feel like a fucking failure because of it. Because she struggled while I excelled. In their eyes, that meant something was wrong with her. They pitied her, mocked her, and treated her like shit while we were growing up.

And they treated me like some fucking hero because of her, like my accomplishments meant more because of her struggles. They don't. All that juxtaposition ever managed to do was make her feel responsible for something out of her control. She didn't ask to be born with a brain that torments her. She didn't ask to have me as a brother. And she doesn't deserve to have cameras shoved in her face or be treated like she's somehow less than because of me.

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