Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player - Chapter 96: Chapter 96

SETH
Ha.
Fucking hell.
I narrow my eyes at the girl standing in front of me — pretty, wide-eyed, holding a mop like she actually thinks she could take me.
I already know who she is.
Hard not to, really.
She looks stunned. Probably thrown off by how much I look like Liam.
I smirk, bitter. Yeah, Jessica probably looked the same way — right before she ended up in his bed.
I take a step closer and she snaps out of it, lifting the mop like she’s done this before. Her scowl’s cute, in a don’t-fuck-with-me kind of way. “Come any closer and I’ll shove this up your ass.”
I tilt my head, amused. “In my own house?”
She doesn’t flinch. “I don’t break in through windows at my own house. Just saying.”
“Maybe I didn’t want to wake anyone up.” I shrug. “It’s a school night.”
“Then you won’t mind going back out the way you came. I’ll get Julie to let you in properly — no alarms, no mop to the face.”
I almost laugh. She’s got nerve, I’ll give her that.
I take a step closer. Then another. Just to test her.
She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink — just tightens her grip like she means it.
I’m close enough to say something smug when—
SMACK!
Pain explodes across my shoulder. “Mmph— fuck!”
She lowers the mop slightly, but doesn’t back off. “Next one’s to the ribs.”
I rub the spot she hit, still smiling. “You always this violent, or am I just lucky?”
“No, you’re just dumb.”
I nod, impressed. “Dumb and kinda into it.”
That gets her. Her expression flickers — confused, then mildly horrified — but she doesn’t let go of the mop.
God, she’s fun.
“I see why my brother’s into you,” I say, running a hand through my hair, still catching my breath. There’s a rush under my skin now — something wild and burning and stupidly alive.
Seeing Rowland always drags me under. Makes me feel like I’m drowning in everything I’ll never be. And Liam… Liam just adds fuel to the fire I can’t put out — all that quiet competence, all that ease.
But this girl?
This girl’s looking at me like I’m speaking in tongues and she’s still ready to rearrange my bones with a mop.
And for some reason, that makes it worse. Or better.
“Hit me again, beautiful,” I say, grinning now. “I might actually enjoy it.”
She stares at me like I’ve just crawled out of a sewer.
“Are you actually insane?” she asks, face twisted in the most gloriously offended expression I’ve ever seen. “You break in through a window, talk shit, ask to be assaulted, and now you’re flirting? I should’ve hit you harder.”
God, she’s incredible.
I press a palm to my chest. “Marry me.”
Her mouth drops open. “Oh my God—”
The door swings open just then, and in walks Liam.
Perfect timing.
He freezes in the doorway, eyes locking on the scene: me, grinning like a lunatic; her, mop raised; both of us way too close.
I see the shift in his face. The second he processes it.
So I make it worse.
I grab the mop with one hand and tug her toward me, catching her completely off guard. Before she can wriggle free, I duck down and kiss her.
She doesn’t just resist — she fights. She bites my lip so hard I actually flinch, her knee aiming somewhere dangerous.
Still. My blood’s buzzing. I let her go, laughing, tasting copper.
Liam’s already across the room.
He shoves me hard — back hits the wall — and if looks could kill, I’d be six feet under, cremated, and scattered off a cliff.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls, voice low and shaking with rage.
I lick my lip, tasting blood, smiling wider.
“Bonding,” I say.
Then I look at the girl still clutching the mop like a weapon and shrug. “Told you I’d like it.”
LIAM
“I’m sixteen, Li. I’m not a kid anymore.”
Lucille’s arms are crossed, her face pulled into what I think is supposed to be a glare — except there’s no heat behind it. Not really.
I sigh. Maybe this is on me. In my head, they’re all still babies. Even Maya, and she’s only five years younger. Veronica’s a senior and still calls me at 2 AM because she had a bad dream. And Lucille… Lucille is too soft-hearted to realise that people can smile at her and still treat her like shit.
I wince.
Julie and I might’ve gentle-parented a little too well.
Then I think about how Seth and Eliza turned out and wonder how the hell gentle parenting skipped them entirely.
“I’m not saying you are,” I tell her. “You’re old enough to stand up for yourself. And not let anyone give you sh—” I catch myself. “A hard time. I don’t have friends who get off on making me feel like crap.”
“But I’m not upset!” Lucille argues, indignant. “They’re just jokes. Pranks. I actually have a sense of humour, Liam.”
I frown. “Does your sense of humour include drinking toilet water? Or having your Gatorade swapped with mineral water?” I level her with a look. “You break out in hives when you drink that stuff. Come on, Luci. Be serious.”
She doesn’t budge — and, God help me, some stupid part of me is proud of her for it. I just wish she’d channel that backbone toward people who deserve it.
“They are my friends,” she snaps. “You don’t know how they show affection. And you and Julie are always going on about letting us make our own choices — until we actually try, and suddenly we’re too young to know anything.”
Well. Can’t argue with that.
I run a hand over Luka’s head — he’s been sprawled out beside me this whole time, yawning dramatically while I try to talk sense into his twin. Sometimes I wonder if we spoiled them both too much. Luka maybe more than Lucille.
He’s like a house cat. A lazy one.
I rub his temple — no fever. Honestly, I’m starting to think he faked being sick just for the attention.
“What do you think, Luka?”
Without even cracking an eye open, he mutters, “Don’t care. She’ll figure it out when they shove her off a cliff. Or not. Maybe she’ll think it’s their love language.” Another yawn.
My eye twitches.
This kid…
Lucille, meanwhile, is livid. “At least I have friends! I’m not the one who’s too lazy to make any — or keep them.”
Luka rubs his eyes and gives her a deadpan look, like even acknowledging her is a personal sacrifice. “And never get rid of them. Please. Save the rest of us the horror.”
I press my fingers into my temple.
Then, I catch myself thinking — God, I wish Emilia were here.
She would’ve had Luka eating out of the palm of her hand by now. Or coaxing Lucille with cookies. Either way, problem solved.
And now I can’t stop thinking about how she looked this morning — hair damp from the shower, tied up in that lazy bun she somehow still makes hot. Or how she stole my hoodie, and how it looked ten times better on her than it ever did on me.
She smells like coffee and something sweet I can’t name, but I’d kill to have beneath my tongue. Her laugh lingers in my head longer than it should. And don’t even get me started on how casually she leans against the doorframe just to watch me get ready.
Damn it.
Lucille’s still ranting. Luka’s halfway to sleep again. And I’m sitting here thinking about a girl who’s just a floor above me. Who I was with less than an hour ago.
An hour too long. What am I even doing away from her in the first place?
I sigh, rubbing a hand down my face. “Alright, that’s enough. I’m going to bed. You have school in the morning. You too, Luka.”
He sits up like I just betrayed him. “What? I’m sick.”
“Nice try, kiddo.” I ruffle his hair as I get up. “I’m not one of your sisters — you’ve gotta work harder to fool me.”
I cross the room to Lucille, who’s still radiating teen rage. I reach out to pat her head, but she ducks away with a dramatic huff.
“When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow, probably.” Her face shifts for a second — something flickers behind the glare — but she just folds her arms tighter and turns away.
“Good,” she mutters. “Now Seth won’t have to climb through windows while you’re gone.”
Climb through—?
I freeze, then whip my head toward the window. Sure enough, I catch the shadow of someone climbing into the room directly above us.
Emilia.
“Shit.”
I make it upstairs in record time, but I’m still too late. And it doesn’t matter how fast I ran — because what I see sends white-hot fury straight through my skull.
The urge to murder my brother has never burned this strong.
But Emilia beats me to it.
She’s standing there, lips smeared with Seth’s blood, eyes blazing. Her voice is low and venomous. “You disgusting pervert.”
And then she swings.
The mopstick cracks across the side of his skull, hard enough that I flinch.