Page 21 of His Fake Fiancé

“I knew this whole thing was a bad idea.” Jax smacked his hand on the table.

Jamie jumped and then quickly stood. She threw Claire a sympathetic look, scooped up her and Brock’s empty plates, and hurried out of the dining room. If Claire considered herself non-confrontational, then Jamie was downright skittish. Her sister-in-law was as meek as a mouse, and Claire felt for her, and for the reasons that led to her being like that. Still didn’t mean she thought Jamie and Brock were a good fit. Brock needed someone with more fire, someone to challenge him. Help him carry all that weight he insisted he needed to handle alone.

“What thing? What’s going on?” Brock looked between Jax and her, and then over at Linc. Looked like she was right. Jax and Linc hadn’t been forthcoming with the engagement ring news.

Claire opened her mouth to tell him it was none of his business.

“Last weekend at the bar, she and Jake had some sort of thing, and then next thing I know, they’re kissing and she’s wearing an engagement ring and needs me to drive her home.” Linc jumped in before she could so much as utter a syllable.

She sighed and threw Linc a huge dose of side-eye. Way to Cliff’s Notes the crap out of it.

“You were kissing Jake Callahan?”

“What sort of thing happened with Callahan?”

Both Jax and Brock had gotten to their feet, Jax leaning forward, his knuckles on the table, Brock crossing his arms again, doing his best impression of a mountain. Linc remained seated, eating his stupid pie.

When she didn’t say anything after a few seconds, they all started discussing the situation, like she wasn’t even there. Like any of it was their business and they all got a say in what she did or didn’t do.

“What does this have to do with Jake Callahan?”

“I knew he was a bad influence.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“An engagement ring? Are you sure?”

“It doesn’t matter because it’s not happening.”

Annoyance and anger bubbled up inside her, although she wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Maybe from her out of control emotional state earlier. Possibly from getting tired of being treated like a child. Definitely from testosterone poisoning.

Regardless, she was done.

She slammed her hands down on the table. Silence descended so fast, she thought for a second that she’d been sucked into the vacuum of space. Three sets of eyes swung toward her.

At least they all had the good sense to look surprised.

Slowly, she stood, looking from one brother to the next, making sure to make eye contact with each of them. They needed to know she was serious.

“First off, I wasn’t asking permission. My telling you that I’m moving out was a statement, not a question.” Her voice was steady and calm, even more so than earlier. It was a feat, one she’d celebrate later. After the spike of adrenaline had worn off and she wasn’t a squirrel-moment away from being distracted. “I realize you all think it’s your responsibility to look after me, and I thank you for all you’ve done. But I’m twenty-six years old and perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”

She met each of their gazes again, and then pushed away from the table. Inside, she was cheering and fist pumping like an over-caffeinated cheerleader, but she managed to keep it locked down tight. There’d be plenty of time to celebrate her finding her backbone later.

Her knees wobbled, but she spun around and walked out of the dining room with her back straight and her chin up. It was the first time in forever she actually stood up for herself. It felt good, in a light headed, I can’t believe I just did that, sort of way. She was going to imprint this high on her subconscious, so the next time she needed to stand up for herself, she’d have something to strive for. No doubt this feeling could be quite addicting.

She briefly considered seeking out her dad, but decided against it. She wanted time to savor her current win before diving into the deep end without a life jacket. And maybe shackled with lead weights. One small victory at a time. Besides, she had no idea what she’d even say to him.

Yelling at Brock, Jax and Linc to butt out of her life was one thing, but actually saying the words to her dad was something else. They didn’t share these types of things, didn’t have that kind of relationship. They talked about the weather, and the books for the ranch, the occasional football game. They didn’t talk about feelings and emotions and relationships.

She hurried up the stairs, the adrenaline wearing off at a frightening rate. Slipping into her room, she shut the door and flipped on the lamp to chase away the dark. For some reason, her bedroom looked different, felt different. It was the same room she’d had her whole life. The same pink walls, painted by her mom before she was born, the color chosen because her mom had been sure her surprise baby was going to be a girl.

Claire always assumed, every time she heard the story of how the boys had helped their mom paint the bedroom and get everything ready for the new baby, that at the time, her mother was nudging the universe into granting her wish.

A piercing ache swept through her. She rubbed at her chest, hoping to alleviate some of the pain. It didn’t help, and she didn’t quite know why.

She dug out her suitcase from the back of the closet and tossed it on the bed. Ran her fingers over the barely worn fabric. She’d had plans when she bought herself the suitcase for her eighteenth birthday. Plans that involved ancient cities and exotic locales. And here she was, eight years later, and she’d never even left the state.

With that depressing thought hanging over her head like a storm cloud, she moved the suitcase onto the floor and dropped onto the mattress. The idea of packing right this second made her feel sick. And, it wasn’t like there was a rush.