Page 22 of His Fake Fiancé

Sure, she’d told Jake she’d bring her stuff over tomorrow, but it wasn’t like it was etched in stone.

And why was she stressing about this? It also wasn’t like this was real. As soon as the custody thing was over, she’d be right back here, staring up at the same white ceiling, feeling boxed in by the same pink walls. It was depressing. And she had no one to blame but herself.

She was the one that hadn’t left. Made excuses for why she needed to stay. On why it wasn’t a good time to bring up taking some classes, or why she couldn’t move closer to the city. Why her family needed her.

She rolled over and grabbed the notebook and pen on the nightstand. Her mind was buzzing with melancholy. She scooted up so she was leaning with her back against the headboard and started to write. The words flowed, and in her head, she heard the opening chords of the song. The melody and the refrain.

Before she knew it, a couple of hours had passed. That was always what happened when she got in the zone. She flipped through her notebook, rereading some of the snippets and songs she’d written in the past. Bars of music to go along with some of them, melodies currently without any lyrics.

A lifetime of thoughts and feelings. A lifetime of her.

She got up and started getting ready for bed. It was surprising that none of her brothers had come to talk. She’d like to think it was because they’d finally decided to take her seriously, see her as an adult. But she wasn’t that dumb. They were probably just regrouping from her little outburst, evaluating and convincing themselves and each other she was overemotional. Probably on her period. Not that any of them would actually say the word period, or discuss such a thing.

They were such little boys in so many ways. But they loved her, she couldn’t deny that. They just had some really screwed up ways of showing it.

She brushed her teeth and washed her face, thankful she’d been spoiled and had her own small bathroom. Her dad had it put in when she was thirteen. He’d mentioned something about her being a young lady and needing her privacy. Her brothers had all bitched and moaned because they’d spent their teen years fighting over the one bathroom in the house, but they’d all pitched in and had her bathroom built in a weekend.

She snapped off the light and walked into her bedroom. The soft glow of the bedside lamp made it feel cozy and familiar. A wave of nostalgia washed through her.

She changed into her pajamas and slipped under the covers. The mattress was old—probably should have been replaced a few years ago—but it was familiar and at the moment, what she needed. She reached over and turned off the lamp. Darkness engulfed the room, silence settling in around her.

The subtle sounds of her family moving around, getting ready to call it a night, made their way to her. A strange sadness welled up inside her so quickly, she couldn’t stop the small sob that escaped. She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.

This whole thing was ridiculous. She wasn’t leaving forever, and this wasn’t an ending.

But for some reason, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that was a lie.

Jake stood on the front porch of the ranch house, leaning against the railing, his gaze glued to the slight swell in the driveway. Almost willing the little red jeep to crest the small hill. Claire was bringing her stuff over today and they were going to set themselves up in the guest house on the property.

His sister-in-law, Grace, had lived there a couple of years ago, when she’d first come to work at the ranch. But then she and Mason had gotten married and they’d had their own house built on a different part of the property. Close enough for when needed, but far enough away they had their own bit of privacy.

He couldn’t imagine what that was like, because the ranch seemed to be a revolving door of Callahans. It wasn’t surprising, given that he, along with Owen and Simon still lived here. Well, Owen had moved back when he and Isabella had split up a few of years ago. Only Mason and Declan had been brave enough to move off the property when they were younger. Mason joined the army, and Declan took a position in the sheriff’s office. Owen and Simon, who was a veterinarian, had made a life for themselves on the ranch.

And Jake, well, he’d just sort of fallen into being a cowboy, mostly because it was easy. He’d grown up on the ranch, it was all he’d ever known. Not that he considered himself a true cowboy, although he liked to play the part. The ladies loved a cowboy.

But he wasn’t in love with the land or the lifestyle, not in the way Owen was, or his dad had been. And if he was honest with himself, which he usually tried to avoid at all costs, he didn’t really know what he wanted, in any aspect of his life.

He loved going out and meeting people, being in the swing of things. But ever since Olivia had come along, he felt like he should be beyond that. He was someone’s dad for Christ’s sake. Dads didn’t go out drinking every night, or end up sleeping with someone they barely knew, no matter how much fun he and his partner had at the time. Well, some dads probably did that stuff, which was just sort of sad.

Claire’s red jeep finally came into view, and his pulse gave a little extra beat. She’d been so serious yesterday when they’d chatted in his room. And he’d been so afraid she was going to change her mind and refuse to do this with him. She’d looked panicked and unsure. He was glad he’d managed to convince her this would actually work. There was a lot riding on this.

The idea that he was asking a lot of Claire barged in, making his gut clench. Yeah, it was a lot, but she wouldn’t do it if she didn’t want to, right? And it wasn’t like it was forever, just until all this custody stuff was done. Then everything could go back to normal.

Claire pulled up in front of the house and slid out of the jeep. She had on a pair of dark skinny jeans and work boots, along with her pink winter coat.

Jake blew some hot breath into his cupped hands, trying to warm them up. It was unusually chilly. The normal temperature for March was around sixty degrees, although today the thermometer was hanging out around the forty-degree mark today. He made his way down the stairs and over to her.

“Good morning,” he said, walking up and giving her a nudge with his shoulder.

“Morning.” It was more of a mumble than anything else, and for some reason, she refused to meet his gaze. She looked tired, dark circles under her eyes. There were also lines of tension around her mouth, which was squished into a tight line.

“Everything okay?”

Finally, she looked at him, and whatever she was feeling—he still wasn’t good at figuring out this stuff—felt like a mule kick to the chest. Something was obviously wrong. He wasn’t too stupid to see that, at least.

She blew out a breath and her shoulders drooped. “It’s nothing. I just had a fight with my brothers is all.”

“About moving in?”