Chapter 12
ANDERSON
“What do you mean you’re getting married?”
I pull up to a red light, letting my head fall back against the headrest of my car seat. “I don’t know how else to say that,” I tell my brother over the speaker phone of my car. “I’d argue it’s pretty self-explanatory.”
“Did you even tell us you had a girlfriend?” Alex asks, but before I can answer, there’s some shuffling. It sounds like someone is grabbing the phone from him,
“Didn’t you tell Auggie to refill Mom’s pain med prescription?
Why is he calling me asking if I can go pick it up?
” Alex’s twin interrupts, and the subject immediately changes—something I’m fairly used to.
The two begin going back and forth, more with each other than with me, about whose responsibility it is to pick up the medication, and I want to bang my head against the glass of my windshield.
I blow out a long breath. “I already told Auggie that it’s his responsibility. Just make sure you tell him the same.”
“Who’s the girl?” Alex asks, coming back to what I initially called him about, and I’m actually surprised he circled back. I didn’t know he was with Archie, but it saves me from one of the other phone calls I had planned to make today.
“Her name is Ava,” I answer as the light turns green.
I need the practice of talking about her—about marrying her—without blushing or letting my voice get all high.
Taking a breath, I recite the story that we agreed on telling our friends and family.
“We’ve been seeing each other for a while now, and even though it’s a little quicker than we planned, we decided to get married since she needs some help with her sister’s adop—”
“Hey, do you think you can stop by Mom’s today? She can’t figure out how to set up the new WiFi,” Archie interrupts. He must have grabbed the phone from Alex.
“What? No, I’m not driving two hours to push a damn button on a router.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to hold on to my patience. “Auggie can do it.”
I’m sure he’s the reason my mom is getting new WiFi to begin with, but I keep that thought to myself.
“He says he doesn't know how,” Archie counters, “and I thought you were off today.”
My chest tightens, and I can’t help the annoyance that filters through my words. “I’m not using my day off to drive two hours to do something that he is perfectly capable of doing. He needs to learn to do this type of shit on his own.”
“Or, maybe someone needs to teach him,” Archie mutters into the phone before more shuffling ensues.
“Good thing he has you and Al so close by,” I yell into my speaker phone, but it’s Alex now who answers.
“Hey, do you think you can—”
“I gotta go,” I quickly interrupt, ending the call before I start banging my head against the steering wheel.
I’m fed up and past the point of being surprised, already exhausted with the thought of calling my mom or Auggie. I know that my news—something that’s supposed to be good and exciting and about me for once—will somehow turn into another favor I’m expected to say yes to.
Usually, that wouldn’t bother me, especially since it sometimes helps with the guilt I feel whenever I say no or stick to my boundary of not dropping everything I’m doing just to go fix all their problems for them.
But I’m on edge.
Ever since I left Ava’s place last night, I’ve had this low, crawling sense of doom. Like one wrong move from me could blow the whole thing up for her—for Georgie. Like I’m one careless word or decision away from ruining the most important thing in their lives.
Ava texted me this afternoon that CPS granted her temporary custody of Georgie—the social worker went to their mom’s house this morning, and the decision was made.
Which means it was bad.
Ava’s mom and her house were in bad enough shape that CPS decided Georgie was safer anywhere else.
Safer with Ava.
Ava didn’t give me any other details—just a short message with a period at the end, finishing the conversation before it could even start.
I couldn’t even type up a response before she sent a message asking if I was free tonight to go over the rest of our plan.
CPS’s investigation into her mom is moving faster than I think either of us thought it would, and that means we have to be prepared for whatever might come our way in the next few weeks—next few days.
Of course, I said yes and invited them to come over.
If Ava’s going to be Georgie’s guardian, then my house—the one we told Patricia we’d be moving into after we got married—has to look like a real home.
The safe, stable, and permanent home we promised.
Not some place we stage for meetings and inspections.
In the end, anything too polished starts to look rehearsed, and the last thing we want is suspicion—especially with CPS already starting to dig through our backgrounds, looking into everyone in our lives, asking questions, and looking for anything that doesn’t add up.
So we act normal. As normal as we can in the midst of a fake relationship… a fake engagement… a fake marriage.
No overplaying the relationship, no fake lovey-dovey bullshit. Just us—Ava keeping me on my toes while making me want to beg for her on my knees at the same time.
It was Ava’s idea not to bother with an act. Our story’s already full of fabrications—too close to the truth to be lies, too far to feel safe. Adding another layer would only make it like swallowing glass and smiling through it.
It makes sense.
And I hate that it makes sense.
Because this fake marriage feels like permission and torture all at once.
Permission to look at her the way I already do. To touch her without overthinking it. To brush my hand against her back, lean too close, make her laugh in the hopes of seeing that stupidly perfect smile.
Torture, because how the hell am I supposed to play house with her every day and not fall harder than I already have?
We still have to decide when we’re actually getting married, and it’s something I’m looking forward to and dreading at the same time.
I looked it up today, and it’s an easy process.
Simple and straightforward. Like we’re filing paperwork for a car title or a new driver’s license, not legally tying our lives together or anything.
All we have to do is pick a day.
Like it’s that easy.
Pulling into my driveway, I grab the bags of groceries from the trunk and head inside to start on dinner. The girls should be here in about an hour, so it gives me just enough time to cook up a quick meal for them.
I’m straining the pasta, just having put the garlic bread in the oven, when my phone rings. I glance at it where it is sitting on my counter, and I’m surprised to see Jack’s name come across the screen.
I was planning on talking to him during our shift tomorrow, and thought I would have more time to practice my cover story.
When I told Ava that Jack knew we weren’t together, I thought I blew this whole thing.
I didn’t want to have to explain to her that he knows because I’ve been pining over her like a lovesick loser—agreeing to marry her without a second thought because I’m coming to the conclusion that I will do anything and everything if it means she’ll keep me in her life—and he has been in the front row to all of it.
I just hope the story I have planned—that I told Ava how I feel and she admitted she feels the same—is enough to convince him for now.
It’s flimsy at best, but I’m leaning on Ava’s logic, hoping that when we tell our friends on Saturday about getting married, the shock of it all will distract from the shaky timeline and sloppy reasoning of our “relationship”.
“Hello?” I answer, holding the phone between my cheek and shoulder as I pour the strained pasta into the pan where the sauce is simmering.
“Anderson?”
That’s not Jack’s voice.
“Rumi? Is everything okay?” It’s immediate, automatic—my body going tight and alert the way it does when we get a call at the station, that low hum of adrenaline settling in my chest. Fear that gets pushed aside by the familiar weight of responsibility, settling over me before I even make the conscious decision to let it. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, sorry! Nothing’s wrong,” she quickly says, knowing from Jack how we first responders can jump to the worst conclusions at the drop of a hat. “I couldn’t find my phone, and Jack’s was right here next to me.”
My lungs can take in a whole breath, my adrenaline subsiding as I exhale. “What’s up?”
“Ava called me today to fill me in on all the custody stuff with Georgie, and she mentioned they had plans with you tonight.” There’s no question, but the way her tone changes when she says “tonight” leads me to believe that she’s calling to do more than just ask me about my Monday night plans.
“Um, yeah,” I swallow, stirring the pasta with a wooden spoon. Ava and Georgie are coming over because Ava and I have a lot of details and logistics to discuss, but I don’t know what she told Rumi, and I don’t want to contradict anything. “We’re just hanging out.”
Vague enough to appease her, but not too vague that she gets suspicious.
Fuck. This whole fake marriage is going to be even harder than I thought.
“Is that like hanging out as friends, or?” she asks, and I can hear the smile in her voice, can almost see the mischief in her weirdly blue eyes. “From what I heard, you two don’t usually meet when the sun is up.”
“It’s past five in February, Rumi. And we live in Wisconsin. There is no sun up right now.”
She laughs—it’s warm and sincere, and it makes me smile. “I’m just surprised, is all. Especially because she’s bringing Georgie. That sounds big for our girl.”
Rumi knows better than anyone how Ava is a commitment-phobe, and, from where she’s sitting right now, I’m sure Ava bringing her sister to my house seems out of character. But I’m glad she’s excited about it, not suspicious.
Suspicion is what I thought we’d be met with at every corner.
But maybe I’m just paranoid.