Page 82 of Faking It with the Firefighter

I was the first responder. I was the guy who was calm under pressure. I was the guy who fixed things. I’d been the glue that held my family together for as long as I could remember, and now was not the time to stop doing my job. If Donny married Blair,he’d regret it; and if he didn’t, he’d need my help to handle whatever came next.

So yeah. I could’ve stepped up to Gabe and told him it wasn’t fake with Abigail. I could’ve set the record straight.

But I didn’t. It wasn’t the right time. My little brother needed me now, more than ever. More than when he nearly got kicked off the football team in high school. More than when Dad died, and it was just the three of us. This was a defining moment in his life, and I had to save him from making a huge mistake.

“Back off, Lawson,” I cut in, a little more aggressively than I meant to. “Are we getting this wristband or not? I need to go find my brother.” As much as I wanted to defend the woman I was in love with, Abigail was tough enough to handle herself right now; Donny wasn’t. I was needed elsewhere.

Bryce complied with a nod, gesturing for the exit. I strode away, feeling the burn of a hot coal in the pit of my stomach the whole time. When I crossed the threshold to leave the room, I glanced over my shoulder.

Abigail stood there watching me walk away, a haunted look on her face. Gabe yammered on, but she didn’t seem to be listening to him at all. She just stared at me, hurt clouding her gaze.

And I knew I’d just fucked up. Bad.

TWENTY-EIGHT

ABIGAIL

As soon asthe other two were out of earshot, I rounded on my brother. “What the hell, Gabe?”

He reared back. “That was a good save!”

“Telling Bryce fucking Lawson that my boyfriend and I are going through a rough patch is a good save?”

“Fakeboyfriend,” Gabe corrected. “And is it that surprising that you’d be going through a rough patch with a guy?”

I flinched, and I wasn’t quick enough to hide the hurt that his blow sent through me.

Gabe took a step forward, brows drawing together. “Hang on. I didn’t mean that.”

“I think you did, Gabe.”

“No. Abigail—wait. Don’t walk away.”

Halfway to the door, I turned around and faced him. “I’m sick of listening to you telling me what to do, Gabe. You’re my brother, not my keeper.”

“So, what, I’m the bad guy for caring about you?”

“Is that what you call it? Showing up unannounced to fix my sink and suddenly you’re the world’s best big brother? Scaring off any guy who might want to take me out? Treating me like I’m the idiot of the century? That’s caring about me?”

“Abigail,” Gabe said, looking utterly confused. “What’s going on?”

Suddenly, it was all too much. The whirlwind with Rex. Keeping on top of my work while this clusterfuck of a wedding was going on. The stupidfeelingsI kept having. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I needed to get out of here. I’d provided a new wedding venue and done my part. I could leave now.

Then Gabe said, “I didn’t mean that thing about the rough patch, Abigail. It’s just—sometimes you act without thinking. It can be hard to deal with.”

It was that final sentence that did it. “Hard to deal with.” Travis used to say that to me. He’d call me difficult. He’d sigh when I did something spontaneous, even when it was something good, like if I had to rush around to secure a new listing. He’d call me impulsive and difficult and treat me like a child. I was being difficult when I refused to take his name when we got married, even though I’d been using mine professionally for a few years. I was being difficult when I told him I wanted to keep working.

“Gabe,” I started, “I’m sick of this. You need to stop treating me like I’m the town screwup.”

Gabe was bewildered. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s coming from the fact that I’msuccessful, Gabe! I’ve been the top-selling realtor in town for three years running. Soon to be four. I handle my business and I’mgood. Yes, I’m not the world’s best housekeeper, but newsflash, neither are you! Neither is Rex! I care about my friends, I care about you and Mom and Dad, but I’m not one disaster away from losing it all. I’mthriving. Can’t you see that?”

“I’m just trying to protect you?—”

“Fromwhat?” I nearly screamed. “Why do you think you need to do that? I’m not a little girl being sent to detention every week. I’m not crying every night because Dad moved out. I’mfine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

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