Faked (Ward Family #2)(57)

Claire laughed while I frowned. Great. Just what I wanted before walking inside—verification of what I was worried about. But it wasn't this kid’s fault.

Instead of crouching, I held out my hand and shook his like he was a man. That made his skinny chest puff out. Kid couldn't have been more than eight or nine.

"What's your name, sir?"

"Emmett Ward." He kept shaking my hand, like he wasn't sure who was supposed to let go first. "I'm Claire's nephew, but I don't call her aunt because she doesn't look old enough to be someone's aunt."

I gave Claire a head-to-toe inspection, and her cheeks blushed furiously. "You might be right about that, Emmett."

"Ooooh, you shouldn't look at her like that when you get in the house," he warned.

Claire slapped a hand over her mouth.

I glanced back toward Emmett in surprise. "I shouldn't?"

Emmett shook his head. His eyes were the exact shade of blue as Claire's.

Before I asked, I knew it was probably stupid to do so, but I didn't deal with kids too much. Plus, I figured he was too young to know what any kind of look I'd given her could possibly mean. "How'd I look at her? Just so I know not to do it again."

He sighed heavily. "Like you want to kiss her. My mom said she'd rip your ballsack off if you looked at Claire with sex eyes at the dinner table."

Claire groaned behind her hand, and I grimaced mightily.

Emmett shrugged. "Kissing leads to sex, and sex leads to babies. So ... I wouldn't do that in there if I were you."

With that, he was gone, tearing back up to the house, leaving Claire and me in stunned silence. She let out a hysterical giggle.

"Well," I said. "That was fun. Can't wait to go inside."

She dropped her hand and planted a soft kiss on my cheek. "You'll be fine."

It was clear she believed it as she said it. There was no fake enthusiasm, no false encouragement.

For the hundredth time since we left the cabin, I repeated my new mantra. For her, I could try.

The only time I ever tried to impress anyone was when my feet were firmly planted on the smooth surface of my snowboard, my head covered with a helmet, and goggles down over my face. That was something I knew without a second thought. I could contort my body, shift, and move with the momentum of the mountain so that I didn't face-plant into the snow and ice.

It was never about my personality. Never about what came out of my mouth or how I treated someone. It wasn't about what I looked like or proving my worth as a person.

The scores I received, the time I clocked going down a charted course, the tricks I completed—they were about my ability to physically perform.

This—walking through that door with Claire at my side—was about everything else. The one thing I was good at, at this moment, was completely and utterly useless.

So, while her certainty was great, it didn't feel like I'd be fine as she clutched my hand and walked us inside behind Emmett.

But I didn't want to make her second-guess bringing me, so I kept my stubborn mouth shut.

The two-story entryway was bright with athletic equipment scattered around the hardwood floor. The arched hallway adjacent to it led to a bright, big kitchen, which was filled with amazing smells and loud, feminine laughter.

It was a house that was lived in and loved well. Marks on the painted walls were plentiful, and I saw a gouge in the drywall that looked suspiciously like a bike wheel had implanted itself there. The walls were covered in snapshots of a family that had grown together over the years, and each one we passed made me just a bit more ill at ease.

The love in this place was overflowing. In every inch, dominating every sense.

All of it should have made me feel better, but it only made me feel worse. Because this wasn't the kind of home I knew. I tightened my grip on her fingers, and she squeezed them in return.

We came around the corner into the kitchen, which was one large open space the flowed into a massive, comfortably furnished family room. A large flat screen mounted on the wall was frozen on a football game. No surprise there.

Most of the family had their backs to us with how they were crowded around the large marble island where Paige and Logan were cooking.

Logan saw us first, and I took a deep, steadying breath at the look he leveled in my direction.

He was a tall guy, broad and strong, and his slightly graying temples and lines around his eyes were the only sign he was well into his forties. Instead of interrupting the story that Isabel was telling, still oblivious to our entrance, he settled a hand on his wife's back and excused himself from the kitchen.

He came around the island, and something about his gait, his commanding presence had me standing up straighter. Lia noticed and nudged Isabel. Isabel quieted, and threw a towel at Paige, who finally lifted her head.

Now the look I got from her made it difficult to swallow. Yeah, she was imagining every nightmare I could've conjured for this family dinner.

Logan gave his sister a tight hug, ruffling her hair as he pulled back. "You made it home safe?"

He looked her over like we'd actually been stuck outside in the snowstorm, and she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. Roads were fine by the time we left this morning."

"I'll bet," Paige muttered.

Isabel cleared her throat, and it held a warning behind it. Finn smothered a smile, and I wanted to chuck something at his head for the fact he got to be here to witness this.