Mother Faker

“So next week’s book…” The humor dancing in Dylan’s eyes can only mean one thing. She’s up to something.

“Oh shit!” The scream from upstairs has us all gaping up at the ceiling.

“Was that… Phoebe?” Delia asks, a hand to her chest like she can’t believe one of her sweet twins would curse like that.

It was so obviously Phoebe, but I keep my mouth shut to avoid being on the receiving end of her snark.

She’s on her feet in a heartbeat and rushing for the stairs. “I told you he was a bad influence,” she mutters.

She’s talking about Beckett, of course. “We have no idea what happened. Let’s remain calm until we sort this out.”

We trail behind her up the steps and follow the loud voices to the living room. Delia stops short, and one by one, the rest of us bump into one another. With a gasp, she slaps a hand to her mouth. “Oh!” Only instead of sounding affronted, I swear she’s stifling a laugh.

When I finally peek around her, I find Beckett standing next to the couch with a pair of scissors in his hand. Before him, Finn has his head tipped back, and the look on his face is one of pure terror.

“What the hell, Beckett?” My tone is sharper than I intend.

No one turns my way. Not even the twins. Like they’re too terrified to make any sudden movements.

It takes a moment, but Beckett finally looks from Finn to me, his green eyes swimming with guilt and his shoulders sagging. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t get it.” I rush to Finn and lift him into my arms. His panicked expression quickly morphs into a smile, like he’s proud of how ridiculous he looks. His hair—the beautiful little boy hair I’ve yet to cut—has been sliced across the front so he has inch-long bangs brushing his forehead. I run my hand through it and gape at Beckett. “Why?”

The room is silent and every eye is locked on us.

Cringing, Beckett points at the television, where Dumb and Dumber is playing. “He wanted to look like Harry.”

Delia chortles behind us, but when I whip around, she recovers quickly and grabs the twins. “It’s time for bed, girls.”

In unison, they blink up at their mom, then silently look at Beckett. Then, in the strangest move I’ve ever seen, Phoebe shuffles over and loops her arms around his waist in a… hug?

He sighs and swallows audibly. Lowering, he mumbles something I can’t make out from here and hugs her in return.

One by one, the rest of the kids follow suit. Even Liam nods at him, almost in solidarity. Apparently, it’s obvious that he’s living his last few moments on earth because I’m going to kill him.

Finn flattens his palms against my cheeks and turns my face until I’m looking at him. “Don’t be mad, Mommy. Bossman is the bestest.”

Dragging my focus to the ceiling, I breathe in for four, then let it out for four. “Head up to the bathroom, kiddo. We’re going to have to do something about this hair.”

Beckett grumbles, “I’ll go get my shaving kit.”

“You’re not shaving my kid’s head,” I growl, pulling Finn into my chest. Oh yeah, mama mode is activated.

Beckett works his jaw from side to side. “Liv, we can’t leave his hair like that.”

With a scoff, I lift my chin. “Obviously.”

My indignation quickly turns to distress when I replay his words.

Liv.

He called me Liv, not Livy. My stomach sours. Things were so good only a few hours ago.

I’m pulled from my pondering when a hand grasps my shoulder.

Dylan steps up beside me and squeezes my shoulder, pulling me from my downward spiral. “How ‘bout you and I go finish our wine and let Becks take care of this?”

I stare at her, dumbfounded.

With a nod, she leans in and whispers, “Finn is watching you. Little eyes, little ears… they see more than we realize.”

Beckett holds out his arms for Finn, and my son jumps for him. He’s getting so attached. What the hell are we doing? I need concrete answers. I’m never this reckless.

“Trust me?” Beckett asks.

Those two simple words carry so much weight. Do I trust him? If I were smart, I wouldn’t trust any man. Not after the way I’ve been burned. But Beckett isn’t Drake. This was obviously a mistake. A big, stupid one, but an innocent mistake all the same. Finn is smiling at him. My son is happy, not crying.

Beckett cares.

And he encourages Finn to be himself. He didn’t flinch when my little boy came down the steps wearing a tutu with his jersey the other night. Without batting an eye, he scooped him up and took him to the game. I’m sure people were staring—maybe even his brothers—yet Beckett didn’t say a word.

He’s not Drake.

I bite my lip and acquiesce. “Okay. I’ll be up in a bit.” Tilting closer, I drop a kiss to Finn’s head and run my hands across his soft hair. It will all be gone when I go upstairs. I definitely can’t watch it happen.

Dylan loops her arm through mine and pulls me into the kitchen. “Deep breaths,” she murmurs.

I grab the bottle of wine and pour it into the glass that reads Fueled by wine and smut. Then I down the contents and wince when the alcohol burns my throat.

My other friends appear in the kitchen shortly after. Delia’s lips are pressed in a firm line and her arms are crossed over her chest. I don’t have it in me to deal with her ranting tonight. I hold up my hands. “Before you say you told me⁠—”

She clears her throat and shakes her head. “It was Phoebe.”

I frown. “Huh?”

“Phoebe cut Finn’s hair.”

“Then why did Beckett take the blame?”

Beside me, Dylan smiles that damn knowing smile of hers.

“Fuck,” I mutter. I am so in over my head. He isn’t just trying to win over me and my kids. He’s a genuinely good guy. And that is so much more dangerous for my heart.

Upstairs, Finn is grinning adoringly at his buzz cut in the mirror. Honestly, the new look is adorable, but my eyes well at the sight. Gone is his baby face. He appears so much older now.

“You going to shave yours to match, Bossman?” he asks, dropping his head back.

“No!” The protest slips out of my mouth before I can stop it.

Beckett locks eyes with me in the mirror and smirks. “Attached to my hair, Livy?”

Images of me pulling on that full head of hair while he’s between my thighs float through my mind. I have to bite my lip to dampen the desire threatening to flood me. “Just don’t think you have the kind of face that can handle a shaved head.”

Dropping his head, he chuckles.

Finn clutches his arm and frowns. “What’s funny?”

Beckett runs his hands over my little guy’s head and tries, in vain, to school his expression. “Nothing. Your mom is just a silly lady. Okay, bed. Now.”

Finn gives him a succinct nod and clambers out of the room. Once again, I’m left dumbstruck at how normal this all is. How easy it is having this man here with us during our bedtime routine.

But he doesn’t want kids, I remind myself. No matter how easy this feels, this isn’t what he wants.

After tucking Finn in, I head to my room and find Beckett lying in bed with his phone in his hand, furiously texting.

“Hey,” I whisper, not wanting to wake up Addie.

He gives me a soft smile and sets his phone on the mattress beside him. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry about earlier,” I hedge, sitting beside him. I still need to wash my face and change, but I didn’t want to do it now, only to find him already asleep when I finished. Not that he would be; he’s normally up later than me, reading or going through emails.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He squeezes my arm gently.

“Beckett,” I say, my heart heavy. “I was awful to you. I jumped to conclusions.”

Frowning, he tilts his head on his pillow. “Livy, we’re going to have disagreements. I’m going to fuck up. This is marriage. But I’ll always put you and your kids first. I’m sorry I let you down tonight.”

What? My heart pounds out a furious rhythm against my ribs. This is marriage?

“A fake marriage,” I whisper, almost like it’s a question.

He tips his chin up, his jaw locked tight. “Has any of this felt fake to you?”

A whoosh of air slips past my lips, and my hands tremble just a little. “The rules…”

“Were broken the moment our lips touched.” He turns his body so that he’s looking at me. “Livy, I don’t know what the future holds, but I know that this,” he motions between us, “is the most real thing I’ve ever experienced. I swear I’ll do better by your kids. I should have been watching them.”

“Phoebe cut Finn’s hair,” I interject.

Under his breath, I’m pretty sure he mutters, “So that’s her name.”

I laugh. “Beckett.”

He shrugs and drops his gaze to the sheet beneath him. “I’m not good at this, Livy. I’m trying.” His eyes swim with true heartache when he looks up at me again. “But I’m really not good at this.”

Instinctively, my fingers go to his hair, and I push it back from his face. “You’re a hell of a lot better than you give yourself credit for.”

His phone buzzes on the bed, and he groans. “Sorry, it’s my brothers.” He picks it up, smirks, hammers out a message, then tosses it back down. “They’re giving me shit over Paris.”

Paris. I forgot all about it. It’s only a couple of weeks away, and he hasn’t mentioned it again. Maybe he plans to go by himself.

“Why?”

He hands me his phone, and I scroll up through the messages.

Gavin: You are so whipped.

Screw you.

Brooks: Why’s Beckett whipped?

Aiden: <Rubs hands together emoji> Yes, spill.

Shut up.

Gavin: He had Hanson move Sienna’s premiere from Paris to Boston so he wouldn’t miss Winnie’s art show.

My heart stops for half a second, and I suck in a breath. “You did what?”

Beckett peeks around my arm to see what I’m reading and shakes his head with a smile. “It’s not a big deal. Winnie’s art show is the same weekend. Obviously, you can’t miss it.”

“But you can.” I don’t mean to sound so accusatory, but I’m too shocked to control my reaction.

He frowns. “No. I refuse to be another man who lets her down.”

“She’s eight. This wouldn’t be the last time someone let her down. It’s life.”

His jaw clenches. “Not. Me.”

“What?”

“I spent years watching my siblings be disappointed because my parents didn’t show up for things.”

Warmth spreads through me as I realize what he meant earlier. He’s not good at this, but he’s trying. He’s trying for me and my kids. Trying to be better to us than his father was when they were kids. Trying to be more present than Drake has ever been.

“So you convinced Jay Hanson to move your sister’s television premiere to Boston,” I say slowly.

He nods, and when a shy grin replaces his normal smirk, I know I’ve officially lost the battle. I’m falling for Beckett Langfield. I broke all the rules and fell in love with my fake husband.