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Because they weren’t Jamie.

“So you’re gonna take her on a date?”

His grin got wider at my pathetic attempt to sound casual. I wouldn’t have fooled anyone, let alone my own damn twin.

“Monday night, so knock her parents dead tonight, Hay Bale.” The prick messed up my hair until I drove my fist into his ribs, forcing him to dance backwards. “Because I’ll be taking our girl out tomorrow, trying to do it right this time.”

I wanted to talk about this, argue. Fuck, getting him in a headlock and punching him until he saw my way of thinking like we had as kids all felt like great ideas, but the buzz of my phone alarm told me I needed to get going.

“Good luck,” I said with a shrug, because there was one crucial difference between us. The world came and laid itself at Hunter’s feet, whereas I was used to working for things.

“What does that mean?” I shot him a wave as I walked out the door, not looking back for a second. “Hayden? Hayden!”

Hunter wasn’t my focus, Jamie was and so I drove around to her place, racing up the steps, keen to see my girl, but instead I walked straight into chaos.

“Jamie…”

Where was my confident girl? This wasn’t the usual calm, competent Jamie I was used to seeing. Her bedroom was a mess, her entire wardrobe scattered over every surface, but that was just a symptom of what she was going through. Jamie was stepping over piles of clothing on the floor as she held up one garment, then another against her chest, staring into the mirror.

“Everything OK?” I asked warily.

Her reflection stared back at me, so I caught the moment when her eyes narrowed slightly, then her focus shifted back to the dress before tossing it away.

“I’ve got nothing to wear.” The words seemed to be extracted forcibly from between her teeth.

“Girls always say that,” I said, then pointed to the floor. “But the evidence says otherwise.”

Her gaze hardened.

“OK, I don’t have anything to wear that won’t get me reamed out the minute I walk into my brother’s backyard.” Her hands went to her hips as she stared at the floor in growing despair. I’d seen Jamie mad, sad, and bad, but never like this.

Broken.

I didn’t want to be a fake boyfriend right then. I wanted to be a real one that protected her from all of this. I sucked a breath in and then moved closer.

“You know we don’t have to go anywhere.” Her eyes rolled up to meet mine and I felt a brief flare of hope. “We can stay right here.” I put my hands on her shoulders, rubbing the points. “Climb into bed and see what we can come up with to amuse ourselves.”

She wanted that, wanted me, I could tell in the way her mouth softened from a thin line to her lips gently parting. Part of me was pumping my fist internally in celebration, but any victory I might want to celebrate didn’t last long. Whatever devil dog was gnawing at her guts sank its fangs deep again.

“I can’t.” Her brows creased and she stared up at me, begging me to understand. “I can’t, Hayden, no matter how good that idea sounds. If I don’t go… If I blow this off, she’ll be calling within the hour.” Did Majorie hear the fear in her daughter’s voice when Jamie spoke? “If I don’t answer, she’ll get one of my brothers to drive her over here, and then she’ll start knocking on the door. She’ll call a locksmith and con him into letting her in or worse… She’ll call Brock and have him…”

Her words were coming so fast she was forced to stop talking and just suck a breath in. I’d never felt so bloody hopeless. How could I protect her from this, from her own damn family? How could I protect her from the ghosts that haunted her own mind?

“I—”

“Can’t.” I finished for her, forcing myself to smile. “I know. I mean, I may have really, really wanted you to say yes to that idea, but I’ve got a job today. Your perfect fake boyfriend is reporting for parental deflection duty.” My focus shifted then back to the mess of clothes. “What about this?” I asked, holding up an old band t-shirt. “You’re always wearing that.”

“A t-shirt with a hole in it?” She poked a finger through one of the small ones around the neckline. “I want to keep Mum off my back, not give her an aneurysm.”

“This?” I asked, holding up another t-shirt that was in better condition.

“Stained,” she said, pointing to the faint brown shadow of where she’d spilled coffee on it.

“How about?—?”

She bent down, grabbing shirt after shirt and then started tossing them on the bed.

“Too old, too stained, too boxy, too form fitting.” Jamie dismissed each one in turn. “Too masculine.”