Page 87 of False Confidence

Jazz carefully untangled herself from Liam, trying not to wake him or the puppy sleeping in the crook of his neck. She threw on shorts and the sweatshirt Liam had been wearing the night before, then padded quietly down the stairs, needing to feel daylight on her skin.

Sun streamed through Maggie and Cal’s window, the clock on the microwave showing just past six. She squinted at the light, pouring herself a glass of water and sitting at the dining table to chug it. She didn’t feel nearly as rough as she’d expected. It was fucking ironic that the one time she deserved a hangover from hell, she felt more or less fine. What a joke.

She wasn’t alone for long; she heard tiny feet tapping on the hardwood floors, followed by louder footsteps.

“Morning,” Cal said, squeezing her shoulder as he passed, Peach leading him across the kitchen to her food bowl.

“Morning.”

Peach didn’t spare a passing glance at Jazz; she was singularly focused on her food bowl. And Cal, it seemed, wasn’t moving fast enough. Peach stood at his feet and meowed continuously while her dad opened the can of food and meticulously scooped the supplements Maggie had painstakingly curated for Peach.

Jazz knew Maggie was usually the one to wake up for Peach’s breakfast, because she often woke up to a text from her time-stamped six-thirty, that was entirely too chirpy for so early in the morning. But Maggie was a morning person. Cal wasn’t. Which meant Maggie had probably chosen to stay in bed to avoid bumping into her. Jazz squeezed her water glass so hard she was surprised it didn’t shatter.

“Christ, you’d think we starved you,” Cal muttered sleepily as he placed Peach’s bowl on the floor and she dove in whisker first.

He busied himself making coffee and Jazz stared down at the table. How was she supposed to look at him? She’d basically implied Maggie was boring for marrying him. Nothing could be further from the truth. Cal had brought Maggie out of her shell, and Jazz loved seeing the change in Maggie after she finally found someone who valued her. So why the fuck had she said it?

She looked up as Cal slid a glass across the table toward her. “Iced lavender latte with oat milk.”

Her favorite. Jazz wrapped her hands around the glass and thanked him, her eyes burning.

“Are you okay?”

Jazz forced herself to look up and there wasn’t a shred of judgment in his green eyes, the mirror of his son’s. Only concern shone on his face. A tear slipped down her face before she could stop it, and she wiped it away with Liam’s sleeve. “No. I don’t think I am. I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking and tears falling faster than she could wipe them away. “I didn’t mean what I said last night. I don’t know why I said it. And the arrest… Fuck, I’m sorry. For all of it.”

She buried her face in her hands and then, suddenly, Cal’s arms were around her, pulling her into a hug. “It’s okay, Jazz. I promise it’s okay. You made a mistake. That doesn’t mean we love you any less.”

Jazz had never had a fatherly dad, but she could only assume this was what it felt like. What must it feel like to grow up with someone who held you when you cried and reassured you, even when you fucked up? Who would she be if she’d grown up without a fear of trying, just in case she made mistakes? Probably not the kind of person who said such shitty things to her best friend.

“Maggie…” she began, with no idea how to finish her sentence. What could she even say?

“Maggie loves you,” Cal said, sitting back so he could peer down into her face. “She knows you and she knows you were just lashing out. This is Maggie we’re talking about, so maybe give her a couple of days to stew, but she will forgive you.”

Jazz nodded and tried to make herself believe it. She and Maggie had fought over the years, but she’d never made it so personal. And Jazz had almost always been the one behind their fights. This was just another in a long, long line. Everyone had a breaking point; what if this was Maggie’s? It wasn’t just the shit she said, but the complete and utter disregard she’d shown for Maggie’s business. And Cal’s.

“About work,” she said, wringing her hands. “I’m so sorry, Cal. You know I love my job, and I care about the firm. I would never want to do anything to cause problems for you or the team. I wasn’t thinking. Clearly.”

“Do you really think you’re the first person on the team to get arrested? I’ve had to help more than a few people out of trouble over the years, which Maggie knows, for the record. I promise, drunken property damage is minor.”

Well, shit. Apparently Jazz didn’t know her colleagues as well as she thought she did.

“No one at the office needs to find out about this if you don’t want them to,” Cal promised. “And speaking of property damage, I know you said you’d pay for it, but it’s a lot of money, and?—”

“I have savings,” she interrupted. “I can pay for it. I need to pay for it. It was my mistake.”

Cal, who was familiar with Maggie fighting him on offering to pay for shit, even though they were married, didn’t look happy, but at least he didn’t argue. Jazz was used to being around people with money, thanks to her parents and their business, and she’d never met a more generous millionaire than Cal Michaelson. Or a more frustrated millionaire, because everyone around him refused to let him spend money on them.

But Jazz had to prove to herself that she could pay for her own mistakes. She had to feel the consequences.

“Okay,” Cal reluctantly. “But if you need help, you let me know.”

“Thank you.” She swallowed, her voice thick with emotion.

“I mean it, Jazz. You’re family, and even if you just need to talk or rant to someone who isn’t Liam right now. You know where I am.”

Jazz nodded, grateful when Peach finished her breakfast and started yowling for more food, distracting Cal. She didn’t deserve him. She didn’t deserve any of them. And just like her parents, eventually, they were all going to figure out she wasn’t worth it.

“What if—and this is just a suggestion—you didn’t keep stealing my socks?”

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