Page 95 of False Confidence

“You haven’t ruined anything. But you have to forgive yourself. Give yourself a little grace and try.”

Jazz sniffed, her brain a swirling mess of emotions. “What if I mess things up? What if I try and I fuck it all up?”

“Well, luckily for you, you fell in love with a Michaelson man. And they have a weird amount of patience for emotionally stunted women who escaped Marysville with a boatload of trauma.”

Her words drew a watery chuckle from Jazz. “Shit, our parents really did screw us all up, didn’t they? Actually, speaking of them, I have even more to tell you. Is there any chance you can ditch work for the rest of the day and I can catch you up from the road?”

“That depends—are we running away from Liam?”

Jazz shook her head. “No.” Never. Well, perhaps in a sexy way, but… Not the time to be thinking about that. “You’re right. I need to try. I’m going to try.” And she would trust herself, and Liam, that they’d work through things if they started to crumble. Together.

“Excellent. So where are we going?”

“We’re going to Marysville,” Jazz said with determination. “To stop my parents from fucking up my siblings any further.”

Jazz’s parents still lived in the house she’d grown up in: a six bedroom, picture perfect, house on the outskirts of the suburbs of North Marysville. It was modest by her parents’ standards, and Jazz had spent a long time trying to understand why they’d chosen to live somewhere where they believed themselves above everyone else. Until she realized, one day, that they enjoyed feeling like they were above everyone else.

It was the biggest house in the area, where most had two or three bedrooms. Maggie had grown up in one of those houses, squeezed into a two bedroom with her parents and three siblings. Most of the time, she’d slept on the couch since she was up so late and didn’t want to wake her younger siblings up by climbing into her bunk bed. Meanwhile, Jazz’s parents had more bedrooms than kids.

She’d kept a close eye on Maggie as she’d driven past the Welcome to Marysville! sign, but, if Maggie was fazed by their unexpected homecoming, she didn’t show it. Still, Jazz intentionally took the long route to her parents’ house so she could avoid driving past Maggie’s parents’ cafe.

Jazz had spent the drive telling Maggie about her conversation with Rose, and by the time they pulled up outside the Cannon family home, Maggie was more than ready to confront Jazz’s parents.

“We’re going to be civil, remember?” Jazz warned Maggie as she followed her up the path.

“Civil. Right.”

She hadn’t forgotten how quickly Maggie had jumped to her defense when she’d thought Liam had ended things. “Maggie. I mean it. Civil.”

Maggie sighed, but nodded as Jazz raised her fist to knock on the front door.

Her mom answered, her eyes as wide as the Botox allowed. Lilia Cannon was, unmistakably, gorgeous. She looked exactly as she had when she was Jazz’s age, and she’d put in a lot of work to make that happen.

“Jazz, Maggie. What a surprise.”

“Hey, Mom. Sorry to drop by without calling, but I was hoping we could talk.”

“Oh no. What did you do, Jazz?” She ushered them in and Jazz tried not to let her mom’s instant suspicion sting. “Alexander! Jazz and Maggie are here,” her mom called up the stairs, before turning back to them. “Did that boy get you pregnant? Or is it not his baby? Because he never needs to know if you don’t tell him. But he seems like a good man—the kind of man who would do the right thing by you and raise the baby anyway.” She looked entirely too happy about the idea.

Jazz counted to three inside her head. “I’m not pregnant, Mom.”

She pouted. “Oh. Well, that’s disappointing.” She turned on her heel and walked toward the kitchen, leaving them to chase after her. “Any babies in the future for you, Maggie?”

Maggie rolled her eyes, only because Jazz’s mom couldn’t see her. “I already have so much on my plate being a new stepmom. It’s a big adjustment for Liam.” Jazz almost choked on her own tongue, trying not to laugh.

“I’m sure,” Jazz’s mom replied, completely missing Maggie's sarcasm. They sat around the kitchen island and Jazz’s mom poured iced coffee from a glass pitcher in the fridge without asking. “It’s cold brew,” she explained. “Your dad’s going through a phase. It’s really not bad.”

“Thanks, Lilia,” Maggie said, sipping the cold brew. Her mom beamed at Maggie as Jazz’s dad stepped into the kitchen. For all their faults, Jazz’s parents had always treated Maggie like family. As much as they treated anyone like family, anyway.

“Hi, girls. What brings you all this way?”

“Hi, Dad.”

“They’re here to talk to us, Alexander.”

Jazz’s dad sighed, rubbing his forehead. “What have you done, Jazz?”

Jesus. “I’ve done plenty, but that’s not why I’m here.” Maggie snorted. “I’m here to talk about Rose.”

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