The Anti-Hero (The Goode Brothers, #1)(56)

My niece grins up at me excitedly, and I feel another sucker punch of guilt for missing out on six weeks of this.

“Sorry I’m not really dressed for Sunday dinner,” Sage says in a soft apology. “Adam didn’t tell me we were coming.”

My mother laughs. “You look beautiful.” Then she gives me a pointed stare. “Adam Matthew Goode, communicate with your date a little better next time. I taught you better.”

The smile that tugs on my lips feels like a relief. “Yes, ma’am,” I say with a nod.

“We were just about to say grace,” a dark voice from the head of the table says in a cruel, muttering tone. We all turn our attention to him as he puts on his best fake smile. “Perhaps our guest would like to lead us tonight.”

Sage’s eyes widen as she shakes her head. “Oh, I can’t.

Thank you, though—”

“I insist,” he argues.

“I can say it,” I interject, but he only holds up a hand.

“Son, we let our guests say grace. You know that.”

Shivers tingle their way up my spine as everyone stares at Sage, and I feel every bone in my body tense. My hackles rise as I frantically try to find a way to protect her. I never should have brought her here, and just as I’m about to push out my chair and yank her from this table, she clasps her hands together in front of her.

“I’ve never said grace before, but I can try.”

“Thank you,” my mother whispers.

Sage glances up at me through a side glance. Our eyes meet for a moment, and I give her a reassuring nod before she turns her eyes downward and clears her throat.

“I never sat down with my family for a meal. I’ve never sat down with any family for a meal like this,” she says, and I notice the eyes around the table lifting to glance in her direction. But Sage continues, “And I’m so incredibly thankful to be here. I’m thankful for Mrs. Goode for cooking this delicious meal. I’m thankful for the entire Goode family for allowing me to sit here with you, and I’m thankful for Adam’s brothers for being so nice to me, even though I’m an outsider.

And mostly, I’m thankful for Adam—”

“That’s enough,” my father barks from the end of the table.

Abigail flinches next to me, and my anger grows as I glare at my father.

“Truett!” My mother scolds him in a harsh whisper.

Still, Sage continues, “I’m thankful for Adam for showing me what a real good man is, without judgment or hypocrisy.”

“I said enough!” Truett snaps again.

“Thank you,” she finishes, and before my father can interject any more, I hear Luke from across the table.

“Amen.”

“Amen,” the others follow.

My niece’s small voice is last as she softly mumbles,

“Amen.”

A fist lands on the table with a bang, rattling glasses and plates. Then he points a finger at Sage. “Young lady—”

“Don’t,” I snap, my fierce gaze on his face. “Don’t talk to my girlfriend like that. She did what you asked her to.”

He ignores me and looks back at her. “Grace is meant to thank God and God alone for the blessings in our lives. My family is well aware of that,” he says through clenched teeth, his eyes scanning the room.

“Well, you asked me to say it, and that’s how I say it,” she replies, her chin held high. Something warm and affectionate settles in my chest at the sight.

“It was lovely,” my mother replies.

“Yes, it was,” I say with my hand on the back of Sage’s chair. I move it to rest at the top of her spine, just under her neck, and I move on instinct alone. My mind hardly registers what I’m doing as I gently nudge her toward me. As she spins to look at me, our eyes meet. Then our lips.

It’s a quick kiss, but it feels monumental.

As our faces part, her gaze stays tethered to mine. When I finally face forward, I avoid the curious and shocked stares from the rest of my family.

“Let’s eat,” I say to break up the tension. As I reach for the lasagna in the center of the table, I’m feeling particularly pleased at the moment. Truett is unhinged, thrown completely off guard, and angrier than ever. And the beautiful woman at my side is the one responsible.





Twenty-Four

Adam

“I s this your room?” Sage asks as I click on the light to the large bedroom at the end of the massive hall.

“This is my childhood bedroom,” I reply as we both step inside. I shut the door behind us, mostly to get five minutes to breathe and step out of our roles. Although, to be honest, stepping in and out of the fake-dating scenario feels less and less like much of a change at all.

“Oh wow,” she says as she scans the room, walking to each wall to examine the photos hanging there. Most of them are of me and my brothers in various stages of our lives.

“Look at how cute you were,” she says with a smile as she comes across one of me when I was twelve, holding baby Isaac on my lap.

I remember that day when Mom and Dad brought him home. After feeling like the odd one out with the twins for so long, I finally had a brother to myself. Or at least that’s how it felt. It was my job to protect him, to keep him safe, to be his equal.