Claimed by my Biker Stepbrother

I kept my head down and tightened my grip on the number ticket. In the end, James left, leaving me alone at the courthouse.

A voice from the loudspeaker called our number, informing us that it was finally our turn to register our marriage. My eyes stung with tears as I crumpled the ticket and tossed it into the trash.

James and I had been together for five years. He proposed two years ago, but somehow, we still haven’t made it official.

Just then, my phone rang. It was Mom, her voice filled with excitement and hope.

“Well? Have you and James gotten married?”

Mom was diagnosed with cancer the year before last, and her health had been declining fast. More than anything, she wanted to live long enough to see me walk down the aisle, happy.

I sniffled and mumbled some excuse. There was a pause on the other end, and when she spoke again, her disappointment was painfully clear.

“James is busy with work… I understand, I really do…”

When I got home, I barely had time to set my keys down before my phone buzzed with a message from our old college group chat.

Paris Taylor had posted a picture and two lines of text.

[It’s Christmas today. I told him I wanted my present early, and he dropped everything to come and see me. 'I'll be right there. Just say the word.' Those words always ring true with him.]

The picture showed James leaning over, carefully putting a gold necklace around her neck.

The group chat lit up right away.

[Ugh, how sweet. Childhood friends are the real deal.]

[Who says exes can’t stay friends? This is the perfect example.]

It was our college group, and they weren’t wrong.

James and Paris had dated back then. She even had an abortion for him. Ever since, every holiday, James would spend the day with her, then see me the day after.

I used to argue with him about it, but he always looked annoyed when I brought it up.

“She had an abortion for me. No man’s going to want her after that. I have to make it up to her before she gets married. And seriously, it’s just one day. It’s not like I’m skipping the holiday altogether.”

That was what he said, but anyone who had ever had to celebrate after the fact knew that it came with a bitter aftertaste.

Quietly, I posted a photo of my lonely dinner and left a message. [Happy holidays, everyone.]

It didn’t take long for people to notice James wasn’t with me.

[Wait, what? I thought Casey was out of town, but as it turns out, James ditched his girlfriend to be with his ex, and on Christmas at that, too.]

[Ugh. I’ve always said Paris is no good.]

[Poor Casey. Doesn’t her mom want her to get married this year? God, is this gonna mess everything up?]

My phone buzzed again. It was a priority notification from James.

[I’ll go and visit your parents’ place with you tomorrow. We’ll talk about the wedding.]

We’d been together for five years. Other than the proposal, James had never once visited my parents.

He always said he was too busy, so busy that he couldn’t spare even a day. Yet, the moment Paris called, said her stomach hurt from “abortion side effects” or told him she missed him, he’d show up within thirty minutes, no matter what.

I knew he was trying to make it up to me. If this were before, I would’ve smiled through my tears and rushed to pack the gifts for my parents on his behalf, but now? I was tired.

[We’ll see.]

[What now? Why are you acting up again?]

He replied instantly, cold and impatient like always.

Oh, right. I wasn’t allowed to be upset, not in front of him. Only Paris got to throw tantrums and still be adored.

Seeing that I didn’t reply, he followed up again. [Hello?]

I hesitated and then thought of my mother, of how much it meant to her. With that, I put down the bathrobe in my hands and typed back.

[Okay.]

The next day, I took the day off and headed home early. James said he’d meet me there.

When Mom heard James was coming, she dragged her frail body out early to shop for groceries at the farmer’s market. Despite the pain from her tumor, she cooked a full table of delicious food, smiling the whole time.

However, James never showed up. I called him over and over. Every call went unanswered.

Mom, worried about how I was feeling, kept trying to come up with excuses for him. By the time we cleared the table, James still hadn’t replied.

The next afternoon, I’d just gotten back to work when my supervisor, Grace Abrahms, called me into her office.

“Have you made up your mind?” she asked. “The assistant general manager position in Springdale is still open. With your skills, you’re more than qualified. If you want it, I’ll personally recommend you.

“Think it over carefully, Casey. This is your last chance.”

I stood there, caught off guard.