Love and Other Mistakes Read online

  She glared. “Liar. And it’s called Google Maps.”

  He held eye contact, and after a moment she looked away. Sighed. “You shouldn’t drive anyway.”

  Bingo. Chink in the armor.

  “It’s okay. I’m fine.” He fished his keys from his back pocket with one hand, Olly now content in his other arm. “I’ll figure it out. See you later.”

  He walked toward his Camry. Three, two, one . . .

  “You should call your dad,” she yelled after him.

  He stopped. “Doesn’t know I’m here yet.” And he’d put that unpleasant moment off for as long as possible.

  “Mike, then. That’s what big brothers are for.”

  He waved off her concern. “He’s busy. Minister stuff.”

  “An ambulance.”

  “They have actual emergencies to go to. I’ll cancel the one that was called.” Somewhere in his semiconscious haze, someone had mentioned that an ambulance had been contacted.

  He turned back to his car. Not that he had any intention of driving. But she didn’t know that—

  Behind him, the car clunked into gear. Maybe he was wrong. He sighed. He could sit here awhile, make sure he really was okay, before he drove anywhere.

  Though that wouldn’t help him say what he had to say to Natalie.

  Gravel crunched beside him. He glanced up. Natalie’s SUV slowed to a stop.

  He couldn’t stop his smile. She might be mad at him, but ol’ Nat’s dependability never changed.

  “Get in the car.” She didn’t even look at him, but he’d take what he could get.

  “I’ll grab Olly’s car seat.”

  “Already got one.”

  He froze. “You’ve got kids?” No way. He would’ve heard if she’d married. Surely.

  “Borrowed car.”

  Relief flooded him—a ridiculous reaction as, kids or no kids, he had as much chance with her as Adam Sandler did of winning World’s Sexiest Man. But still.

  “Seriously, hurry up. I told you I’ve got somewhere to be.”

  Oops. Maybe she hadn’t lied. But too late now. He buckled Olly in and jumped into the passenger seat. At least the hospital wasn’t far.

  She pulled out from the curb at an alarming speed while he gripped the door handle and prayed his son wasn’t about to be orphaned at nine months old. When the tires stopped screeching, the silence rubbed his nerves like a cheese grater.

  Well, it was now or never.

  He took a deep breath and faced her profile. “Nat, I owe you an apo—”

  “Why are you back, anyway?” Her eyes stayed on the road, expression tense.

  He settled back in his seat, gaze bouncing off his blood-stained hand. In the back seat, Oliver grizzled. “Work transfer.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Weren’t you in Chicago?” Her cheeks flushed a little after her words.

  Interesting. He grinned.

  “I wasn’t keeping tabs on you.”

  He grinned wider. She now had a serious case of tomato face. “I know.”

  She shifted her hands on the steering wheel, still looking flustered. “Then what’s with the move?”

  He cleared his throat. “I was about to get fired, so I found another job. Here.”

  She slid a glance toward him like she was waiting for more.

  He shrugged. No point being anything but honest. They’d always told each other the truth. “When your ex-girlfriend tells you she’s pregnant and then you become a single dad, work . . . suffers.” Ending the pregnancy had run counter to both Chloe and Jem’s beliefs, but neither had his ex been ready to face motherhood. It’d been just him and Olly from day one.

  A beat of silence. “That’s, uh, unfortunate.” Her understatement carried a note of sympathy.

  “It’s okay. Olly and I are the dynamic duo. The first few months were a bit rough, but the old lady next door was a lifesaver. We made it.”

  He risked another glance at Natalie. “So, how are you?”

  She took the corner five miles an hour faster than she should have. “I’m fine.”

  He swept his gaze from her face to her feet and back again. Worry lines had carved their way across her forehead. “Really? Because you look awful.”

  Her jaw tightened. “That better be the concussion talking.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean you’re stressed. I can tell.” He’d dated her for four years—it wasn’t like he’d forgotten how to read her expressions.

  No matter how long it’d been.

  She jerked the car right and jammed on the brakes. His seat belt snapped tight. He threw one hand against the dash and looked for whatever she’d braked to avoid. It took a moment to realize they were in front of the hospital.

  Natalie yanked the parking brake up and turned to face him. If looks could kill, he would’ve just been incinerated. “Why don’t you try getting a mystery phone call about someone being taken to the hospital? No wonder I’m stressed. I thought it was Dad!”

  Jem’s insides flipped at the mention of her father. A man he’d been far closer to than his own father. “Phil? What’s wrong with him?”

  “It’s a little too late to pretend you care.”

  Her phone rang. She snatched it from her pocket and hit the answer button without checking the screen. “Hello?” She angled her body away.

  “Natalie?” A man’s voice blared through the speakerphone.

  “Hold on, Frank. I’ve got to—”

  “Nat, the head-office rep just left. They came early. We’re all out of a job.”

  A pit of dread opened in Jem’s chest. Had that been the important presentation she’d mentioned? Had he cost Natalie her job?

  Natalie stared at her phone, blinking rapidly. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Nat, wait.”

  “Get out of the car, Jem.” The words didn’t sound angry, just sad.

  And that ripped him far more than her fury ever would.

  He did as she asked, pulled Olly from his car seat, and stood back on the sidewalk. She drove away without a backward glance.

  Just like he had seven years ago.

  * * *

  A police car whizzed by, and Jem ducked into the doorway of Charlottesville Christian Church’s old hall, hiding his face from the street. He couldn’t risk his dad, a captain in the Charlottesville Police Department, seeing him.

  Especially as he broke into his brother’s church.

  One hundred Irish dancers pounded on his brain as he worked a credit card into the aged lock. Since the hospital had released him twenty minutes ago, his body screamed for home and a nap. A long list of jobs—shifting boxes and childcare hunting at the top—waited for his attention. Oliver would wake up hungry soon. And he’d promised his niece, Lili, that he’d study up on math today and help her with homework tonight.

  But after the taxi dropped them at his abandoned car, Jem had driven straight here. He couldn’t be back in town for more than a day without visiting Mom.

  The lock clicked, and he eased the squeaky door open. No sign of anyone. Just him and his private sanctuary.

  Jem picked up Olly’s carrier, closed the door behind him, and walked down a long corridor to the third storeroom on the left. The 1950s structure had become a storage facility when the church built its bigger building in the early 2000s. Most people visited a grave site to “talk” with long-gone family members. Jem came here.

  “Hi, Mom.” Jem paused before a plaque and photograph beside the storeroom door.

  In loving memory of Barbara Walters, and in recognition of Barbara’s service to this church as a Sunday school teacher.

  The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.

  The photo wasn’t the formal wedding shot Dad had embedded in her headstone, but rather a candid snap of Mom kneeling beside first-grader Jem, smiling at a painting he’d drawn. Her red hair was twisted into an old-fashioned bun—her attempt at an Anne of Green Gables look. She’d apparently been obsessed wit
h the character, even nicknaming Jem after the fictional woman’s oldest son.

  Or so he’d been told.

  He ran a finger along the photo’s warped wooden frame. He had no memory of Mom teaching Sunday school or reading novels. Few memories of her at all. He’d been five when a drunk driver killed her, and it wasn’t like Dad had been big on sharing memories.

  Jem plucked the photo from its nail on the wall, grabbed Olly’s carrier, and ducked into the storeroom. Spare chairs filled most of the space, but he squeezed into the corner by the door.

  Resting Oliver beside him, he used the edge of his gray Chicago Bulls T-shirt to wipe dust from the frame. Particles tickled his nose. He sniffed and studied the image. “Well, Mom, I’m back.”

  He cast his gaze around the room. When he left Charlottesville, he’d never thought he’d see the inside of a church building again. After five years and a lot of mistakes, he’d returned to the fold—but he’d still never expected to be back inside this particular church.

  His brain turned to static. He needed this chat, needed her support for the weeks that lay ahead—even if he was only talking to a photo. “I, uh, I broke into the church. Sorry about that. I didn’t really want to explain to Mike why I needed a key.”

  He had to see a photo of his mother. His father had put them all away the day after the funeral. Only this faded image and the one at the cemetery remained.

  And cemeteries were spooky. But he didn’t plan to tell his older brother that.

  “I ran into Natalie today. She’s still gorgeous, if you’re wondering.” He grinned at the memory of her rumpled state. “She’s still mad at m—”

  The storeroom door flew open. He jolted and almost dropped the photo onto Oliver.

  A dark-haired man loomed in the doorway. “I thought I might find you here.”

  Jem huffed out a relieved breath. “Mike. How’d you know?”

  Jem’s senior-pastor brother, twelve years older and twenty times more sensible, folded his arms. “You tripped the silent alarm. I knew you’d break in sometime this week.”

  “I always suspected you could read my mind.”

  “You think I never saw you do it when you were a kid?” Mike grinned. “You’re not as sneaky as you think. Now you’ve got about five seconds to scram if you don’t want Dad to catch you here.”

  “He’s here?” Jem scrambled to his feet, scooped up Oliver’s carrier, and hung Mom’s photo back on the wall.

  “He was pulling up as I walked out of the church, and he’s probably followed me. Go out the other door.”

  Jem scooted out of sight as Dad’s deep voice echoed down the hall. “Mike? You here?”

  Jem made it outside, then leaned against the outer door’s weathered wood. It had been seven years since he’d left, three since they’d spoken. He’d gone through college. Started a career. Become a father.

  When he’d realized the only decent job he could find at short notice was in his hometown, he’d tried to look at the positives. Set goals. Like finding a way to talk to Dad again. But at the sound of that voice he was ten years old again, locked in his room writing lines of Bible verses, wondering if his dad had it out for the whole world . . . or just him.

  Jem reached into his pocket. Poking past a pacifier, three sticks of gum, and his favorite pen, he dug out his keys and headed for the car.

  At the end of their last conversation, Dad had said not to call again.

  So he wouldn’t.

  3

  Sixteen-year-old Lilianna Walters dropped a math textbook into her backpack and jerked the zipper closed. “My whole relationship with Dad could be riding on this mocha-and-raspberry gelato.”

  The only good thing about having math last period on a Friday was that it made her that much more ecstatic when the bell rang and the weekend started. But on this Friday, she couldn’t shake the anxious energy that kept her toes tapping as she tried to solve quadratic equations.

  Her best friend, Grace, shrugged from her perch on a school desk, coloring her latest tattoo design in blue pen on her forearm. Around them, other tenth graders stuffed laptops and notebooks into bags and chattered about their weekend plans.

  Grace blew on the ink. “I still don’t get the problem in the first place, Lil.”

  Lili jammed her phone into her orange denim skirt pocket and searched for room in her tie-dyed backpack for a calculator. “He’s been super distant lately. Ice cream Friday has been a tradition since forever. But this is the first time this month he’s remembered.”

  “Maybe he’s distracted because your Uncle Jem just got back in town.”

  Hmmm. That might be it. Though Uncle Jem had been here for two weeks already, and he wasn’t even staying in their house anymore. He’d moved into his own apartment yesterday.

  Grace pulled a face. “I’m lucky if my dad remembers my birthday.”

  Lili winced. Grace had struggled since her parents’ breakup three years ago. Though her mom was about to shift them to North Carolina so Grace could see her father more often, so maybe that would help. “Yeah, but your dad’s always been that way. Mine’s acting different.” Lili hefted the backpack. The textbook weighed a ton. As if it wasn’t bad enough math was determined to destroy her brain, now it would destroy her back.

  Grace slid off the desk and exited the classroom with her. “Why don’t you take your art project to show him? He always loves your art.”

  “Good idea. I’ll ask Miss Kent—Ooof.” Something small, blonde, and familiar plowed into Lili’s gut. “Riley? What are you doing here?”

  The ten-year-old girl from Lili’s Sunday school class removed her face from Lili’s diaphragm. “I was sick, so Nick came to pick me up early. But he forgot some stuff and came back to get it.”

  Lili glanced around the hallway. So Nick Kent was an official student here now. He used to go to Charlottesville High, but it couldn’t have been easy after the business with his brother. She’d seen him around the school lately. But he could have been visiting his aunt, Lili’s favorite art teacher.

  Lili smoothed down Riley’s mussed braid and hunkered to her level. “You don’t look too sick to me.”

  “I’m sick of my teacher.” Riley’s eyes filled. “She yelled at me for falling asleep again today.”

  Lili’s insides tightened. Riley couldn’t sleep because her parents spent their nights screaming at one another. Lili opened her arms, and Riley buried herself in them. “I’m sorry, kiddo.”

  Grace gave a goodbye wave over Riley’s head, and Lili wiggled her fingers in response.

  “Riley?”

  A pair of sneakers shuffled into view, gaping holes showing where the soles came away from the fake leather. Lili moved her gaze upward, past stained jeans cuffs to a torn flannel shirt, until a face with hazel eyes and messy brown hair replaced the scruffy clothes.

  Nick knelt next to her in the emptying corridor and studied what little he could see of Riley’s face. “Is she all right?”

  “Um, yeah. Just upset about—”

  He nodded before she had to say it, then rubbed Riley’s back. If anyone understood Riley’s home situation, it was Nick. Riley never stopped talking about him. According to her gushing stories, he was her next-door neighbor, official chauffeur, and unofficial guardian angel.

  According to town gossip, he was the son of an alcoholic and brother of a drug dealer.

  “Do you come to school here now?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lili could fill in the blanks. Miss Kent had come to Dad last year after Charlottesville High expelled Stephen Kent. Dad pulled strings to get Stephen into rehab. They probably figured out a way to get Nick into a different school as well.

  Riley relaxed her hold on Lili but kept her face hidden. Lili fished a tissue from her pocket.

  Nick tweaked the end of one of Riley’s braids. “Do you want a piggyback ride to the car?”

  When she hiccupped and nodded, he stood and offered his back. Lili lifted the child up until she
latched her legs around Nick’s waist and wrapped a stranglehold on his throat.

  “Whoa. Easy on the windpipe.”

  Riley readjusted, and Nick sucked in a breath. Lili passed him his bag.

  “You’re her Sunday school teacher, right? I’ve seen you around church.” Nick asked the question as Riley bounced and ordered him to march. He marched, and Lili followed.

  “I just help Mrs. Dunkitt teach the class, but yeah, that’s me.”

  “Riley talks about you a lot.”

  The tension in Lili’s muscles lessened. She rolled her neck till it popped. “She talks about you too. She’s kind of obsessed.”

  The little girl poked her tongue out at Lili, who poked hers right back.

  “I am pretty awesome.” Nick puffed out his chest, then burst out laughing. “Nah, I just bribe her with raspberry lollipops.” He pulled one from his pocket, and Riley snatched it up. Lili laughed, then the sound faded into an awkward silence.

  “So, uh, how do you like the new school?” She glanced at their surroundings. Her college preparatory school for gifted students would be an adjustment for anybody.

  “It’s different.” He shifted his grip on Riley, bouncing her as he did so, and she squealed. “But different is fine. It’ll help me get into business school.”

  Lili tilted her head, her gaze trailing over the length of him.

  The ripped flannel and flappy sneakers didn’t exactly scream “future businessman,” and neither did his family’s reputation. But the obstacles just made his ambition way more impressive . . . and kinda hot.

  He held Riley up with one hand and used the other to open a door for Lili.

  Ambitious and sweet. Grace was going to hear about this tonight.

  Nick followed her through the door. “I’ve got some catching up to do, but actually, art’s the only thing really killing me. And Aunt Trish is no help. Apparently if she teaches my class, she can’t do my homework for me.” He rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips.