Page 25 of One Mistake

Finally, she stepped outside, head to toe Prada, martini in one hand, ransom pictures in the other. “I could have you arrested.”

I nodded. I didn’t want to start off arguing and “could have” was very much different than the “going to have” I expected. “I know. I’m sorry.”

She scoffed. “You’ve always been such a disappointment.”

That hurt. “When I was top of my class every year since kindergarten? Or when I was a state all-star in football, baseball, and hockey?”

She scoffed and finished her drink in one long gulp. “Since you came out of my womb looking like your no good lazy father.” Not something I could control, but I wasn’t here to fight. “What do you want, Ryder?”

Dear God, this sucked. “To apologize. To ask for those pictures back.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I appreciate the sentiment behind the apology, but I think, knowing you as I do, the sincerity will be lacking. And you know how I feel about sincerity.” She continued and because there was nothing more she liked than hearing herself go on, and on, and on, I remained silent. “And honesty. That’s where we’ve always been on opposite sides, you and I.”

“I never thought we were on opposite sides, Mom.” She was the only one who’d ever been allowed to have a side.

Another scoff, this one more sarcastic than the last. “You chose early. I can’t blame you, I suppose. Your father always presented himself to you in a better light than I could. I had to make the money and do the work. He got to listen to you read, watch you play ball, eat dinners with you. I had to be the disciplinarian.”

I would’ve loved to do those things with her when I was growing up. But she’d acted like my bank more than my mother. My judgmental, restrictive bank. She controlled—or tried to control—me with money.

My heart pinged. “It’s not too late.”

She cocked an eyebrow as if she was considering it. Then she stomped. On me. Not with her actual shoes, but I couldn’t imagine that hurting more. “I couldn’t possibly risk being seen with you now. You’ve disgraced yourself and your father and our family. To bring you back into the fold would…it’s impossible.”

I nodded because I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. I turned to walk away, to never see my mother again, to get the fuck out of there before I started bawling like some pathetic child. I made it almost to the edge of the patio when she cleared her throat. “Ryder.” I turned. Pathetically hopeful she’d changed her mind. Wanted a hug. “Here.” She held the photos out. “This way you don’t have to come back.”

I took the pictures and walked—half-jogged back to Reese’s rental car. I closed myself inside and collapsed, chest heaving, not enough air in the world for my lungs. The tears came, and I didn’t bother trying to stop them, even as I started the car and drove. Aimless.

I found myself in front of the Alpha house. It hadn’t changed much. The trees were still trimmed, the lawn still edged. The porch still adorned with redwood Adirondak chairs with a cooler between them and the Alpha banner hanging from the eaves at the highest point of the front façade. Lights shone in each window. But for all its similarities to ten years ago, so much was different. So many changes.

I drove on. Past the sorority houses—Gammas and Sigmas and Deltas—to make a left. There was Chancellor Fields’ place, the chaplain’s house. I stopped at the edge of the driveway.

So many memories.

“Here. Let me help you with that.” The biker princess stepped back from the box, and I carried it up the stairs to the room over the garage. I set it on a table. She hadn’t been struggling, but I was mowing the chaplain’s grass when she pulled up on her bike and she was hot. Really hot. So doable with her coal black hair, eyes lined dark, mouth full and kissable. Fuck. My dick stood at attention begging for an introduction. “I’m Ryder.”

“Avery.”

God, I’d wanted her so bad. And Keaton got her. I hated him for it, but then I met Reese and everything worked out. For a while. Until I got stupid and greedy.

From the Chaplain’s house, I drove to the bar. And drank. I didn’t speak to anyone other than the bartender and only then to order another shot, another beer.

And like some damned fool, a true and honest to God idiot, I walked, because I had misplaced Reese’s keys, to Avery’s.

They were all there. Keaton, Finn, Jameson…a decade of regrets. “Did you know…” The story poured out in broken bits. I’d wanted Avery. The memory was clouded and dusty, but I hated Keaton. Then for getting Avery. Now for being happy when I just kept losing at life. Me. Ryder Fucking Kennedy. Stumbling drunk and losing at life.

After he made me watch him kiss the girl—big surprise—he nodded at Finn. “You wanna take care of this.”

Finn looked at me. “Fuck him. He can find his own way home.”

Drunk or not. I couldn’t blame him. Felicity tilted her head. “Come on, Finn.” She held me up under one arm and he took the other side. “Did you drink all the beer in town?” She grumbled as she and Finn walked me out the door to a small SUV and propped me against the side as she opened the door and Finn held me up by my chest.

“Drinking problem?” Even hammered, I could hear the snide in his tone.

“Thinking problem.” The correction didn’t mean much. Less because he ignored it and shoved me into the seat.

“Do not puke in my car.” Luck wasn’t on his side. Or mine.

From the passenger seat, Felicity turned and leaned around to look at me. “You want to go back to Reese’s place?”