Page 38 of One Mistake

“Nothing.” I shook my head, ears burning, and I couldn’t look at her. No way could I hide my stupidity from her. “I’m great.”

Once we were all put back together, she slapped her hands together and rubbed them back and forth. “I’m going to order pizza. My treat.”

For the first time, it really sank in. She didn’t want to be here. Wanted to go back to her life, the one without me in it. Not that she hadn’t told me but seeing how dedicated she’d been in her packing today only reinforced what I’d been too stubborn to hear.

My guts ached and I was about two minutes from throwing up. Losing her once had almost killed me. Oh, God. I couldn’t do this again. “I should go.” I hadn’t been home in days. Not that I had a reason to go home. No plants to water or pets to feed, and the thought of leaving her, until now, left a hole in me. Now it seemed the only thing that would heal the pain rocketing through my blood.

“What?” She glanced at me, frowning, eyes narrow. Then, as quickly as she reacted, she erased it all. “Yeah.” She nodded all the way to the door. “Will I see you tomorrow?” I didn’t answer. “You know, I should probably concentrate on getting this all taken care of anyway, so…” And she held out her hand. Her fucking hand. “It’s been…great catching up with you.” Her tongue clicked against her teeth and she blew out a breath.

“Catching up. Yeah.” My heart ached, like it had taken an electrical shock and hadn’t quite snapped back into business yet. I held onto her hand a second too long, lingered like an idiot until one of us—probably her—pulled away.

I walked to the door, still slow, still hovering like I was expecting her to ask me to stay. Even when I knew she wouldn’t. Even when there was no doubt this was over.

When I twisted the knob on the front door, she laid her hand over my spine. “Thanks for…everything.”

I didn’t speak because breaking down and crying like a baby was the last thing I wanted to do. Especially in front of her. The least I could do was wait for the cross-town bus for that.

One Decade Ago

Dad dropped a hand on my shoulder. “Everything is finished now. You have restitution to pay and weekends in jail for a few months.”

I could accept my part in all of this. I nodded. “Okay.” I didn’t want to ask, but I couldn’t not know. It wasn’t as much about the money as everyone seemed to think, either. “Is Mom…?”

He shook his head. “She’s not coming. And she’s made it so that you can’t get any more money out of your trust fund until you’re thirty-five.” He cleared his throat. “Also, she had Michael pick up your truck.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. “Dad, is there anything you can do?” This was my whole life. My everything. I’d already lost any hope I ever had of becoming a lawyer. Now I had no car, no money, nowhere to live. And I’d lost my family.

“I wish I could help, son.” He stared at me as if he was waiting for me to say it was okay. It wasn’t okay. Nothing about this was okay. Especially since…

“I know what you’re doing. What you have been doing with Beth and Susie.” It was shitty and wrong, one of those last-ditch things I should’ve kept quiet. But I was desperate. “If Mom finds out…”

“Ryder.” I shrunk from his disappointment. I didn’t know which code of his—Guy Code or Father/Son Code—I’d violated, but neither did I care. He’d violated the Children First doctrine of good parenting. Mom always violated that rule, but that was why I counted on Dad. All that innocence shriveled.

“Dad, please.” But he opened his wallet, pulled out all the money inside—two-hundred and ninety-three dollars—and turned to walk back to his car.

I was angry and alone. I had no one to call. No one in the world who would care if I was dead in a ditch.

I looked at the money in my hand. Counted it. Shoved it into my wallet. It was going to be cold soon. I had to figure out something.

I went to the office supply store for envelopes and stamps then the public library where I printed out eleven dollars of resumes. I scanned copies of today’s paper and sent off all the resumes, then I stuck around for a while and applied for every job I could find online.

Of course, it took me a week to figure out that she’d shut off my phone, and I’d wasted all the money on the resumes and supplies. Now, not only did I have no one to call, I had no way to call.

I walked into The Diner, a campus hangout, and felt every eye in the place shift to look at me. To stare. Judging me. Holding me accountable. Fuck. If only they knew. I ordered a cup of coffee and a cup of soup—trying to stretch that money as far as I could—then sat at the counter and watched the place implode. The waitress couldn’t keep up and the cook sent out three orders of burned pancakes.

The waitress sloshed my soup across the counter, then sighed. “I’ll get you a new one.”

I’d spent three days sleeping in the gazebo at the park, but tonight, the temperature was supposed to drop. So, I did what I had to do. I walked behind the counter, into the kitchen, and started working. Pitching in. “Tell me what you need.”

The cook had tickets piled on the table and food on plates that needed other food added. He needed to organize this mess, take a breath, get himself under control, then find a method.

And an hour later, I’d done it. Things might not have been perfect, but the line of tickets was cleared, no one sent anything back, and I had a job.

I went back to the front with a plate of eggs and bacon. This was the first solid food I’d had since before Dad told me I’d been cut off, and I wanted to savor every bite, but I couldn’t. I was starving.

The guy—Jack, the cook—stood across the counter from me. “Thanks, man. And like I said, if you want to come in tomorrow, around eleven, you can work with me through lunch and then supper, too.”

I nodded, still shoveling in the food. I never realized until that moment how much I’d taken the ability to order a burger and fries or a steak omelet anytime I wanted for granted. “Thanks.”