Page 24 of One Little Mistake

I ask for her mother’s number, tell her it’s just in case, and do my best to dodge the idea of staying the night.

Mrs. Hoover looks disappointed, and honestly, I get it. She probably spends most of her days alone. Her daughter’s far away, caught up in her own life abroad, and Erin was off tryingto make something of herself in the big city. No one really has time for an old woman anymore.

The drive back feels longer than ever. My head is pounding, and my mind’s all over the place. On one hand, I’m relieved—at least there’s someone who could take the baby if it came down to it. But on the other hand, the thought of this sweet, worn-out family going through a tragedy guts me.

And the kid… damn, I can’t help but feel sorry for him. So new to the world, and already on the brink of losing it all.

CHAPTER 10

Max

I get home close to midnight, but even though I’m dead tired, I can’t sleep. Not even the dull drone of late-night TV helps. I down cup after cup of coffee as I pace the room, glancing at Erin’s phone lying on the table.

I hate snooping through someone’s private stuff. It’s not my thing—digging around in someone’s dirty laundry. So I hesitate for a while, unsure if I’m doing the right thing. I unlock the phone, open the gallery, then instantly lock it again, not ready to go through her pictures. Then I repeat it all over again.

Curiosity wins. So does the need to figure out who this “Max” is. What if he’s someone I know? If I can track him down, maybe I can finally get some peace and enjoy my damn break, instead of stressing about some stranger and her baby.

I pull up a chair, sit down, and give in. The photo gallery is mostly flower arrangements, bouquets, shots of Erin posing in the mirror. Each time in a different outfit, always smiling like she has the whole world at her feet. Her eyes sparkle. And every single picture was taken in my apartment.

That pisses me off a little.

Everywhere I look, there’s something of hers—her toothbrush in the cup, her body wash in the shower, her dishes, her underwear in my dresser. During the months I was gone, she made herself right at home. Took over everything. Made this place hers.

Don’t even get me started on the nursery. I’ve been avoiding that room like the plague, not even looking at the door without my stomach twisting.

I smirk when I come across pictures of her with my sister. I’m guessing they were celebrating Erin’s birthday. There’sVivienne, a few women I don’t recognize, balloons, cake. Erin looks genuinely happy, completely unaware of what’s coming next.

I frown. Pulling my eyes off the screen for a second, I sip my coffee, and tap my fingers on the table like a damn metronome. I should just let this go—walk away, forget it ever happened—but the image of that redhead lying in a hospital bed, so pale and fragile, keeps flashing in my mind.

So does the bundle they tried to hand me in the maternity ward.

By now I can practically trace her pregnancy through these photos. The way her body slowly changed, her face got rounder, her belly grew. She went from fit and petite to waddling around like a watermelon. But there’s still no Max. That’s when I start to get irritated.

I keep swiping through the gallery—faster now—until finally, I find pictures of her with some guy. And no matter how hard I stare at his face, no matter how much I try to recall where I’ve seen him before… I come up empty. I’ve never seen this dude in my life.

But I know he’s the one.

I can tell by the way she looks at him—soft eyes, full of love. I can tell by the setting, the kind of intimate photos they took together. I scroll through them quickly, not lingering too long on the ones where she looks… stunning.

I sigh and run a hand down my face. What the hell is this?

I don’t know this guy. And I have no idea how he knows me. Or why he sent Erin to my door of all places.

By the time I finally crawl into bed, the sky’s already lightening. I check her messenger one last time, hoping someone’s texted her.

Nothing.

Okay. Time to let this go. Just imagine she had the baby before I came home. Imagine I know nothing about her condition or the tiny baby boy lying in some hospital crib right now.

Maybe then I’ll finally get some damn sleep.

***

When I wake up, I head out right away. I have no idea what to do with myself, but I sure as hell can’t stay cooped up between four walls any longer. I figure I should probably stop by my parents’ place—I haven’t seen them since I got back—and the second I open their front door, I regret the decision.

The smell hits me first—my mom’s signature pie. Then come the voices. Two female voices I could recognize out of a million. One’s soft and raspy—that’s my mom. The other’s slow and sugary sweet—my ex-wife.

“Son, good to see you,” Dad says as he steps out of the living room, probably hearing the front door shut. No turning back now.

---