by Jessica Kate
“How is art your problem when our math teacher is an evil alien in disguise?” She rolled her eyes so hard she almost saw her brain.
“Crunching numbers is no problem. But stick figures are my only artistic strength.”
Lili grinned. “Art is my jam. We might have to do a tutoring swap sometime.”
“Seriously? That’d be awesome.”
Lili paused at the turnoff to the art classroom. “Well, um, I guess I’ll see you around?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “See ya later.” He sounded like he planned to.
Riley waved, and the two headed on their way.
Lili shook her head as she double-timed it to the classroom door. A businessman math genius? Nick Kent was a surprising guy, and that tutoring would sure come in handy. The way things were going, she wasn’t going to pass without a magic concentration secret.
A flicker of movement caught Lili’s eye as she passed the internal art-classroom window. Was Miss Kent talking to someone?
Lili backtracked a step to peek through the open window.
Dad!
The room was too dark to make out his features, but she could recognize him from his frame alone. He must’ve come to talk to Miss Kent about Nick. Hopefully Miss Kent had talked up her art project.
Lili shuffled closer to see Dad’s face. Her project—what did he really think? She peered through and squinted, trying to make sense of the forms in the darkened room. Vision sharpening, the images cleared. Her project rested on the desk, right in front of Dad—but he wasn’t looking at it.
Her breathing labored as she stared at her dad, his face mushed up against Miss Kent’s, fingers intertwined in her hair.
“Dad?” The word slipped from her mouth and echoed through the empty corridor and—whoops—the open window. She tensed.
But he didn’t respond. He just attacked Miss Kent’s mouth again and pushed her up against her desk.
The sucking noise made Lili gag. She dropped her bag on the ground with a thud.
“Dad!”
He ripped from Miss Kent and spun around. When his gaze locked on Lili, he froze. Behind him, Miss Kent wiped a hand across her face, eyes wide like she was horrified at what she’d done—or just at being caught?
Dad jolted out of his zombie state and surged in Lili’s direction, his hand hitting a switch and flooding the room with light. “Lili! I— Um, we . . . we have to go.”
Red stained the teacher’s cheeks as she smoothed her blonde hair. Her black claw clip dangled from the frizzy strands. It looked like one of Mom’s—
Mom.
Dad moved toward the closed door between them. Some invisible force field pressed against Lili’s throat, and her breath came in short gasps. Inching back, she shook her head while shock waves rolled through her chest, swelling through her body to her fingers and toes. A ground-shifting sensation, like the California earthquake she’d once cowered through.
The art room door opened, and Dad took a step toward her, expression pleading, but tripped over her deserted backpack. He almost fell but managed to keep his feet beneath him.
“Get away from me.” Her voice wobbled as she took a big step back.
Dad straightened and held out a hand. “Lili, it’s not—”
“Get away from me!” The scream erupted from deep in her throat.
Miss Kent jolted and bumped the desk. Lili’s project—a painted plaster cast—crashed onto the floor, shattered.
Dad’s outstretched hand lowered a little.
Tears fogged Lili’s vision. Striding past Dad, she slapped his hand aside and sprinted for the double door at the end of the hallway, her mind too full of lights and sirens to form a coherent thought.
She sidestepped a slow-moving body and burst through the door into the outside world.
“Lili!” A male voice came from behind.
High-octane fuel replaced Lili’s blood. A burst of speed had her halfway down the block before Nick’s face appeared in her mind’s eye. It was his voice she’d heard, not Dad’s.
At the corner, Lili glanced behind her. All clear. She dove left and powered down the sidewalk.
After the initial my-chest-is-a-pincushion pain of her sprint, she settled into a rhythm. Her lungs prioritized air over tears, so she stifled the sobs as she dodged pedestrians. Sweat drenched her black button-up shirt. Doc Martens made terrible running shoes.
After several minutes, she reached the town’s outdoor mall. Chairs resting in front of the children’s museum called to her suddenly heavy limbs, and she flopped into one.
She wasn’t far from the school, but she’d zigzagged in case Dad tried to follow her. She gulped in a few big breaths to satisfy her muscles’ demands for oxygen and bit her lip to stop the oncoming sobs. Leaning over, she rested her elbows on her knees and covered her face with her hands. Maybe people would think she looked more like a winded jogger than a world-falling-apart teenager.
Though not many joggers wore purple-patterned stockings with orange skirts.
Children’s laughter floated toward her from the museum. She wiped her eyes as kids dashed into the building. This had been her favorite place on earth as a child. On the last Friday of every month, she’d visit with Grace and Grace’s mom while her own parents enjoyed an afternoon date.
Her nose tickled with remembered chalk dust. She’d spent as much time scribbling on the freedom of speech wall—a seven-foot-high chalkboard in the mall—as she had in the museum. One of the museum workers had been the first person to comment on her artistic talent.
She rubbed her nose, and the tickle stopped. The visits had ended with the completion of elementary school. Come to think of it, so had the dates.
Her phone buzzed. Dad’s face flashed on the screen, the silly selfie he’d taken while dressed in a sumo-wrestling fat suit at youth group last year.
Lili’s thumb swiped and rejected the call. The fifth time the phone rang, she caved. “What?”
“It’s not what you think.” Dad’s breathless voice bounced at regular intervals, like he was jogging.
“What do you think I think? I just saw you jamming your tongue into—” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“It’s not—it wasn’t—it was the first time. I’m not cheating. I swear.”
“What, so just ’cos you haven’t slept with her yet it’s all okay?” Lili’s voice verged on ultrasonic, and a few parents in front of the children’s museum glanced at her. She wilted in her seat and lowered her voice. “Anyway, I don’t believe you.”
“Lili, I’m sorry. It wasn’t meant to happen. I went there to talk. I don’t know what happened. I never kissed her before.”
“What about Mom?”
A pause. “You know your mom and I have been having some . . . problems.” He sighed. “I’m just stressed. We’ll work this out.”
“Does she know?”
“There’s nothing to know. What you saw was the extent of it. We—we just need some time to work our stuff out.”
“I have to tell her.”
“It’d be better coming from me. I know it’s hard to understand, but these things are difficult. Your mother is— It’s tricky.”
She rubbed her eyes. How could she not tell Mom?
“Lili?”
The voice didn’t come through the phone. She swiveled her head. Dad stood behind her, collar loose and sweat dampening his blue business shirt. Her bag dangled from his hand.
“How did you—”
He held up his cell. “Find My Phone service.”
She stared at him, and the moment stretched. Thoughts stampeding through her mind quieted to one thing: for the past sixteen years, he had been her hero, her knight in shining armor. Now she couldn’t pull her gaze from the lipstick smudging his face.
“You’re the last person I thought would do this,” she whispered.
He rubbed a hand through his hair. “I know. Same here.”
She rose and followed him, and they drove toward the house i
n silence. She’d rather go to math class than home, but what choice did she have? At least Mom would be out at basketball all afternoon.
As streetlights flicked by, the storm grew in Lili’s mind. Did she even know her father? For the love of chocolate gelato, he was Pastor Mike Walters! Didn’t he care about God? Or had their whole lives been a lie?
She glanced at him, his hand on the wheel of their BMW, the other massaging his temple. She bit her lip. Would he leave?
Lili pressed back in her seat and held her eyelids down. She couldn’t cry. She’d only make things worse.
Ten minutes passed before she could open them again. He didn’t seem to notice, just fixed his eyes on the road and occasionally scrubbed his sleeve over his lips.
She shook her head and turned to the window.
Dad, do you even care what this is doing to me?
4
I’m going to kill my mother.
The squeak of rubber soles on the court echoed around Natalie as she froze in the doorway of the recreational center’s basketball court, two weeks after leaving Jem on the hospital sidewalk.
Three guys raced toward the far end of the court, chasing their opponent, whose long legs propelled him down the court at a lightning pace.
Jem.
After another depressing day of job hunting, the last thing she’d wanted to do on her Friday afternoon was play in the weekly social basketball league. But Mom had convinced her to get off the computer—she’d been researching weird M&M flavors to buy—and instead run off the stress, all with a twinkle in her eye Natalie hadn’t quite deciphered.
Now she recognized it—the cunning of a woman determined to get grandchildren. Mom had been single minded toward that endeavor ever since Natalie made the mistake of telling her why she missed the head-office rep meeting.
But if the dream involved Jem, it had to die.
Cheers swelled from the handful of bystanders as Jem leapt through the air and dunked the ball. Even the opposing team members clapped.
“Way to go, Jem!”
The corners of her mouth lifted. She’d practiced with him for countless afternoons till he mastered that move. From that day on, every time he nailed a dunk his eyes would search her out, whether she was beside him on the court or cheering in the stands. His lips would pull into a grin that seemed to combine Did you see that? with Couldn’t have done it without you, babe.
Her mind landed back in the present at the same moment Jem’s gaze locked with hers.
She froze.
He grinned. Did you see that?
The corner of her mouth twitched upward.
Another thought slammed into her mind. He has a baby with someone else.
She whirled and headed out the door. How could he grin at her as if the last seven years hadn’t happened?
Her ire built with each step, threatening to spill over into frustrated tears. He had a baby. She’d felt sick each morning when she woke and remembered that the man she’d thought would raise her children now had one with someone else. And the fact it bit so deep dragged her self-esteem down another three notches. He’d obviously not missed her at all, and here she was still affected by him. After seven years.
Pathetic.
Natalie rounded a corner and pulled her keys from her pocket. She needed time with Jeremy Walters about as much as she needed a cockroach under her pillow.
“Nat! Wait up!” Jem’s voice echoed down the hall.
The open door to the sports equipment storage room presented the perfect hiding place. She flew in and dove behind a pile of dusty gym mats.
“Natalie?”
She fought a sneeze as his footsteps approached, then paused.
“Your foot is sticking out.” Laughter rumbled in his voice.
She wriggled her way upright, brushing a monstrous dust bunny from her blue-and-gold uniform.
“I was just, uh, looking for something.” Like peace and quiet.
He nodded. “There’s a dead moth in your hair.”
“Blagh-eek!”
“Just kidding.” He smirked.
Trying to claw back some dignity, she crossed her arms and surveyed him. How was it fair that, even after so long, those mischievous blue eyes hadn’t lost one ounce of their charm? Time to go on the offensive. “What are you doing on my team? Don’t you have an article to write or a baby to take care of?”
“Didn’t realize you owned the team. Or still played.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Is it a problem?”
Rats. No good way out of that one. “Of course not. You’d better be able to pull your weight, is all. You’ve got a bit of a dad bod going on.” An utter lie. Curse his physique.
He slapped a hand on his stomach. “Didn’t know you’d been checking my bod out.” The words were laced with laughter, but Natalie just stared. Not going there.
The mirth drained from Jem’s expression under the weight of the silence. “Okay, I can’t do fake nicety-nice with you.” He ran a hand down his face, pulling his cheeks. “I talked to your mom.”
The air left her lungs.
“She told me about your dad. I’m sorry. I knew he was sick, but I didn’t know how bad.”
She flinched at the mention of Dad. He’s in remission. She fought the urge to shout the words. Yes, technically he was in remission. But the writing was on the wall, and barring a miracle, they all knew what the future held. The question was when.
“And she said you can’t find a job and will have to move back in with them.”
Natalie sucked in a deep breath, pressure building in her brain. “Why would—”
“I need someone to take care of Olly.”
She gaped at him. “Have you lost your mind?” The man had told her he loved her. Asked her to marry him. Dumped her and disappeared for seven years.
And now he wanted to be her boss?
“I would never ask if we weren’t both desperate. But I start my new job on Monday, and so far my best childcare option is the place on James Street. The woman smelled of cigarettes and had gross fingernails.” He pretended to gag.
“Do you know how weird this is?” Her voice jumped about a hundred octaves.
He searched her face. “Just think about it, okay? It’s only school hours. I can’t afford to pay you full-time. Lili’s gonna have him from three thirty till I get home. At least until I can figure something out.”
Natalie’s brain spun. How could he even pay for this? His brother had to be helping him. And was he serious about . . . “Lili?”
“She’s sixteen. We babysat at her age.”
“Yeah, and look how that went.”
“Come on. The kid’s eyebrows grew back. No biggie.”
“Where is Olly, anyway?”
“There’s a childcare service for parents during the game. Unfortunately, they’re not available from eight till six every day.”
Footsteps sounded in the hall outside.
“Jem? Nat? We’re starting in five.”
“Coming.” Natalie snatched a basketball off the shelf and scrambled past Jem. He followed her, and the fabric of her shirt shifted as he plucked something off it.
“What was that?”
“You don’t want to know.”
A shudder rippled through her. For the first time in seven years, she was thankful for something Jem had done.
Would working for him really be so bad?
Whoa. Alarm bells blared in her mind. No. Never again.
A step from the gym door, still out of sight from their teammates, she spun and sank a finger into Jem’s chest. “The answer’s no. And don’t ask again.”
Before he could react, she stalked onto the court.
The opposing team had already taken up their positions, ready for the jump ball. Three of Natalie’s teammates waited at half court, each sporting their blue-and-gold team colors. Steph, Natalie’s old mentor from when she was a teen—and Jem’s sister-in-law—was closest, hair in a perky ponytail and Nikes gleaming white. She bounced on h
er toes, warming up, then spotted Natalie and Jem and did a double take. “Are you okay?”
Natalie barely caught the murmured words as she took up her position. Jem headed to the ref, ready for the jump ball.
“Talk to you at halftime,” she muttered.
The referee held out the ball and gave his usual spiel about playing fair. Natalie shut out all other thoughts and focused on the ball.
The whistle blew.
The basketball flew into the air. Jem slapped it, and she snatched it and fired it back to him in a move they’d perfected years ago. They were halfway down the court before the other team could blink, and a minute later he scored. Some guy Natalie didn’t know, but who apparently played for their team, smacked him on the back. Jem gave him a thumbs-up and winked at her.
Natalie rolled her eyes and headed for the throw-in.
* * *
“Before you say anything about Jem, I have news.”
Natalie watched Steph wipe a slight sheen from her forehead as they stood in the bathroom at halftime. Jem’s sister-in-law radiated Chanel No. 5 after a brutal half game. Natalie tried not to compare Steph’s poised appearance to the dark blotches on her own shirt as she stared at her friend. Stars had been born, twinkled, and died while she waited for the ref’s whistle and the chance to vent.
“News bigger than Jem moving back and asking me to work for him?” Natalie panted, still short on oxygen after her last drive for the basket. Sweat trickled down her calf. “I’ll do the fund-raiser again if you want.” She’d run the basketball team’s annual fund-raiser the past three years and exceeded her record of funds raised each time. She’d tried to beg out of it this year, but Steph had been determined that she was the woman for the job.
“There’s no one better at it than you, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” Steph leaned forward, eyes alight. “Did you see Sam? The new guy?”
“Tall, dark hair—”
“And bulging biceps. He’s Samuel Payton. As in—”
“The guy who started Wildfire?” Natalie blinked against the fluorescent glare bouncing from bleached-white tiles. No wonder everyone had flocked to talk to him as soon as the whistle blew. She’d been following the Australian’s success with his California-based youth ministry, Wildfire, even before it attracted national attention. Then revival hit the West Coast, and the whole country heard his name when the Today show ran the story.
