by Jessica Kate
He scrolled down the page. Whoops. His eyes might’ve glanced over the last three paragraphs, but he hadn’t read them. He scrolled up again.
If he could just keep his life drama free for a bit, he could get himself sorted and somewhere in the vicinity of Dad’s exacting standards before he attempted to rebuild that relationship. Were he on his own, he wouldn’t try. But with no mother in the picture, the number of people in Olly’s family was few. A kid should have family. A grandfather.
Jem would do his best to accomplish that.
The police scanner crackled to life. Hit-and-run, Oakview Street.
In Jem’s peripheral vision, his editor, Samson, lifted his head and scanned the reporters’ desks. Several journalists avoided eye contact.
Jem grabbed his messenger bag and stood. “I can go on my way home, boss.”
Samson nodded and waved him out the door. Jem hustled to his car. Calculating for traffic, he had a ten-minute buffer between now and when he needed to be home to relieve Natalie.
He zipped across town and slowed as he entered the cul-de-sac named on the police scanner. The street was easy to find—it was a main road, and he’d had a high school friend who lived here back in the day. A variety of emergency vehicle lights flashed up ahead, clustered around the driveway at house number—he checked the surrounding homes—nine.
Unease built as Jem scanned the home. Yep, that’d been Jason Whittaker’s place. What had happened? Did Jason’s family still live here?
He left his notebook in the car and stepped onto the footpath, noting skid marks on the road. His vantage point gave him an unobstructed view of the paramedics working over a small body on the ground.
Oh no.
A pacing man caught his eye. Jason. He had one hand fisted in his hair, the other covering his mouth as the paramedics worked on what appeared to be a child. Jem hit the beeper to lock his car and walked toward his friend.
8
Jem tried to find the energy to run up the stairs to his apartment. He was one hour and six minutes late. Natalie would be livid. But the fastest he could manage was a trudge.
He jiggled his key into the finicky lock and tried to think of the fastest way he could explain his tardiness before Natalie committed some act of assault. One day without drama and a chance to get his life in order. That’s all his goal had been this morning. One day.
He jiggled the lock again.
The door was yanked open. He flinched.
Natalie. Nostrils flared, glare fierce enough to melt a glacier.
Oh boy.
“Natalie, I—”
She jerked a finger to her lips. “Shush!”
“I’m sorry but—”
“Your devil baby is finally asleep.” She hissed the words. Her mussed hair, yoga pants, and a T-shirt that appeared to be wearing some of Olly’s lunch did nothing to detract from her crazy-lady vibe.
He edged past her into the apartment, ears pricked for any sounds from Olly. “Asleep? What do you mean asleep? It’s almost seven.” Oliver had two naps every day like clockwork, and a bedtime of nine o’clock. “Didn’t Lili tell you his routine?” He’d given her a rundown last night with instructions to pass the message onto Natalie.
“Steph picked her up this morning. I’ve barely seen her all day. She should be back soon.”
That was the last time he entrusted any communication to a teenager. He moved to his bedroom door, eased it open. Olly, in his crib next to Jem’s bed, sound asleep. Totally out of routine.
There went his sleep for the next week.
He moved forward to wake Olly up. He’d be going to bed after midnight at this rate.
Natalie grabbed his hand. “What are you doing? He just spent ninety minutes screaming himself to sleep. Which you’d know if you’d been here.”
Jem looked back at her. “Ninety minutes? So you decided to put him down for a nap after five o’clock?” He’d assumed she’d know better than that. They’d babysat as teens.
Deep breaths, Jem.
Natalie’s hands went to her hips. “Sorry I’m not a mind reader. I didn’t know he needed a second nap till he was going ballistic.”
He moved her back into the living room so their tense whispers didn’t wake Olly. “Why didn’t you call me?”
She jabbed a finger in his direction. “I’m not answering another question until you explain yourself. You’re more than an hour late.” She seized her jacket from the back of a chair and stuffed one arm in. “Do you have any idea what this could cost me?”
“A week’s worth of sleep?” It was out before he could stop it.
Jacket on, Natalie stared at him, lips thinning. “That’s the last time I ever do you a favor.” She stomped toward the door.
Jem rubbed his forehead. He’d been out of line. “Wait.”
She paused, hand outstretched toward the door handle.
“I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” He blew out a breath. “It’s been a bad day. I apologize for being late, and I’ll have better instructions for you tomorrow.”
He waited for the open and close of the door. It didn’t come. Natalie stood still, indecision written across her face.
Huh. He hadn’t expected that.
She rested her bag on a small dining table that she must’ve bought for him today. “What happened?”
Jem leaned against the counter, the kitchen at his back. “A hit-and-run came over the police scanner.”
Halfway through the sentence, Natalie’s eyes focused on something behind him.
He paused. “What?”
She pulled her gaze from whatever it was and looked at Jem. “Beetroot.”
“What?”
She moved to the kitchen window. He followed her. She leaned closer to the glass pane. “Your dad’s here.”
“What?” Jem jostled her at the window. No. It couldn’t be. How did Dad even know where he was?
Below them, a police hat moved from a Charlottesville Police car toward the building’s entrance.
Mike must have told him. The traitor.
They jerked back from the window as Captain John Walters tipped his head back and looked up at the building.
A bubble of panic popped inside Jem. Not like this. He wasn’t ready. “We have two minutes. Hide the baby stuff.”
Natalie gaped. “You haven’t told him?”
Jem put steel into his voice. “If you don’t help, I’ll tell him what really happened to his garden gnome collection.”
She lunged for a pile of baby washing and tossed it into the nearest cupboard.
Jem pulled open a kitchen drawer, grasped the drying rack full of Olly’s plates and cups, and tipped it upside down.
Natalie had just pulled down Olly’s photo as a sharp rap sounded at the front door.
She passed Jem the photo and moved toward the door. “He’s going to find out eventually.”
Jem opened his door, tossed the photo onto his bed. “You’re awfully judge-y for someone with a gnome in their closet.”
She narrowed her eyes. “John’s never heard the full story of the Great Sewage Incident of 2003.”
Yikes. He spun to plead for mercy.
She pulled open the door before he could respond. “John. Hi.”
John Walters stood three inches shorter than Jem, thirty pounds heavier, and a hundred times more intimidating. Even Natalie straightened her spine and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear.
“Natalie.” Dad nodded and stepped inside. “Surprised to see you here.”
“Uh, yes.” She shut the door behind him. “I just came here to . . . yell at Jem.”
“It’s part of her rage issues,” Jem said. “Hi, Dad.”
Dad walked into the apartment with measured steps. He swept his gaze up, down, and all around the sparse rooms.
The silence shouted. Jem cringed. Though no baby paraphernalia was in sight, Dad had to know. The man had Spidey senses for such things.
Jem leaned against the wall, crossed one ankle
over the other. The tenser he was inside, the more relaxed he tried to appear outside. “How are you?”
The captain folded his arms. Surprising he could, considering the amount of starch he put in his laundry. “You’d know if you called any time in the last few years. I had to find out you were here from Steph.”
So this was how it would be. No “Good to see you” or “I’ve missed you.” Straight to the criticism. Jem fought to keep a smart-aleck tone out of his voice. “You said not to call. I figured if you wanted to see me, you’d come.”
“I said to call when you’d made some changes in your life.”
Ah, yes. A conversation burned into his memory. Jem’s muscles bunched at the recollection. “And I said I don’t have to explain my choices. You can decide to be in or out.”
Dad slashed a hand through the air. “Show some respect. Your mother would—”
Jem rocketed off the wall. He did not get to pull the Mom card. “She would never demand that I lay out my life for her to judge if it’s good enough. She would never manipulate—”
“Manipulate? It’s called discipline, Jeremy. Something any good parent would do. You can never understand—”
A volcano erupted in Jem’s brain. “The door’s right there, Dad. If you’re so disappointed, just walk out and keep pretending you only have one son left to control.”
His father spun toward the door.
Natalie surged between the two men. “Time out.”
Jem stared at her, jaw set. She’d refereed them more than once in the past. But now? She had no skin in this game.
Still, she stood between them, hands up. “You two have differences. Those differences have cost you enough years. Just take a breath.”
Jem wheeled away and paced a few steps into the living room, then turned back.
Dad stayed stock-still, face granite.
Natalie looked at his father. “John, can I get you a drink?”
“Thank you, no.” He never took his glare from Jem.
She folded her arms and mimicked his intense gaze. “John. Can. I. Get. You. A. Drink?”
Jem tried not to smirk at the fire in her voice.
Dad twisted to look at her and sighed. “Cold water, please.”
She moved over to the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and filled it with tap water. “Here you go.”
Jem paced, eyes on Natalie. Gone were the days when they could have a whole conversation about his dad just from facial expressions.
What was she thinking?
* * *
What was she thinking? Natalie rubbed her forehead. She was beyond late for the youth Bible study. She should walk out the door right now, leave Jem in the past, and go try to build her own future.
But . . . the glimpse of vulnerability she’d seen on Jem’s face when John’s harsh words struck him wasn’t something she could ignore. There had to be something she could say to help. Quickly.
She rubbed sweaty palms on her yoga pants and went with the easiest question that came to mind. “Let’s just catch up on the last few years. Jem, what’s new with you?”
Jem crossed his arms, matching his father’s posture. “I started as a journalist at the newspaper today.”
“And how did your first day go?”
He shifted on his feet. “At five o’clock news came over the scanner of a hit-and-run uptown. My boss sent me, and the address took me to Jason Whittaker’s house.”
Natalie’s breath caught. They’d gone to high school with Jason. Was that what Jem had been saying earlier?
“More specifically, his four-year-old son in the driveway. I left my notebook in the car and spent an hour sitting with him till his wife got there.”
Her insides shriveled. Why had she given him a hard time about being late?
John nodded. “I heard about that case at the station. Terrible accident.”
Silence stretched for several seconds. Natalie looked between the two of them. “Since we’ve established that life is short, is there anything you want to say to each other?” She fixed her gaze on the man on her right. “Jem?”
His gaze hovered around a crack in the kitchen plaster rather than his father’s eyes. “I missed . . . some aspects . . . of you,” he said.
A muscle near John’s eye twitched.
Natalie seized the chance. “John, you guys have had your disagreements, but you can’t deny your son’s a good man.”
In her peripheral vision, Jem shot a glance at her.
She kept her eyes on John. “What do you want to say to Jem?”
John fiddled with his cufflinks. “You resent me. I know that. But I did what I thought was best.”
A cry sounded from Jem’s bedroom.
John jumped like she’d stabbed a cattle prod into his rear. “What was that?”
“I’ll get him.” Jem slipped away.
John stared at Natalie. Those distinctive blue eyes, shared by his son and grandson, opened wide. Understanding crept in, and they turned to ice.
The crying faded to a whimper as Jem crooned to Olly, muffled through the door.
It’d take him five seconds to return. Five seconds to prevent catastrophe. She grabbed John’s arm. “You listen to me.” He tensed at her touch. “You react wrong to this, and you’ll lose your son forever.”
He shook her off with a glare that had reduced criminals to tears.
She lowered her voice as Jem drew closer. “I’m not joking. This is no time for a John Walters judgment special.”
Jem appeared, Olly in his arms.
Natalie snapped her mouth shut.
Jem wore the look of a man about to wrestle a crocodile. “Dad, this is Oliver. He’s nine months old.”
John peered past them, like he expected another person. “And his mother?”
“Not in the picture. Nat’s agreed to nanny for me in the short term.”
She studied John’s face. The muscle next to his eye twitched like crazy.
“Would you like to hold him?” she asked.
Jem narrowed his eyes at her. She shrugged. John didn’t move.
“John?”
He held up his hands.
Olly’s whimpers stilled as his grandfather held him like an alien specimen. He gave a gummy grin and squealed.
Adorable. With John’s wide blue eyes and Jem’s dimple, that child was irresistible.
She released a breath. Maybe this relationship wasn’t so hopeless after all—
John dumped the child back into Jem’s arms. “I’m not going to do this. I need to go.” His tone was gruff, face set. He moved toward the door.
Jem stared after him. Natalie winced at the expression on his face. A little boy forgotten at the bus stop.
Jem stepped toward the living room as John reached for the front door. “That’s cold, Dad, even for you.”
She flinched at his tone, even though the words weren’t directed at her.
Jem disappeared into his room.
The captain paused, door handle in his hand. “You think I’m a monster,” he said.
Was he speaking to her or Jem? Natalie’s feet rooted themselves to the ground.
John opened the door, stepped through the portal, and turned to face her. His eyes were lined with seven years of regret. “But I have my reasons.”
He closed the door.
Natalie rested back against the counter. What was she supposed to make of that?
Jem paced back into the room, sans baby, and carrying Olly’s Oscar the Grouch. He hurled it at the door. It smashed into the solid wood and fell back against the floor, one button eye hanging loose.
She sighed. “I’m sorry, Jem.”
He leaned his hands against the tiny dining table, head hung low. “Olly never did anything to him. But he just—” He shook his head.
Oliver’s gurgles carried over from the direction of Jem’s room, along with the rattle of Jem’s keys.
She watched Jem for a long moment. How many times had she comforted him after a run-in
with his father? Too many to count. Her neck prickled at the memory of his face buried against it. She folded her arms.
Jem raised his eyes to hers. She shivered at his expression.
“Thanks for sticking up for me.”
Had his voice deepened in the last seven years? Another shiver raced between her shoulder blades. “Don’t get used to it.” She kept her tone brusque.
Jem came around the table and walked toward her. His gaze never left her face.
Natalie’s breathing slowed. Oh man. Sensation rioted through her chest. Was he walking toward her? Yep, he definitely was. She pressed back against the counter.
Three steps away, two steps, one. He leaned in . . . Reached into the bowl behind her and grabbed an apple. Snapped off a bite. “See you tomorrow.”
He strolled back toward the living room.
All the energy drained from her limbs. She gathered her belongings and exited.
In the safe territory of the hallway outside the apartment, she leaned against the wall and tapped her head on it. What had just happened? That had to have been one of the weirdest half hours of her life.
Great job keeping a professional distance, Natalie.
If she didn’t get this internship, she’d be at the employment office first thing tomorrow. Jem was a quicksand she didn’t want to fall into again.
Her phone rang in her pocket. She checked the number. Unknown.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Natalie, this is Sam Payton. I’m at the Bible study. Where are you?”
9
Natalie’s internship, career, and dreams depended on a story about a sick penguin.
She frowned at her notes for a mother’s group devotional talk spread across Jem’s kitchen counter on Thursday morning. Sam had been understanding on Monday when she’d told him that she’d been unexpectedly delayed by work. They’d swapped her practice run to today instead. Mommy Time was a church event, not a Wildfire one. But Sam wanted to see her people skills in action this week, and there weren’t any more Wildfire events planned till next. Since Steph worked for both organizations, they’d managed to arrange this for her audition.
