Sweetest Mistake (Nolan Brothers #2)

by Amy Olle

  Then Chief took a turn asking questions. “It’s no secret there is an enormous amount of stress in our jobs. How do you handle stress and avoid burnout?”

  Luke’s mind blanked. He blinked at her while his mouth filled with sand.

  But the Chief and Captain were staring at him, waiting, so he started to talk. “You’re absolutely right, Chief. In my career, I’ve experienced stressful periods and have had to find various ways to decompress.”

  Wrong.

  Unless heavy drinking and insomnia counted.

  “I spend time with my friends and family, particularly my niece and nephews.”

  Wrong.

  Since the shooting, he’d avoided close contact with any of them, his niece and nephews in particular, afraid he’d be unable to keep it together in their presence.

  “I enjoy several hobbies, including music and playing in a hockey league.”

  Wrong.

  He’d dropped out of the league this year and never played music, except when others forced him to do so.

  “Finally, I guess I’d say I find comfort in talking to my colleagues and those close to me about my job and its challenges. Their understanding and support is an invaluable gift.”

  Wrong and wrong.

  He had a sharp distaste for Sloane and, by design, no relationship with the rookie, Newberry. Neither of them would ever replace Anthony.

  He flashed his charmer’s smile. “Oops, I lied. I have one more.”

  Chief and Davison smiled, perfectly at ease.

  “This department has been on the forefront of providing assistance and access to mental health professionals, which has been both a surprise and a blessing.”

  Not entirely wrong. At least the seminars he’d been pushed to attend helped him come up with all the bullshit he was now spewing.

  The remainder of the interview progressed without incident. Until the last question.

  “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

  Not working here.

  He muttered some bullshit answer and soon the interview ended.

  On the drive to Emily’s at the end of the day, a clear winter sunset painted the horizon in lavender and pink. A chilly wind blew a blinding white canvas of fresh snow across the island.

  Dusk in winter. It brought to mind memories of That Day. Like parasites, crawling and wiggling under his skin, they harassed. He turned up her driveway and pulled to stop in front of the house.

  Lost in his inner battle, he failed to notice the threat until it was upon him.

  Red blood splattered over pure white snow. Dark, nasty, brutal.

  A massacre.

  He stumbled back. The screaming inside his skull drowned out his ability to think, to assess, or to search out options. His vision narrowed.

  Emily’s snowman lay in scattered pieces. His head severed from his body. His torso hacked into tiny bits.

  Blackness closed in on him. He was underwater, the surface fading away. He gasped for air, an instinct his body couldn’t let die. Hope faded. It was too heavy, this burden.

  Wet snow seeped through his blue jeans.

  Get up, you piece of shit. Get up right now!

  At the water’s surface, huge brown eyes stared down at him. She lifted her hand under her nose. “It’s ketchup. They’re filming a scene.”

  “I killed him.”

  Her dainty features pulled into a frown. “Who?”

  “The fifteen-year-old.” Horror rushed through his veins along with the self-hatred. “I fucking killed him.”

  The words broke over his sobs with the dread and hopelessness crashing into him, dragging him down, down. All was lost.

  A weight pressed down on his chest, pinning him to the ground beneath a large object. He clenched her small hand. His grip clamped so tight around her fine bones, it had to hurt her.

  But he didn’t let go, and she didn’t complain.

  “I think about it every day. Every goddamn day I relive that moment I pulled the trigger.”

  The pad of her thumb stroked back and forth over his palm.

  “If just one thing had happened differently, maybe I wouldn’t have killed him.” Wetness smeared his cheeks. “If just one fucking thing had gone differently—if the kid’s friend hadn’t said something shitty on Facebook. If his mom didn’t get on him about his attitude that morning. If they hadn’t left the gun safe unlocked. If it’d been sunny instead of cloudy for the fourth day in a row. If he hadn’t been called on in class. If only the kid had forgotten his Kevlar and gave up his insane plan, or his gun had jammed, or he’d turned just a little to the right rather than the left, my bullet would’ve caught his arm instead of his chest cavity. Anything could’ve made the difference. He didn’t have to die. None of them had to die.”

  But they did die.

  Tears fell from her cheeks and plopped onto his hand. “You had to s-stop him from killing those other children. It was the only choice.”

  “Maybe, but that doesn’t help me sleep at night.”

  Nothing did.

  “How many other children are alive because of what you did? How many other parents didn’t have to mourn their babies?”

  “You want to know the worst part?” He could see she didn’t, but he couldn’t hold the words back any longer. “Fuck him.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “The fifteen-year-old. Fuck him. He killed eight people that day. And I murdered him, a fucking child. He killed my friend and I fucking hate him.” His voice trembled with his soul’s seething. “Do you hear me? I hate him.”

  She shivered in the cold. “I know. It’s okay.”

  She didn’t say another word. She didn’t ask him why, or what she could do to help. She didn’t try to soothe or placate him. She just sat beside him in the snow, tolerating his death grip around her fingers, until he slowly came back to himself.

  He hadn’t had a flashback in months, and he’d let himself believe he was over it. Or moving past it, or… whatever.

  Shit.

  He wasn’t over it. Not even close.

  He’d clawed and scratched his way to the top of the mountain, leaving blood and guts and all sense of self to rot on the cold, hard ground, only to realize he’d simply scaled the first foothill. An entire mountain range lay beyond.

  After this, she probably wouldn’t want to marry him.

  It was for the best, he supposed. He should be relieved. He’d let himself get a little cocky, thinking he could build a life with her without the taint.

  Even now, he could feel her heart reaching out to him, trying to wrap itself around him, and he was tempted, so goddamned tempted, to let it happen.

  But if he did, he’d be one step closer to turning into his father.

  No, it was a good thing she’d caught a glimpse of the real him. So she could leave him.

  Once he let go of her hand.

  He was avoiding her.

  Three days had passed since she found him on his knees in the snow, a thousand-yard stare in his stricken eyes. Three days since she had sat beside him, wishing she might somehow pick the scattered pieces of him out of the snow and hold them in her hands. Hold him together.

  Three days since she had last laid eyes on him.

  In her pajamas, Emily sat at the kitchen island and tried to focus on the brochure she was creating for the inn. As the hour approached midnight, hope he’d come to her when his shift ended began to fade.

  An old familiar vise squeezed her heart. For nine years, she’d lived with the misery of watching someone she loved suffer while knowing of no way to ease their pain.

  A noise sounded at the back door and she sucked in a sharp breath. Her heart galloped.

  Until Noah appeared beneath the archway to the mudroom. “Hey, Em.”

  At the refrigerator, Noah yanked open the door and disappeared behind it. His head popped up. “Is there any of that lasagna Luke made the other night?”

  She noticed then the lines bracketing his eyes and mouth. He
looked tired. Drained.

  “It’s in the back behind the m-milk. I was hiding it.”

  He rummaged around for a moment.

  “Aha.” He kicked the refrigerator door closed with the heel of his foot, a Pyrex dish in hand. “Mind if I steal a couple of pieces?”

  She waved her hand. “Have it all.”

  The lines smoothed. “Thanks, I owe you one.”

  He turned to leave, and she bolted to her feet. “Can I ask y-you something?”

  He twisted back around. “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Have you, uh, talked to Luke in the last couple of days?”

  His brows slammed into a frown. “No. Why? Is something wrong?”

  Disappointment slashed through her. “No, nothing’s wrong…”

  Just then, his head turned toward more rustling at the back door.

  “Did you find it?” Emily recognized Mina’s voice.

  Noah lifted the dish in his hands. “Got it. I was just talking to Emily.”

  Mina appeared in the doorway. “Oh, hey, Em. He didn’t wake you, did he?”

  Emily startled at her cousin’s appearance. There was a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and her face appeared sunken and pale.

  Emily shook her head. “I was still up.”

  Mina ran a hand through her tousled hair. She and Noah shared a long look, one that carried an entire conversation and ended when Noah gave a small tilt of his head in Emily’s direction.

  Mina took a tiny step into the room. “You have a minute?”

  Denials screamed in Emily’s mind, much like the way they did whenever her mom’s doctors had approached her with an update on Audrey’s condition. She didn’t know what Mina had to say, but she knew she didn’t want to hear the words.

  She swallowed with difficulty and found her voice. “Sure.”

  A long, shuddering breath rattled through Mina. “I miscarried.”

  “Oh, shit.” Emily clamped both hands over her mouth. “Mina, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  She winced at the stupid question. Her cousin had just lost her baby. How could she be okay? Emily pressed a fist to her abdomen and sank back onto the stool.

  “I’m okay,” Mina said, though the devastation was there to see on both their faces. “I was still early and they say I’ll be fine.”

  Mina turned her face to Noah, who reached out and pulled her in to his side. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

  She sagged against him. “In a little bit, I think we’ll try again.”

  “Trying is my favorite.” Noah’s lips moved against her hair.

  Heat washed over Emily’s face and neck at the intimate display, so unguarded and tender. She had to look away.

  A soft light came into Mina’s eyes. “But I hear you might have some good news for us?”

  Emily cringed inwardly. “Oh, yeah, I was going to tell you…”

  “Is this what you want?” Mina prodded gently.

  Emily’s heart lurched. “Yes. Very much so.”

  Both Noah and Mina visibly relaxed.

  “We’ll be in-laws twice over.” Noah smiled, and for a moment, he looked so like Luke, Emily stared. “That bond will be nearly unbreakable. Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

  Her heart cracked open with his words. By marrying Luke, she’d be gaining four brothers. For an orphaned only child, it was a heady proposition, and just one of the many gifts Luke had given her.

  “Have you settled on a date?” Mina eased further into the room.

  Emily shifted on the stool. “Uh, in a few weeks, actually. The weekend before Christmas.”

  To her credit, Mina hid her shock well. “That’s so soon.”

  Emily couldn’t tell them she was pregnant. With their grief so palpable and raw, the words simply refused to come.

  “We didn’t want to w-wait.” The half-truth tasted sour in her mouth and she pursed her lips closed.

  Noah’s astute gaze searched her face. “Ah, new love. Fun, isn’t it?”

  Luke could feel her watching him, so he slammed the mask into place.

  She’d be happier not knowing what lay beneath the charm, and though he didn’t, and wouldn’t ever, love her, her happiness mattered to him.

  He swallowed the last bite of casserole on his plate. “Do you want to get married at the church or City Hall?”

  She laid down her fork. “I’m not Catholic.”

  “No problem.” He flashed a quick smile. “Neither is Father John.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. He used to be a priest, but resigned years ago. If you ask him about it, he’ll tell more than you could ever want to know.”

  “So it’s not a Catholic church? Is that why the sign changed?”

  “It’d been a struggling congregation for years, and largely seasonal with the population dropping by nearly half every winter. The diocese finally pulled out last year. When the church went up for sale, John bought it and now holds non-denominational services.”

  “It’s such a lovely place, and my mom’s there…”

  His heart wedged somewhere near his throat. “The church it is then.” He started to stand.

  She sat forward. “I w-wondered if w-we could talk for a minute.”

  Though she hadn’t eaten the last of her casserole, he swiped her plate out from under her and carried it along with his to the kitchen.

  At the sink, he flipped on the faucet. “Tell you what,” he said over the running water. “I’ll book the church if you handle everything else. You have a talent and I wouldn’t dare to interfere with such artistry.”

  A blush of pleasure touched her cheeks. “Is there anyone you’d like to invite?”

  “I already told my brothers.” He turned off the spray of water. “How about you?”

  She shook her head.

  “No one?” He saw no sadness on her face and that only made the pinch in his chest squeeze tighter. He returned to his chair at the table. “Who would you invite if you knew they could come?”

  “Well, there was a friend from college, but…”

  “Who?”

  “My roommate.” Her features softened and she toyed with her napkin.

  “You should invite her.”

  “W-we haven’t talked in years, and it’s such short notice.”

  “So you won’t be disappointed if she can’t make it.” He cut off her protest. “Invite her. People love to be invited to parties, even if they can’t attend. It makes them feel good, and besides, you have nothing to lose.”

  She pondered that a moment. “You’re right. I’ll invite her.” Then her dark, serious eyes clamped on his face. “But I didn’t want to talk about the wedding.”

  He shoved to his feet and crossed to the stereo. “No? What did you want to talk about?”

  “The other day—”

  A song kicked on over the speakers and he treated her to his finest, most charming smile.

  Her slender brow remained furrowed and he abandoned the charm offensive. Hell, it wasn’t as if it’d ever worked on her anyway. Only when he wasn’t trying did he ever breach her defenses.

  He began to move his shoulders in time to the beat and crooked a finger at her. “Come here.”

  Her sudden smile knocked him back. “Why?”

  Soon, his hips were involved. “Come here, Emily.”

  A giggle escaped her. “I want to talk first.”

  “You don’t like talking.” He lifted her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles.

  A shiver passed through her. “Luke—”

  “One dance. Then we’ll talk.”

  “But—”

  “I can’t believe I have to say this to you.” He tugged on her hand and she fell against him. “Shut up and dance with me.”

  He held her body tight against his and she melted into him. The fragrant scent of her hair teased his senses and he bent his head to inhale deeply of her.

  They began to move.

  When the music ch
anged, she pulled away, but he grasped her hand and whirled her under his arm.

  Her light, lyrical laughter rang out. He didn’t stop until she was breathless from laughing. Then he dipped her low, cradling her in his arm, and stole a taste of her over-plump mouth. When he broke the kiss, a contented smile glowed from her small face.

  And she’d forgotten all about asking her silly little questions.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The bell over the door chimed when Emily stepped into the boutique on Main Street.

  A voice called out a greeting, and then Isobel’s head popped out from behind a rack of winter coats.

  “Emily.” She lurched forward with an armful of wool. “Luke told me the news. I’m so happy for you both.”

  Emily found herself engulfed in wool and Isobel’s flowery scent. The tension in her shoulders eased somewhat. “Thank you. Actually, I’m here for a dress.”

  “Wonderful.” Isobel heaved her armload onto the front counter. “The bridal boutique is next door.”

  Emily remained planted to her spot. “I don’t w-want to shop over there, if that’s all right? It’s going to be a small ceremony and I’d like to w-wear something… simple.”

  “Oh, okay.” Isobel frowned. “Our stock is a little low right now. Do you have a color in mind?”

  Emily bit down hard on her lip and shook her head. “No. Whatever you have.”

  Isobel blinked at her. “You’re not like our other brides.”

  Emily didn’t doubt that for a second. Her wedding, hastily thrown together in a couple of weeks, probably wasn’t like most of their other brides’ weddings either.

  At least Luke had stopped avoiding her. She’d asked him once more to talk to her about what had happened. In answer, he’d taken her to bed, and she went because the vulnerability swirling behind his eyes wouldn’t let her refuse him.

  “Our dresses are back here.” Isobel showed her to a small corner at the back of the store with several racks of dresses. “Would you like help?”

  “I think I’ll just look around a little first.”

  Isobel eased away. “I’ll just be up front if you need anything.”

  Emily browsed the racks for a few minutes, but quickly grew discouraged. Exactly two dresses belonged on the white-to-ivory spectrum. She tried them both on, but the first dress wouldn’t fit over her hips and her smaller breasts couldn’t support the strapless style of the second one.