Page 20 of One Little Mistake

Erin

I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that Max was married.

At first, I thought the woman was his fiancée and panicked, thinking I might cause trouble for him, but after overhearing a few sharp exchanges—totally by accident—I pieced together enough to realize their divorce was anything but peaceful.

And that Cynthia definitely didn’t just “happen” to show up here in the middle of a snowstorm.

Honestly, she didn’t strike me as likable at all. I was shocked Max ever chose someone like her.

He’s calm, decisive, direct, reliable—or at least, that’s the man I’ve gotten to know. She, on the other hand, is pushy, spoiled, and arrogant.

They don’t match at all. Well, unless you’re talking about appearances.

From the outside, they look good together: stylish, petite, elegant—exactly the type you’d imagine standing next to a man like Taylor.

I won’t lie: Max is very attractive. Built, powerful, with that quiet magnetism you can practically feel across the room. And for reasons I can’t even explain, I find myself desperate to see what he looks like under that thick black beard.

Maybe if I didn’t have a child now…

Maybe if my heart weren’t still quietly mourning someone else…

Maybe if we had met under different circumstances…

I would have jumped at the chance to get to know him, to go on a few dates, to try to charm him somehow. Men like Max are rare. Gold.

Outside, the snow is still falling, making the whole room glow almost unnaturally bright.

Sleep won’t come. I know, deep down, that I’m probably stuck here another day. There’s no way the roads will be cleared enough by morning to make it back into the city.

I glance at the time. The minutes are dragging unbearably slow.

My eyes shift to the window, and for some reason, a wave of anxiety for Max washes over me.

Driving in weather like this is dangerous—was it really worth the risk? Or was there something else? Maybe he’s been gone this long because of the snowstorm. Or maybe he decided to stop by his ex’s place “for a coffee”.

For reasons I don’t even want to name, the second possibility bothers me way more than it should.

I roll onto my back and listen carefully to the sounds of the apartment.

I wish I had bought that little sofa for the nursery—then I could’ve stayed the night with my baby. But the truth is, I never planned on needing it. I thought, at least for the first year, he would be sleeping right here with us, in our bedroom.

And yet… here we are.

Max.

His name won’t leave my head.

I still can’t believe he would do this to me. To us.

He’s the father of this child. Could someone really just walk away from their own son like that?

I know there’s something about this story that doesn’t add up. I feel it in my bones. But part of me is terrified to dig for the truth. Terrified of confirming that the man I trusted was never who I thought he was.

I don’t have his parents’ phone number, but I remember a few of his friends from social media.

I make a snap decision, pull up his profile, find Colin, and before I can talk myself out of it, I send a message:

“Hey. Do you know if Max is okay? Have you talked to him?”

I hold my breath, staring at the screen for what feels like forever. But it’s two in the morning—normal people are sleeping. Not me. Despite the exhaustion dragging at my body, sleep refuses to come.

Something is gnawing at me.

I check on Tim a few times—he’s sleeping soundly, thank God.

I’m just stepping out of the nursery when I hear the sound of the front door opening.

Heavy footsteps.

I freeze, my heart hammering wildly in my chest—and then comes a rush of relief so strong it makes my knees weak.

I scurry back to the bedroom like a guilty little mouse, dive under the covers, and listen. Max passes by the bedroom, heads to the bathroom, and slams the door behind him.

The water starts running.

The only thing separating us now is a single, paper-thin wall. And somehow, that realization makes my heart pound even harder.

The man spends way too long in the shower, and then suddenly the apartment goes completely silent.

The silence is broken by the heavy footsteps approaching the bedroom. I hold my breath when the door creaks open and quickly squeeze my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep.

I’m sure Max just came in to check on me. Which is why I freeze in shock when he approaches the bed and the mattress dips under his weight.

Without warning, he flops down onto the bed, yanks the blanket up, and slides in—far too close to me. So close that his damp, bare skin brushes against mine, making me flinch and instinctively scoot to the very edge of the bed.

“What the hell?” he rasps, fumbling for the bedside lamp.

The sudden brightness makes me squint.

“Oh, right. Forgot you were here,” he mutters with a heavy sigh, then flops back against the pillow.

Silence.

I find myself staring in disbelief at his flushed face... and the broad, muscular chest on full display.

“You okay?” I ask, not sure how to act or what’s going through his mind.

“Yeah,” he mutters, covering his eyes with one hand before reaching over to turn off the light again.

Darkness swallows the room. But even without seeing him, I can feel him. Every cell in my body is aware of him—his heavy breathing, his overwhelming presence.

I’m lying in bed with a half-naked man. Does this count as cheating?

“You were gone for a long time,” I whisper into the darkness, desperate to break the tension between us.

“Had to ditch the car and walk the rest of the way,” he says after a short pause.

“You walked? In this weather?” I ask, horrified, suddenly understanding why his face was so red and raw.

“Yeah,” he says simply.

“But... it’s freezing out there. And a blizzard. You must have been frozen.”

“Already warmed up. Hot shower helped a lot.” Then, in a low, teasing voice, he adds, “But if you’re thinking of helping me warm up another way... I wouldn’t say no.”

His husky laugh makes my face burn so hot I’m sure it could melt all the snow outside.

“Of course, I’ll help you warm up,” I say in a serious voice, pushing myself up in bed.

“Whoa, I was kidding! Chill,” Max says quickly, clearly misunderstanding me, which makes me smile slyly.

“I was just going to make you some tea with honey. What were you thinking?” I tease him lightly.

“Something a lot stronger,” he mutters. “Stay put. Get some sleep.”

His hand finds mine in the darkness, his fingers wrapping gently around my wrist and tugging me back down.

My pulse jumps.

I freeze.

I can feel my heart hammering against my ribs, feel the heat of Max’s bare skin against my own.

He’s too close.

Too much.

I’m reacting way too strongly to him.

I owe him my gratitude, and that’s it. Full stop.

“Don’t argue,” I mumble, pulling my hand free and sitting up abruptly. “You’ll just get sick, and it’s no big deal. Besides, I was going to check on Tim, anyway.”

“You need to rest, Erin,” he says, and the way my name sounds in his deep, tired voice makes something stir inside me.

I catch it in my mind and replay it over and over.

For the first time, I actually like the way my name sounds.

“I was resting. I just woke up,” I lie, grabbing the first excuse that comes to mind as I hurry out of the room. Away from Max. Away from that bed.

I linger in the kitchen way longer than necessary, stirring the tea with honey far more carefully than it needs. Anything to delay going back. Anything to give Max enough time to fall asleep.

My eyes wander around the kitchen, and I sigh. Everything here feels so familiar, so safe, so heartbreakingly mine. And yet I know none of it ever really was. It was just a mirage, an illusion of a perfect life, a glimpse of a happiness that was never meant to last.

My eyes are heavy, and sleep starts pulling me under.

I know I barely have time to rest—Tim needs to be fed again in just a couple of hours.

Carefully, I crack open the bedroom door and immediately lock eyes with the man lying there.

Max is sprawled out on his back, the blanket pulled up to his waist, quietly studying me, following my every move with those sharp eyes of his.

“Here,” I say in a shaky voice, handing him a steaming cup of tea.

“Thanks,” he rasps, clearing his throat as he sits up, leaning against the headboard.

He takes a sip, winces—it’s clearly too hot—and pulls the blanket higher, hiding from my gaze the thin black trail of hair running down his stomach.

I don’t know what to do or where to put myself. Feeling awkward and out of place, I walk over to the window and stare out at the snow-blanketed city, though I barely see anything at all.

Max’s presence is overwhelming. There are too many questions swirling around my life right now. Too much uncertainty.

“Are you just gonna stand there like a statue?” he teases softly. “Come lie down. I promise I won’t bite. We can even build a pillow wall if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” I mutter, swallowing the lump in my throat, and finally make my way back to my side of the bed.

I lie down on the very edge, clutching the blanket up to my chin, and stare at the ceiling. Max switches off the bedside lamp, shifts around a bit, and then goes still. I listen to his breathing—steady, heavy—and somehow, despite everything, I drift off too.

But what feels like only a heartbeat later, my phone alarm goes off, letting me know it’s time for Tim’s early morning feeding.

It takes everything in me to force my eyes open.

I’m so exhausted I can barely move, and for a moment, I forget there’s someone else in the apartment besides me.

Someone who, right now, is sleeping, pressed tightly against my back, breathing softly against the nape of my neck.

Half-asleep, I somehow convince myself it’s my Max. I snuggle closer, rubbing against his body, sinking into the familiar warmth until my gaze catches a tattoo on the arm wrapped around me.

I jolt, heart racing.

Instinctively, I jerk away from him so fast I almost fall off the bed, freezing in place when Max mumbles something in his sleep.

Reality crashes down on me in a blinding, brutal flash.

Panic floods me.

I wait until I’m sure he’s fallen back into a deep sleep, then quietly slip out of the bedroom. Tim is still asleep. I watch him for a moment, my heart squeezing with love, then gently lift him into my arms and head for the kitchen.

Doing my best not to make a sound, I prepare a bottle of formula. As if sensing it, Tim blinks open his eyes and lets out a soft whimper.

I move to the living room, settle into an armchair, and feed him, smiling at the way his little nose wrinkles up and how he eats with his tiny eyes squeezed shut.

I jump when I spot Max standing in the doorway. How long has he been there, watching us?

“Morning,” he says, nodding and walking over. “The whole street’s buried in snow. Looks like we’re stuck inside for a while.”

“Yeah, I looked out the window earlier,” I mumble, biting my lip. “Sorry about all this.”

“Stop apologizing. It is what it is. Not like we can change the weather.”

He shrugs. “Besides, you would’ve needed some time anyway to pack your stuff. Oh—” He holds out my phone. “Somebody texted you. Might be your boyfriend.”

My heart skips a beat. I quickly reach for the phone. No need to even unlock it—the message is already there on the screen.

“Hey. What do you mean something happened to him? Far as I know, he’s fine. Should be back from the trip soon.”

Colin’s answer punches the air right out of my lungs.

I stand up, cradling Tim in my arms, the walls spinning around me. I stagger a few steps forward, mind blank, then set the empty bottle down on the side table and instinctively hand Tim over to Max.

“Hold him for a minute. Please.”

Before he can say a word, I rush out of the room and lock myself in the bathroom.

Everything shatters—my strength, my calm, my hope, and even that cold shell of indifference I fought so hard to build.

The dam breaks. My hands tremble. Tears flood down my cheeks. I slap my palm over my mouth to keep the sobs from escaping. Because now I know for sure: Max was right. My Max lied to me.

For some twisted reason, he sent me to the wrong address instead of telling me the truth—that he didn’t want me.

That he didn’t want our baby. That he never planned to build a future with me.

It’s over.

For real this time.