One Mistake (Sweet & Wild Sisters #1)

CHAPTER 1

Do you ever ask yourself how the choices you make each day—little, meaningless ones—how those choices affect and shape the rest of your life? If you’ve ever asked yourself or wondered if it even matters, let me tell you a story… and you can decide.

This is the story of a girl.

Anyone who knew her—or even met her briefly—would tell you she was the sweetest thing.

By all standards, she was the quintessential ‘girl next door.’ At twenty-six, she’d never been drunk, kissed more than one guy, or intentionally broken a single one of the Ten Commandments.

She lived her life trying to honor God—and her parents—with every decision she made.

Does she sound too perfect? Maybe even a bit nauseating? She’s the kind of girl people want to hate but can’t, because she’s just too dang nice.

She would be the first to admit she wasn’t perfect. She’d probably laugh, shrug, and tell you she’d rather talk about anything but her personal life—because even she found it a little too boring sometimes.

But those who really knew her, knew that sometimes she longed to throw caution to the wind. To let loose. To be the kind of person who didn’t overthink every move, didn’t fear the outcome, didn’t analyze every potential consequence.

Sometimes, she even made plans to be spontaneous—do something reckless and brave, that didn’t involve rules or fear.

But when the moment came, she never could give in to temptation.

She was too afraid of the unknown. She always sided with the quiet conviction in her heart over the wild voice in her head.

Until one night.

It started innocently enough—a dinner out with a couple of guys from work.

The three of them ended up at a Mexican Kitchen and Tequilla Bar.

As usual, there was alcohol. As usual, when asked if she wanted a drink, she said no.

She always said no. It had become so routine, she would barely realize the word had left her lips.

But that night felt different.

Halfway through the evening, something shifted. She started to wonder—what would it feel like to do just one shot? How much could one little cup of liquid affect her? She

wouldn’t get drunk, but even if she did, what harm could come from it?

Her own mother had been drunk once. So what would it matter? It wouldn’t change her. She’d still be the same person. One drink wouldn’t destroy her witness as a Christian.

It might even make her more relatable to the people she witnessed to. Drinking wasn’t a sin. Getting drunk was, sure—but one shot wasn’t the same thing. Just one little, meaningless choice. She reached for the one little cup.

She didn’t stop at one.

One shot turned into three, maybe four. To this day, she doesn’t remember how many she had. Not that it mattered. What mattered is what she remembered next.

Waking up.

In a hotel bed.

Naked.

In the arms of her equally naked coworker.

The coworker she’d secretly had a crush on for years.

The same coworker who was the hospital playboy and possibly had a live-in girlfriend.

Mortified, Elizabeth—Beth, to most—scrambled to get out of bed, but the room spun, and her stomach churned. She barely

made it to the toilet—dragging a sheet behind her—before bile burned up her throat and spilled out.

The cold tile floor bit into her knees. With an arm draped across the toilet seat, she pressed her forehead to it, chest tight, trying to catch her breath.

Her head throbbed, and her throat ached from the heaving.

Tears came without warning. First a few. Then more.

A sob broke through.

“What have I done?” She whispered. “How could I have been so stupid?

How could one insignificant choice lead to this?”

The gift she’d protected her whole life—saved for her future husband—was gone.

Given to a virtual stranger. All because she believed one little choice wouldn’t matter beyond a hangover.

The sound of her crying woke Bryce.

He sat up slowly, his head pounding, though he was no stranger to drinking. Squinting against the light, he spotted his pants and tugged them on before following the sound.

No. Not her.

He froze in the doorway. A sick twist tightened in his gut as fragmented memories from the night before flickered through his mind, just out of reach.

I swore I’d never mess with her.

The anguish on her face pulled at him—then the rumors he’d heard about her came rushing back.

It hit him. Hard.

Last night hadn’t just been her first time having a drunken one-night stand—it had been her first time.

A soft curse slipped from his lips as he glanced back toward the bed, revealing the stained proof of the truth he didn’t want to accept.

He didn’t speak at first—what could he say? Instead, he crouched beside her, gently sweeping her hair from her face. He rubbed her back as her body convulsed again, releasing the last of last night’s drinks.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I’m so sorry, Lizzy. This... this was my fault. I take full responsibility.”

His kindness only made her cry harder.

He hadn’t made her drink. She had chosen.

He reached for her hand to calm her, and as their fingers met, both of them stilled.

Matching wedding bands.

Her breath caught. His entire body tensed.

“You said you wouldn’t sleep with anyone until there was a ring on your finger,” Bryce said quietly, with horror threading through his voice. “And I said, ‘Let’s get married.’”

He crossed the room in a rush. Sure enough, next to the lamp sat a single sheet of paper—a marriage certificate from the Paris Las Vegas Chapel.

Beth dry heaved.

“Only in Vegas can you go from tequila shots to ‘I do’ in under an hour,” he muttered, followed by a sharp string of curses.

Beth stumbled to the middle of the room, the sheet clutched tightly around her. She stared at him like the near stranger he was. A near stranger she was now legally bound to.

“No... no... NO.”

The word fell from her lips again and again. Her body buzzed with shock. Her mind couldn’t catch up. She couldn’t stop staring at the certificate, the single sheet of paper that now tethered her to him.

Silence thickened the space between them until a violent shiver ran through her—part cold, part panic.

Bryce moved to set the certificate back on the desk, then stepped toward her.

“You should get dressed,” he said softly.

But she didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

He stepped past her and into the bathroom. The sound of water running echoed a moment later. He gathered her clothes from around the room and placed them on the bathroom counter.

“Elizabeth,” he said gently, his voice slipping into his best bedside manner. “Look at me.”

It took several tries, but eventually, her sapphire eyes met his.

“Get in the shower, Beth. You’re freezing.”

“What have I done?” she whispered, her voice small and frightened.

“Whatever you did, we did together. We’ll figure it out.” He paused. “After you get cleaned up.”

Directing her to the shower, he tested the water once more, then took the sheet from her shaking frame and helped her in. He stepped back, shutting the curtain as the hot water poured over her.

For a long time, she stood with the water cascading over her frozen body, while her foggy brain slowly started to clear.

I slept with him.

Her stomach twisted. Her fingers clenched tighter around the bar of soap. How could she have done that?

The last thing she remembered was laughing at the bar. Now she was here, stripped of more than just clothes. She looked at her hand. The ugly plastic band mocked her.

I slept with Dr. Bryce Jensen.

A man she barely knew.

A man who—wait—wasn’t Crystal his girlfriend?

She scrubbed her arms, her shoulders, her hair. She tried to scrub away the shame, the confusion, the regret. But it clung to her skin.

At least I married him before… The thought barely flickered before it died. There was no comfort in it.

Her tears mixed with the spray of the shower and then vanished down the drain. She watched them disappear, feeling as though she was watching her dreams disappear.

She tried to convince herself this was not the end of the world.

She failed.

She had to do something. Fast. Before the despair drowned her.

An annulment. That’s it.

She’d talk to her parents. Maybe her pastor. Ask the Lord to forgive her. Move on. Quickly. No one else had to know. She did not have to live in shame.

I can handle this. No—she straightened her shoulders and her resolve–I will handle this.

In the next room, Bryce sat in the desk chair, hunched forward, head in his hands. The sound of Beth’s muffled sobs in the other room cut sharper than any scalpel.

A tear slid silently down his cheeks. He didn’t bother wiping it.

How had he let this happen?

How had he stolen something so sacred? Broken someone so beautiful?

He whispered the only thing that came to mind.

“I’m so sorry, Lizzy…”

For the first time in over a decade, he prayed.

Oh Father… help me. Forgive me. I know I said I didn’t want to live for You anymore, but I never wanted this. I never meant to hurt someone like her. I never meant to drag her into my mess. Please… help me make

this right. Not just for me—for her.

During his second year of med school, he’d told God to back off. Told Him he didn’t want the mission field. Didn’t want the church. Didn’t want religion. Didn’t want Him.

But right now? All he wanted was grace.

A verse surfaced in his memory—the one that had haunted him since the day he walked away, the one he used to justify his exit from Christianity.

“I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot… So because you are lukewarm, I will spit you out of My mouth.” Revelation 3:15–16.

“I’ve been cold alright, forgive me,” he whispered.

He had always respected Beth’s faith. It was the first thing that drew him to her. That unshakable joy.

That quiet strength.