Chapter 2
2
[Vale]
W hile I knew this was a bad idea, I didn’t have a choice.
Hudson really wanted to play for a travel baseball club, and Haven Hitters was the closest team, even if the coaching staff was less than ideal.
I don’t have anything against Cort or Clint Haven as human beings.
Both men are unfairly attractive with bodies that are probably a crime beneath their athletic wear.
Cort had once been Stone’s best friend; Clint had been my brother Sebastian’s.
When the older boys severed their friendship, Sebastian’s strong ethic for loyalty pulled him away from Clint, cutting off their relationship as well.
Boys can be so stupid sometimes .
Just my luck that having six older brothers, I’d have a son.
However, Hudson is the reason for my being, and I would not trade him for anything.
I love him, plain and simple.
He’s a good kid, having grown up without an actively involved father, just as I had, but having the love of his Uncle Stone, serving as his mentor and protector, also like me.
Which makes it difficult to deny him anything, especially when he begged to try out for this team.
At eleven years old, he barely makes the twelve and under requirement for the club.
He’s young and skinny, and compared to a few of the other boys, a little scrawny.
However, with an uncle like my brother Sebastian, Hudson has learned to be a scrapper.
He has drive and determination to be the best he can be, and I never want to squash that fortitude.
There’s a saying for mothers of boys: son up to son down .
The phrase embodies my kid.
High energy, enthusiasm for each day, and sometimes, utterly exhausting.
He also has a huge heart and a wise soul.
And I really want him to make this team despite my apprehension about the coaches.
Well, one coach, at least, because regardless of my brothers’ circumstances with the Havens, declaring their family our family enemy, I have my own history with Cortland Haven.
One I’ll take to the grave with me.
Thoughts of that moment give me pause and draw my attention to the man clouding my memories to find him glaring back at me.
Dark eyes narrowed. Thick arms crossed over his broad chest. Making a statement with his wide-legged stance.
Don’t mess with me .
Ha ! Too late for that message but one I’ve never repeated, not once in twelve years.
In fact, I hardly look at Cort Haven, feeling blessed that he lives one town over and rarely ventures into Sterling Falls where I reside.
If his stare down is meant to intimidate me, it won’t.
It has the opposite effect where bubbles go off in my belly.
Actually, it’s more like a soda being opened and the fizz releases.
And I hate that I’m not more indifferent toward him.
That after all this time, I can pretend on the outside that I don’t care if he glares, but on the inside, I’m a bubbly mess.
I always knew there’d be a day when Cort’s path might cross mine, but I also always thought it would be more like an intersection and then diverge again in opposite directions.
However, if . . . no, when .
. . Hudson makes this team, I’ll be seeing Cort more often in the next six months than I’ve seen him in the past decade.
I’m a big girl now, compared to the child who grew up around Cort, and that means I wear big girl panties.
I can face him. I can even be cordial toward him.
I do not need to recall how his hands were once on my waist, or his breath tickled my ear when I was in my early twenties.
Glancing at Cort again, I catch on his eyes for a second before dragging mine away.
I hate feeling like a coward, accepting defeat by pulling back first. I’m the queen of stare downs, having mastered the skill with my brothers and I’ve picked up a steely glare as a mother.
But there’s something intimidating about Cort looking at me.
Not in a frightening sense.
Not in a threatening way.
The sensation is more of a weird magnetism that had us meeting eyes across a crowded bar twelve years ago.
A time when I just knew he was checking me out and I wasn’t shy about staring back at him.
Then there was the day after and?—
A loud clap snaps me out of my revelry, causing me to flinch a little at the suddenness of two firm hands slapping together.
“All right, everyone. Let’s hit the field and give it all you’ve got.” Clint’s masculine tenor isn’t as dominant as his eldest brother.
His cheerful voice is full of positive encouragement and the kids respond by climbing up to their feet, gathering what they need for their assigned stations, and heading to the locations marked by cones for fielding, hitting, catching, and pitching .
Hudson wants to be a pitcher, which worries me.
There’s a lot of pressure on the mound, and my brother Ford, a former Chicago Anchors baseball star, has tried to convince my son that centerfield is an equally important position on the team.
“How’s he gonna get the girls in the outfield?” my brother Knox had teased.
“What do I care about girls?” Hudson answered.
I smiled at the exchange.
That’s right, baby. Don’t grow up too fast .
While I silently pray romantic love will find Hudson one day, for now, I want his eyes on the ball and his heart on the field, enjoying his time as a kid.
Love complicates everything.
Plus, I’d grown up too fast and I never want that for Hudson.
I was pretty confident he was right where he should be.
At eleven, his life was easy.
With that in mind, I watch the kids scatter while Cort approaches the parents.
When he comes to a full stop, his legs spread again.
He’s wearing a straw cowboy hat instead of a baseball cap, which contrasts with the athletic pants he’s sporting.
Up close, I notice that he’s cut his once chin-length hair, so it curls around his ears.
Salt peppers the thick dirty rust coloring along his jaw line.
Somehow, he still looks like a Viking to me.
“Parents,” he addresses the adults, offering a crooked smile that does little to dispel his unease.
His expression suggests dealing with the parents is his least favorite part of hosting this team.
“We only have a few rules for you during these tryouts. Let the kids do their job. And let them have fun.”
Cort’s eyes drift to one particular dad.
Henry Stanton is a stern-looking man and a bit of a loudmouth, always thinking his kid is better than the others, always thinking he knows it all.
How to play baseball.
How to win a science fair.
How to cheat the system.
He rubs me the wrong way, and unfortunately, we keep bumping into each other because Hudson has developed a new friendship with his son, Atticus.
The boy is one half of a fraternal set of twins.
With Henry being a single dad while I’m a single mom, there’s a camaraderie he thinks we have, which we don’t.
Single parenthood is the only line we share, and one I’m not interested in crossing with him.
Next, Cort’s gaze roams to Veronica Archer.
Her daughter Kennedy is trying out for the team, and I’m impressed by how progressive Cort and Clint are by allowing her here.
Ronnie is a buxom brunette in her forties, who lost her husband two years ago and since then she’s made quite a reputation for herself, constantly hitting on the few available single men in our community.
There is no reason for her to stay home, dressed in black, weeping for the remainder of her days.
But her penchant for also hitting on married men gives Ronnie a bad reputation.
Cheating is a hard limit for me and the thought draws my attention back to Cort a second.
My eyes narrow when I glance back at Ronnie, who is twirling a long strand of hair around her manicured finger.
Slowly blinking her eyelids at Cort, she curls her lips like a hook that suggests she’d like to catch him and eat him for dinner.
I hate how my gaze pings back toward Cort like I’m watching some reality television show playout.
An announcer voice goes off in my head: Will he fall for her charm?
Cort’s eyes only remain on Ronnie for a second before he flicks a glance in my direction again, glaring at me like I’m the one looking for trouble, when I’m standing here all innocent and anxious over my boy.
“We’d prefer if you kept all cheers and jeers to yourself.” His head whips back in the direction of Henry Stanton, pinning him with another hard stare.
“Let the kids concentrate. And have fun.”
Henry’s mouth falls open, and God only knows what might tumble from those loose lips, before Cort adds, “I’m not opposed to throwing any parent who violates these requirements out of this tryout.”
For some reason, his gaze comes back to me, and I roll my lips inward, fighting a willful retort of my own.
What the hell did I ever do to him ?
But then I remember exactly what happened between us, and how it made Cort weep afterward.