Chapter 5
5
[Vale]
“ H udson Sylver. Hurry up.” I holler up the staircase of our family home.
The one I share with Stone and my son.
For a few years, Knox lived with us when he returned from the Navy.
Sebastian even spent a brief stint here before he moved into the apartment above his bakery and then into Enya’s house.
Our old farmhouse has more space than three people need, with five bedrooms on the upper level, many of which were once shared by my brothers.
I’m still in my childhood room, although it’s been updated extensively from the yellow of my youth and walls covered in posters of teenage heartthrob hotties.
The entire house has been renovated over time to include a green tin roof, replacing the worn black shingles, and a fresh coat of bright white paint on the clapboards.
A new porch was installed replacing the rotten original one.
I’ve been told the place looks like the house in The Waltons ; however, the classic television program was before my time.
“Hudson,” I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose, needing my boy to get a move on.
I need to get him to school and get myself to work, all while nursing the twinge of a headache which is the aftereffects of a little too much wine last night, despite sleeping like a baby thanks to the self-induced stimulation I gave myself with my newest purchase from book club.
The conflicting part of my night was the fantasies of Cortland Haven using my new B.O.B.
on me, causing me to come hard, and provide a second release quickly following the first. Which never, ever happens.
“Headache?” The low tone and quiet concern in the masculine voice has me lifting my head.
Offering a soft smile, I greet Stone.
“Good morning.”
Stone looks a little like that guy in those Dr. Pepper commercials during college football season.
It might be the sheriff’s uniform or the striking combination of salt and pepper on his jaw line.
Heavy on the salt. Could also be that he was once a college football player himself.
He’d been a favorite among his team, and a strong contender for the professional league.
Between the apprehension on his face and his still-fit physique, I’m always reminded of the two sides of Stone—who he could have been and who he is.
“Good night?” He arches one bushy brow, the corner of his mouth turning up slowly.
His smiles are rare, adding to the stern sheriff look he’s mastered.
Sighing, I hang my head and pinch my finger and my thumb together.
“Just a little bit. And I need Hudson to hustle.”
On cue, feet thunder down the staircase before my son takes a final leap from the third step to the floor, giving me a near heart attack as he stumbles on his landing .
“Hudson. Careful,” I warn, reminded of when my brothers did the same thing in this house.
Back then I’d hold my breath, waiting for my father to start yelling about the racket, followed up with insults like bunch of shitheads and pains in my ass .
In comparison, Stone offers Hudson a warm smile before scrubbing his hand over Hudson’s hair.
“Not the hair, Uncle Stone.”
Hudson flicks his fingers through the short tufts, making the front stand upright and the sides smooth down.
Stone glances at me again, arching that brow once more.
A silent conversation ensues between us.
This new?
Guess so.
At eleven years old, Hudson is on the cusp of being a teenager, which means his body odor can sometimes be rank, but his hair has become an important feature.
I’m curious if this has anything to do with Amelia Stanton, the fraternal twin counterpart to Atticus.
Amelia is a sweet thing, quiet and shy, unlike her brother who is the spitting image of his father’s know-it-all attitude.
I’m not thrilled about the new friendship Hudson has with Atticus, but I hold my peace about it.
The twins have blond hair and bright blue eyes reminding everyone of their beautiful mother who was killed when they were six.
“See you later, kid,” Stone says to Hudson, whose hair is now back in place.
“Breakfast,” I holler after Hudson who rushes toward the kitchen where his school bag is waiting by the back door along with his jacket on a hook, which he’ll ignore because he’s too cool for a coat.
Hudson knows nutrition is important, though.
Breakfast being the most valuable meal for a growing boy and an active brain.
He picks up a protein bar—new breakfast of champions— as he passes the basket of them sitting on the kitchen counter and continues toward the back entrance.
Within minutes, his stuff is gathered, he calls goodbye to Stone, and we are out the door.
Phew . Let Friday begin.
As a physical therapist, I work at Reflexology located in Rogue River.
The clinic includes physical and massage therapy, where the massages are more about healing after injury.
I’m rather passionate about my line of work and especially love helping older people.
Edwin Hamlin is typically my first patient on Fridays, but he graduated out of physical therapy, so my first session this morning is now open.
Gratitude . Because I’m two minutes late.
“Hey,” Derrek greets me as I rush past the check-in desk.
Our front desk attendant has better eyebrows than me and perfectly styled, jet-black hair with enough product in it to give him the appearance of a Ken doll.
A few weeks ago, he decided he wants his name to now be pronounced dare-reek instead of the crisp dare-ick .
I love the guy.
“I scheduled a walk-in for you. He had a referral.” He tips his head toward the hallway leading toward the massage rooms. “I put him in room 4.”
As I’ve always considered four an unlucky number, dread instantly fills my gut which still sloshes with last night’s wine and the addition of my morning coffee.
I flatten my hand against my belly as I hustle toward the room, opening the door with a bit more flourish than necessary, causing my toe to catch upon my entrance.
But the thing that really causes me to stumble is my new patient. “Cort?”