Chapter 7
7
[Vale]
A fter Cort’s session, in which he offered me a grunt of gratitude, I slip out of the room to allow him privacy to dress.
Once inside the staff kitchen, I rest my hands on the counter, flexing my fingers, while bowing my head.
I take a large inhale, hold, and then exhale slowly, as if I’m blowing out the nerves doing a jig inside me.
Rolling my shoulders back, I try to release the tension and energy lingering after touching Cortland Haven.
The relief lasts only seconds before images of Cort, naked on my massage table, resurface in my mind.
That strong back. The firm curve of his ass.
The strength in his arms.
Shaking out my fingers and tilting my head side to side, I fight the images dancing in my head.
Be professional, Valentine .
With that thought, I reach for my tablet and write up my report on the session before heading to the front desk.
“Well, that was interesting,” I state, setting the tablet on the counter near Derrek’s computer.
Cort was clearly uncomfortable having my hands on him, and as much as it might have been about me, I also think it was about him.
He apparently doesn’t like being touched.
“I don’t think Cortland Haven should be assigned to me again, if he even comes back,” I warn Derrek.
I highly doubt Cort will return to Reflexology.
“Funny, because he scheduled for next week and requested you.” Derrek raises one of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows.
“He’ll be back Wednesday at eight A.M.”
“What?” Slow to form, the question expresses how dumbfounded I am.
What is Cort thinking?
Better yet, what is he doing requesting me again?
“And Mrs. Cougar is here,” Derrek says distracting me.
The patient’s name isn’t really Mrs. Cougar, he just likes to call the older-than-him woman such a thing because she’s a shameless flirt with everyone.
Shaking my head, I pick up my tablet and brush away thoughts of Cortland Haven.
By four, I’ve been on my feet most of the day.
My hands are tired from massaging others, and I need to pick Hudson up from Atticus Stanton’s house.
I wish the two boys weren’t friends for two reasons: Atticus himself and his father.
The boy wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t have the negative influence of his dad.
I try not to fault the twins.
Being a single father, Henry is probably doing the best he can.
Lord knows I have no room to judge as a single mother.
Still, Henry’s pigheaded attitude is starting to rub off on his son.
Once I have Hudson in tow, and gratefully bypassed an encounter with Mr. Stanton, Hudson asks if he can check Haven Hitters website for the tryout results.
The decision wouldn’t be posted until five and Hudson promised to wait until we were together to look.
With only twenty-five spots on the team, there will be a few broken hearts this evening.
I don’t want Hudson’s to be one of them.
“Number 312. That’s me,” Hudson shouts from the back seat.
“ Yes .”
“Way to go, bud. I knew you’d make it.” In my heart of hearts, I believed in my boy, but I was also a bit nervous that Cort would bypass Hudson because of me.
Not that he’d actually do that or even have a reason to do such a thing, but I was still anxious yesterday afternoon when I first saw Cort.
Now, I’ve seen him three times in less than twenty-four hours.
And with Hudson making the baseball team, I’ll be seeing a lot more of Cortland Haven.
“Number 475. That’s Atticus. He made the team, too.” While Hudson sounds happy, his voice takes on a softer tone, and I peek at him through the rearview mirror.
He lifts his head and stares out the side window with a sly smile on his face.
“Huh. Guess that means Amelia will be at your games.”
Hudson turns his head to glare at me through the mirror a second.
His mouth pops open like he’s about to argue that he doesn’t care about Amelia.
But then he clamps his lips and turns toward the side window again.
His lips twist the slightest bit to fight another smile.
I don’t want to tease my son about his budding crush .
. . but oh, who am I kidding , I absolutely want to razz him about crushing on a girl.
Still, I remember that gooey sensation.
That moment when you first notice someone as something other than a friend.
As someone other than simply kind.
As someone truly beautiful on the inside and the out.
Shifting my eyes back to the road, I chew on my lower lip, already worried my boy will have his heart broken one day, probably from more than one girl.
Live and learn , they say.
Love and learn as well .
At my age, I know I haven’t experienced the kind of love I want.
The kind I believe I deserve.
That all-consuming, only-want-to-be-with-you desire, resulting in spending my life with my person.
My person right now is my son; however, that’s not healthy or wise.
Hudson will grow up, and too soon he’ll be out of the house and living his own life separate from me.
The thought can bring tears to my eyes, and I quickly blink before they build.
“We need to celebrate,” I say.
“Pizza?”
“Definitely.” Hudson pauses, still staring out the window.
“But do you think we could also stop at Uncle Sebastian’s bakery for a cookie?”
Sebastian owns Curmudgeon Bakery, a fitting name for our once-grumpy brother who lived a rough decade before he pulled himself together and started his business in downtown Sterling Falls.
When we were kids, and Sebastian was still friends with Clinton Haven, we spent quite a bit of time at the Haven’s house, attempting to stay out of the way of our father.
There, Sebastian and I learned to bake under the guidance of their mother, Mary Haven.
My brother has taken the art of baking to a new level.
His wife loves his lemon baby bundt cakes while Hudson loves what Sebastian calls a monster cookie, made with peanut butter and oatmeal plus butterscotch chips and chocolate candy bits.
My mouth waters just thinking about the treat although I try to curtail myself when I’m around those delicious baked goods.
Still, Hudson deserves the celebration.
“Definitely,” I finally respond, turning my SUV back toward town.
After entering the bakery for our celebratory cookie, Sebastian mentions how Enya would love some company.
I don’t want to detract from Hudson’s big moment, but I could use some time with my beloved sister-in-law and a baby fix.
Sweet little Annabelle is only a few weeks old.
Hudson making the 12U team is another reminder that he’s growing up so fast.
“Why don’t you let Hudson come out with the guys?” Sebastian adds.
“We can take him out and get him drunk to celebrate.”
Not that my brother would ever consider doing such a thing with an eleven-year-old.
Sebastian doesn’t drink anymore.
Doesn’t do drugs either after years of being both a user and a dealer.
The end of his rebellious years came to an abrupt halt because of me.
One more fault of mine, where I’ll gladly take the blame.
Not that I wanted my brother to serve time for committing a crime.
He took his anger too far, just like our father used to do.
My brother needed help, and I was the last person to offer assistance.
Back then, I was following too closely behind him and his reckless ways, chasing my own demons and personal drug—sex—and coming up dissatisfied at every turn, every touch.
“Funny,” I counter before my mind heads down a slippery slope.
“Drunk on pizza and root beer, of course.” Sebastian winks at Hudson.
While I was looking forward to just the two of us celebrating, Hudson loves to spend time with his uncles.
Some days I almost don’t feel bad that he doesn’t have his father around because he has six amazing uncles who love him and show him how to love others.
Also, as Hudson has grown older, he’s fallen into deep admiration of his uncles and any opportunity to hang out with them makes him feel special .
The second Sebastian suggests Hudson go out with him, Hudson’s head is turning toward me, eyes wide, begging me to let him hang with the adult men in our family.
“If you want to . . .” I knock the ball into his court, knowing a time will come when he won’t pick me to continue being our team of two.
He’s already nodding and glancing back at Sebastian, who winks again.
“Well, as long as I’m getting dumped for the night, I’m gonna go corrupt your wife.”
Which is how I end up at Sebastian’s beautiful modern farmhouse outside of town.
“Give me that baby,” I whine, holding out my arm and wiggling my fingers at Enya to hand over her baby girl.
Enya’s acorn colored hair is swept up in a messy knot on the top of her head.
She’s wearing her glasses, and an oversized shirt that looks like it belongs to my brother, and she still looks beautiful.
“I brought reinforcements.” I hold up a bottle of wine.
“Trade ya,” I prompt again, wanting that little bundle in my arms.
“Bless you,” Enya teases, taking the bottle from my hand and passing over her precious newborn.
Enya isn’t much of a drinker on a good day and she won’t drink more than a glass because she’s nursing.
She looks tired but happy.
Her friendship has been a bright spot for me the past couple of years.
Our family needed more women.
For my brother, Enya’s been pure sunshine, lightening his dark days and bringing joy to his life.
With Annabelle in my arms, I sway side to side, inhaling her baby scent of special laundry detergent and lavender body wash.
At only a few weeks old, she gazes aimlessly up at me and then fixates on the low lights overhead.
Her dark hair is a reminder of Sebastian, although it’s probably baby fuzz she’ll lose.
Her eyes are still dark blue, a signature trait of being a Sylver.
Looking at her brings the burn of tears again.
My brother has come so far from who he was and truly deserves the happily ever after he has earned.
“How are you feeling?” I ask as Enya opens the wine bottle in their open concept kitchen and living space.
The living room is an explosion of baby contraptions and toys for their soon-to-be two-year-old, Adara, who is quietly playing with a baby doll.
“I’m . . . exhausted.” But she smiles with a dreamy look in her eyes.
At forty, she has two children and a husband, when she thought she’d be going it on her own with just Adara.
I’m not envious but I want what they have.
That look in her eyes.
That sigh of contentment.
At thirty-four, I don’t think another baby is in the plan for me.
For now, I’ll just snuggle up the one in my arms.
Lowering my head, I run my cheek across the top of Annabelle’s downy crown.
“So how are you?” Enya pours me a glass of wine.
“How are the Sterlets? What’s the latest gossip?” She laughs, knowing all too well how our book club works.
“I don’t know if it’s gossip, but Hudson made the Haven Hitters baseball team.”
Enya finishes pouring my glass of wine and sets the bottle on the counter.
Glancing up at me, she confidently states, “As we knew he would.”
Damn straight .
“But the gossip part might be that the Haven brothers are the coaches.”
Enya tilts her head, forcing the knot of hair on top to wobble to the side.
“But we also knew this.”
“I know. I just . . .” I lick my lips.
“In my head, it didn’t seem like an issue. I could separate church and state. I mean, Trinity is a good friend, and boys can be dumb, but . . .”
Enya continues to watch me and I almost chicken out on mentioning my fear .
“I just think it might be awkward being around Cortland.”
Her brows lift.
“Cortland? The oldest one?” She continues to watch me like she can’t figure out why he’d be the issue.
“I thought you were worried about Clint, Sebastian’s old friend.”
I snort.
“Clint is cute but he’s not my type.”
“Oh.” Enya’s hairline rises.
“And do we have a type?”
I laugh at how she continues to reference we , instead of me.
Yes, I’m the problem.
I’m picky, and for good reason.
While Hudson has often been my excuse for not wanting to bring a man into our lives, concerned that he will disappear like Hudson’s father did, the real reason is a deeper secret.
A personal one.
Again, I’m the issue.
“Of course. Tall, buff, and bearded.” I sigh.
Enya laughs. “Sounds a lot like Cortland and—” Her head flinches slightly, taken aback a second, like the truth hit her in the face.
“Oh my gosh, you have a crush on Cortland Haven.” Her mouth falls open before her smile grows wide.
I can almost predict what she’ll say next and hear the teasing tone of her voice.
You love Cortland. You love Cortland .
Only her expression sobers, and her voice softens, as she quietly repeats, “You have a crush on Cortland Haven.” Like it’s the worst news she’s heard all year.
“How does that work with Stone?” she adds.
“Hopefully, Stone doesn’t have a crush on him?” I shrug and wince, knowing that my brother would be so hurt to learn that I’ve crushed on Cortland Haven most of my life.
Even when he married that bitch Bailey, I forgave Cort.
How could I not. I was ten when it happened.
But in my heart, Cort was always going to be mine.
Unfortunately, he has already proven he isn’t.
With a heavy sigh, I shake my head.
“It’s silly, really.”
“What’s silly?” With concern in her eyes, trusting Enya should come easily.
She is a no-judgment zone.
Entering into all our lives two years ago, Enya was the first stitch in expanding our family.
Enya and Adara, that is.
From one single mom to another, we became friends instantly, but there’s an even deeper connection between us now.
She really is like the sister I always longed to have.
The sister I wanted to share secrets with and bounce ideas off.
Hell, when I got my period in my early teens, I had to go to Trudy Wallace, one of our mother’s best friends, for advice on why I was bleeding down there .
Now my heart is erupting in a way I can’t define.
A way I don’t understand.
Why Cort? Why now? Why, after all this time, are those old feelings buzzing about again?
I could chalk it up to unresolved business between Cort and me or I could conclude the results are lingering side effects.
Ones that never truly disappeared and are resurfacing again.
Like a bleated warning, telling me to finally admit the truth, I blurt out:
“I had sex with Cortland Haven twelve years ago.”