Chapter 16
16
[Cort]
I can’t believe I let that fucker Henry Stanton rile me.
And I also can’t believe I slept a good portion of the night at Vale’s house.
It was risky, dangerous even, but I’d slept better in her bed than I’d slept in a long, long time.
The moment I saw her standoff with Henry, something inside me kicked in.
Mine . I didn’t want him near her, speaking to her, breathing the air she breathes, and I reacted.
Over-reacted.
I’m well aware Vale can take care of herself.
I know she’s been doing it for a while, but I don’t want Henry thinking she’s available to him or propositioning her.
If I thought Vale wanted Henry, I’d back off like I have for twelve fucking years, but everything in me says Vale wants nothing to do with Henry.
She wants me.
The idea is baffling and selfish, but Vale Sylver is attracted to me.
I see it in the way she looks at me, a hunger in her eyes that matches the starving hollowness in my gut.
Heard it in the hitch of her breath when I caressed the inside of her wrist. Witnessed her dig her teeth into her lush lower lip when I captured her fingers.
Like maybe she’s as hungry for my touch as I am for hers.
If she hated me, like most of her family, she’d have declined being my therapist and kicked me to the curb last night when I stormed her house.
Hell, I had one foot out the door when she invited me to her room, and that feels telling.
I just wish I fully understood what she wants.
Unfortunately, I don’t even know what I want from her.
Her hands on me, yes, which is confusing in and of itself.
But I also want to know more about Vale.
More about Hudson. The story she told me about his absentee father hasn’t left my thoughts.
And all these memories are flooding back into my head.
Summer twelve years ago.
Vale and the Falls. Something tempting about her despite my mental state.
A momentary lapse in judgment.
I’ve always wondered if Vale remembers the fine details.
I’m not certain she could forget.
I fucking wept afterward, ashamed of myself for taking advantage of her sudden presence and willing body.
Embarrassed that I wasn’t in the right head space, and yet I slid into her body like it was the only place I wanted to be.
I hadn’t even kissed her.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I glance over at Vale who looks like she’s about to shatter.
Her face is blanched.
Her posture is rigid as she sits in her camp chair.
She looks like she’s seen a ghost, and I take a step in her direction.
With her eyes aimed toward me, she weakly holds up a hand, telling me with both those cloudy eyes and stiff limbs to keep my distance.
“Coach!” I turn in the direction of my brother, his voice questioning as he watches me .
I’m a mess today. While my body is relaxed, my mind is scattered.
In general, I’m on edge more than I typically am.
“Yo,” I holler back at Clint.
“Pitching practice.” He tips his head toward a group of boys we’ve designated as pitcher potentials, among them is Hudson Sylver.
“Right.” I pull my thoughts from Vale as best I can.
After I corral the group toward the mound, I risk a second glance in Vale’s direction, reminding us both of my promise: I’ll have an eye on her.
An hour and a half later, practice ends, and Clint calls a meeting of the parents.
“This is a reminder about the Sylver Sports Camp in two weeks.”
I hadn’t been in favor of this decision for additional team bonding and practice time, but Clint believed the olive branch toward the new sports camp, headed by none other than Ford Sylver, former centerfielder for the Chicago Anchors, was a good move.
The camp’s official opening day isn’t until the last weekend in May, when a grand opening celebration is scheduled.
Schools break for summer around then, and the camp will be available to individuals and teams from all over the country.
Clint thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask Ford if he’d like a trial run with a local team, offering Haven Hitters as guinea pigs.
Small cabins. A new mess hall.
A practice diamond bigger and better than this local field.
The early spring temperatures make the lake on the property too cold for swimming, but in the summer, the water will provide extracurricular activities for campers.
“The weekend begins Friday night . . .” Clint continues, but I zone out on the details as my concentration falls on Vale.
Her head is lowered, eyes averted from me.
Is she angry that I slept at her place and slipped out of her bed in the early morning?
I’m lucky as hell Stone hadn’t come home before I crept down the driveway in my truck.
“Right?” Clint claps my shoulder hard, and I turn my head in his direction.
His wide eyes tell me to agree with him, so I nod, numbly.
“Okay. See you all Tuesday. Have permission forms filled out and deposits made on our website by then. And if any of you are willing to volunteer time at the camp, let us know.”
To our benefit, Ford isn’t charging us for more than groceries and the cleaning service needed during our short stay.
If we can get a few parent-volunteers to assist, that cuts down on our costs even more.
We aren’t looking to be cheap, but we are on a budget, and we accept that most of our parents are as well.
Too quickly, Vale has her back to me, walking her son away from the ball field, and an unfamiliar ache settles in my chest.
How many more times will I watch her walk away before I snap?
As if Wednesday morning massage therapy sessions and weekly baseball practices weren’t enough time to lay eyes on Vale, I’d returned to Milton Roadhouse on Thursday evening hoping to catch another glimpse of my new obsession.
One that could hold me off from storming her house again with weak excuses like I’d done over the past weekend.
When she never showed, I cursed myself for my behavior and gave in to Clint pestering me to attend a concert at a small venue in Huntington on Friday night.
I wasn’t particularly a fan of country music, being more of a classic rock kind of guy, but Clint asked, and I needed to get out of my head, and away from my sudden addiction to an unobtainable single mom .
In my truck on the way to the larger city, some forty-five minutes from Rogue River, Clint and I rehash our plan for the Haven Hitters and our time at the sports’ camp.
To our surprise, most of the team is available to participate in the impromptu camp and four parents volunteered, among them Ronnie Archer and Vale Sylver.
When we arrive in Huntington, the city feels alive for an early spring evening.
Parking is limited and we find a spot a few blocks away from the venue.
Once inside the space with standing room only in front of a raised stage, we stake out a spot near a railing that divides the lower pit from a platform section.
We nabbed a few beers before claiming this space.
Scanning the crowd, I roam over couples on dates and groups of country music enthusiasts, bored by the scene.
While glossing over people, my sight catches on a straw cowboy hat.
One that looks well-loved and vaguely familiar.
Could be one in a million such hats, but I know this one has a tear in the side of the brim, something I’ve never bothered to repair.
Because that is the same hat I was wearing when I crashed Vale’s house a week ago and left it behind in her bedroom.
Licking my lips, a slow smile curls my mouth.
“What?” Clint knocks into my elbow with his, lifting his beer for a sip.
“What what ?” I counter, pulling my gaze from the back of Vale’s head.
“What are you smiling about?” He peers over the crowd himself.
“Or better yet, who you smilin’ at?”
“No one. It’s nothing,” I argue, but my gaze flings back toward Vale who stands sideways, talking to the woman next to her, and offering me a perfect view of her profile.
A silhouette of hills and valleys.
Lush breasts. Tight ass.
Strong legs in a short skirt and cowboy boots.
She’s wearing some kind of form-fitting tank that hugs her upper body and practically matches her skin tone, making her appear almost naked .
I scrub my thumb and forefinger around my lips, and swallow back the sudden thirst I have for her.
“Is that Vale Sylver?” Clint interjects, drawing my attention to him for a second.
His eyes narrow on her and the woman standing beside her.
“Who is that with her?”
The woman beside Vale could be her twin.
Same long blonde hair.
Same height and build, and yet I could pick Vale out of a crowd.
I did, actually, and I watch as the two women laugh together.
Vale places her hand on her friend’s shoulder.
They knock plastic cups of something against each other before Vale wraps her lips over the rim of her drink.
I’ve never been so envious of a red Solo cup.
A warmup to the warmup band starts the show, and I stand stone-still while people sway around us.
The music isn’t bad, just not my scene.
Clint doesn’t get out much, and he wanted to see the main act.
Our mother is babysitting Ruby James tonight, and she values her grammy time, which gives Clint the opportunity for an all-nighter.
When the first warmup band finishes, the crowd disburses a bit.
Fans heading for the bar and the restroom in equal measure which opens the space around Vale and her friend.
“I think I’ll say hello,” Clint says, lasering in on where Vale stands.
A million questions run through my head.
Does he typically say hello to Vale?
Does he miss his old friend?
Does he have a crush on her?
Before I can stop him, Clint is sliding through the crowd like he’s swimming upstream.
I hold my ground, finding my feet pinned to the wood floor, and my heart as heavy as an anchor in my chest.
Within minutes, Clint reaches his destination, and Vale turns at Clint’s greeting.
Instantly, she looks over his shoulder toward me and I lift my beer in salute.
Vale places her hand on Clint’s shoulder and leans in, pointing toward her friend, presumably introducing them.
I hate that she’s touching Clint, which is absolutely ridiculous.
Vale’s a therapist. She touches tons of people.
I just don’t want her hands on my brother.
The jealous thought has me lifting my beer again and taking a hearty swig from the bottle.
When I lower it, I notice Vale is no longer near my brother and her companion, and I frantically search the crowd for her.
My brother keeps his new position, like a guard stationed beside Vale’s friend, before the house lights flicker and another band begins.
My gaze roams the audience once more, but in the darkened room, it is difficult to distinguish anyone, even a brightly-colored straw cowboy hat on the head of a woman with sunshine hair.
With my hands on the railing, I lean forward.
My shoulders are tight.
Standing on this hard floor is murder on my back.
Someone knocks into me, and I flinch at the contact, turning my head sharply to find clear blue eyes staring up at me.
“Looking for someone, cowboy?” Vale’s voice is sweet; her drawl exaggerated.
“Not a cowboy tonight. Appears someone stole my hat.” My gaze flicks up to the one on her head.
“Finder’s keepers,” she teases, staring up at me, placing her hand on the top of the hat.
I purse my lips, nodding once.
“I didn’t picture this being your scene,” she hollers over the music, taking the liberty to touch my forearm and lean closer to me.
When my gaze drops to where her delicate hand wraps over my arm, Vale instantly pulls away.
Like she forgot I don’t like to be touched.
Only, my beer sours in my belly because she’s read me wrong.
I’ve been missing her touch, like the earth misses the sun after days of clouds .
“It’s not,” I holler back, leaning toward her so she can hear me.
The second band is louder, more riotous than the first. Their job is to literally warm up and excite the crowd, and yet I’m feeling like an old man wishing they’d tone it down a bit so I can talk to Vale.
She nods, acknowledging my answer, before glancing into the pit in front of us.
Maybe she’s looking for her friend.
Maybe she’s enjoying the show, but all I’m aware of is her closeness.
Her bare arm and shoulder occasionally brush against mine as she shifts to allow for people walking behind us.
The railing prevents enthusiasts from sneaking in front of us, but they are squeezing in close at our backs.
Without thinking, I step behind Vale, slipping my arms around either side of her, placing my hands on the railing again to cage her in from the jostling crowd.
Trapped in front of me, Vale twists, almost knocking my chin with the hat.
“What are you doing?”
“Protecting you.”
Her mouth opens and I brace for her to tell me she can take care of herself.
She’s told me on more than one occasion, and I know she can handle herself.
But something tells me to protect her, all the same.
To take care with her.
Little Bee isn’t little anymore, so that’s not the reason I have this desire.
The queen has risen to the top of the ranks, and my instincts tell me to keep her safe at all costs.
Thankfully, her lips clamp shut before she argues, and she turns back to the show.
At one point someone bumps into me again from behind, and I press forward, brushing into Vale’s back.
She stiffens, and I pull away as best I can.
“Sorry,” I mutter toward her ear, the brim of the hat in my way.
Vale doesn’t respond, keeping her eyes forward and her hands wrapped around the railing, clutching it like she needs something to hold onto .
The band plays on, but I can’t say I watch them or even register their music.
My entire focus is on Vale.
The hint of her honey scent, sweet and appealing, above the stench of warm bodies.
The curve of her bare shoulder and the length of her arm.
The curl of her hair hanging long beneath my cowboy hat.
The swell of her ass in that short denim skirt.
At some point, my legs spread apart, and my feet are on either side of Vale’s, inches away from her heels.
My body is her shield when I want it to blanket her.
I want to press my weight over her or feel the weight of her above me.
Taking another swig of my beer, I finish the bottle.
“Want a drink,” I holler over the music.
Vale glances around my arm.
“I’m not sure you can make it to the bar and back before the main act.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I notice the space has really filled in.
The crowd is too much for me and I don’t want to leave Vale, but I’m willing to get fresh beers, if she wants something.
When I peer back at her, she’s watching me, checking out my profile.
Our eyes lock for a second before mine dip down to her exposed throat and the peek-a-boo of her chest. The nude-color tank emphasizes the swell of her breasts.
I’m thirsty, but not for something liquid.
“Easy there, cowboy,” Vale teases.
My gaze flicks back to her eyes before glancing at my hat on her head.
I’ve never considered myself a cowboy.
I’m more of a blue-collar man now, but I’ll be whatever Vale wants me to be.
“You know what they say about a cowboy and his hat?” I tease.
Vale chews at the corner of her lip and I want her to dig her teeth into my flesh.
“If a girl steals his hat, she goes home with him.”
Would she go home with me?
Can we have a repeat of what we once had?
Can we do things better this round?
My nostrils flare, catching another whiff of her honey-sweetness .
“However, seeing as I didn’t steal it because someone left it at my home, I think you’re safe.” Vale winks.
Am I safe? I’m not so certain how much longer I can fight my attraction to this woman.
Even though everything in me says stay away.
Build a fortress around these newfound feelings and secure the deadbolt.
“You have nothing to fear with me.” Vale watches me.
Her rejection is almost as clear as her eyes.
“Why would I ever be afraid of you, Little Bee?”
Vale spins completely.
Her breasts brush against my chest and I fight the groan rumbling up my throat.
Crossing my arms, I attempt to calm the racing of my heart and the tingle she caused on my flesh, not to mention put some distance between us despite the cramped space.
“That.” She points at my face.
“Because you think I’m a child.”
My gaze lowers, dripping over her body like a drizzle of honey.
“I know you’re not.” The outside of her screams all woman, but the inside speaks it loud and clear as well.
Vale has taken care of herself and her son.
She’s been a pinnacle in keeping her extended family connected.
She works hard and plays soft.
When my eyes meet hers again, her chest heaves, breasts inching closer to me.
My mouth waters, wanting a sip of her.
“You should probably get back to your friend,” I state, giving her an out, telling her to step away from me, because my body begs for the opposite, wanting her to stay close.
One of us has to make the smart decision this round.
After a beat of silence between us, I realize it won’t be me, because I lean forward again, bracing my hands on the railing at her back and caging her in once more.
“If you want me to leave you alone, just tell me.” Her tone turns fierce as she crosses her arms, but her body language counters the gleam in her eyes.
The ones dipping down to my lips.
My mouth pops open, every warning prepared to spill forward.
She’s younger than me.
She’s the mother of a boy on my baseball team.
She’s Stone’s little sister.
And yet none of those concerns tumble out of my mouth.
My silence says everything.
I fucking want her .
I wish I could read her thoughts.
Wish I knew if she wanted me in return.
Not the man who is older than her.
Not the coach of her kid’s baseball team.
Not her brother’s former best friend.
Just me, faults and all.
Abruptly, the second warmup band concludes, and Vale turns her head away from me.
Like the sudden silence from the stage and uproar of the crowd reminds her where she is, who she’s near, what she almost did.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” she announces.
Pressing off the wood railing, I stand tall, allowing her the space to walk away.
As she snakes through the crowd, I follow the weave of my hat until I can’t see her anymore.
Fuck . I hang my head.
She isn’t going to come back.
And I hate that I’m standing in a crowded room yet feel loneliness doubling down without Vale standing near me.
Scanning the pit for Clint, I send him a text when I can’t find him.
Where are you?
When he doesn’t instantly answer, I tuck my phone back in my pocket and wait.
But wait for what? Vale to return?
My brother to magically appear?
My life feels like it has been in a holding pattern for years.
Like the ball has been tossed, only it’s suspended in mid-air and I’m never going to catch it despite my best efforts.
Then again, have I chased the ball or simply worked on blocking anyone else from catching it?
The football metaphor zaps my energy, and I reach for my phone again, willing Clint to respond to me.
Time passes as slowly as sand sifting through a pin hole.
I want a beer but don’t dare leave my position, fearing Clint will return in my absence.
After what feels like forever, the house lights flicker once more, signaling the main act will start soon, and the crowd tightens.
I’m sweaty and uncomfortable, with added irritation of bodies brushing against mine.
I hate being touched on a good day.
I especially hate being touched unaware, like the innocent bump of people too close together.
When someone hip-checks me, I spin toward them, ready to argue there’s plenty of space not to be on top of each other, but the smaller frame is wearing a familiar hat and holding two beer bottles in one hand.
She glides in front of me, wedging herself into space that could hardly fit a paperback.
Returned to her previous position, Vale faces me.
Her breasts brush against me as her nearness is almost impossible to avoid.
“I brought you a beer.”
She holds up a bottle with the cap already removed, and she taps the long neck of hers against the length of mine before her lips pucker around the tip.
As she thirstily drinks, I watch her throat roll.
Fuck .
Her eyelids flip upward, and her eyes meet mine over the base of the tipped bottle.
Instantly, I imagine her in a different position.
On her knees. Eyes on me.
Mouth wrapped around my?—
I lift my own beer bottle and take a giant gulp, needing to cool my thoughts and squelch the rise in my jeans.
Only with the first strum of a guitar, Vale spins toward the railing, setting her beer on the ledge.
Her ass brushes against my thighs and I stand ramrod straight again.
A sultry song with a rapid beat starts the show and Vale lifts one arm, swaying her hips back and forth, causing that ass to paint side to side against my thighs once more.
I spread my legs to stabilize my stance and place a hand on Vale’s hip, to either hold her still or keep her close, I’m not certain.
What I notice instead is how the curve of her hip fits perfectly in my palm.
I dip my fingers into the slant of the pocket on her skirt and dig into the soft edge of her body.
Whether I tug her back or she leans into me is undetermined, but on the next powerful swing of her hips, her ass swipes across the front of my jeans again, nearly missing where I want her, and I hiss.
Lowering my head, I aim my mouth near her ear.
“Easy, Bee.”
Vale doesn’t respond.
She lifts her arm, lowers her head, and moves her hips once more.
Right. Left. Left, left.
Right .
Like a metronome counting time, only the movement is pumping up my cock.
I squeeze harder on her hip and groan near the side of her neck.
“Dammit, Vale.”
“I love this song,” she yells over the music.
My brain doesn’t register the words.
I can’t hear any sound over the drumming of my heart.
Vale twists only her neck.
Her face inches from mine.
Our eyes lock again.
Clear water to hard pebbles.
I lick my lips and Vale’s gaze drops to them.
Slowly, she lifts her eyes, climbing over my jaw and scaling my nose before landing on my eyes again.
“Vale,” I whisper, not certain if it’s a warning or a wish.
“You never kissed me,” she shouts, pulling us both back to that moment.
A warm day by the Falls.
I’d flipped her around, similar to our current position, unable to look at her while still, wanting to take in every inch of her.
That hunger in her eyes.
A desire I don’t think I’ve ever seen when someone was looking at me.
I’d lost my head.
Then, I was touching her, and her body was responding.
Before I knew it, I was inside her, absorbing all her warmth while my insides were still frozen.
She’s right. I didn’t kiss her.
Not like a man should kiss a woman.
Not like a person should kiss someone he craves.
And that’s exactly what this is.
Vale is a craving. One I need to rid from my system.
Some might argue indulge and the craving will pass.
But something tells me, another bite of her, and I’ll always be insatiable.
For that reason, I fight the urge to kiss her now.
“Had other things on my mind then,” I admit.
The confusion of finding her in such a secluded place near the Falls.
The puzzling attraction to her.
The need for familiarity after so much had crumbled in my life.
Vale watches me another second, possibly misreading me again.
Maybe thinking sex was all that mattered to me that day when a million other things were colliding inside me.
Number one on the list was a deep-seated desire to be close to someone again.
And failing at it.
Her brows severely pinch before she abruptly turns her head back toward the stage, dropping a curtain on the show between us.