Chapter 18
18
[Cort]
W e drive in silence the remainder of the way to Sterling Falls.
Everything in me said to keep driving.
Take Vale to my place in Rogue River, and get her where I failed to take her, physically.
But mentally? Emotionally?
I’d been an even bigger failure.
I’d had no idea how she felt about me, and I have so many questions.
Forever, she’d said.
Like since childhood?
But obviously, it subsided, right?
Her brother and I had a huge falling out, to put it mildly.
You saw me . As more than her brother’s sister.
As more than an annoying child.
I fucking saw her alright.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her in the bar the night before.
Much like I can hardly take my eyes off her now.
At the massage sessions.
At baseball practices.
At Milton Roadhouse.
I’ve turned into a fucking creeper.
And I’ve been one of too many that reinforced something Vale clearly believes is a failure in her .
A defect that doesn’t exist. She’s goddamn beautiful, inside and out, and because some assholes, myself included, haven’t gotten her off, is no reflection on her.
It’s us. It’s me. I’m the asshole here.
Why hadn’t I known about the crush?
Why hadn’t I paid better attention to her needs?
I had all the answers.
Or at least, what I thought were the answers.
The separation from Stone had me pulling blinders on to the entire Sylver family.
For years, the blindness hadn’t mattered because I’d moved away, but my injury returned me to the place I’d been running from and I’ve been back here ever since, wasting twelve years never talking to Vale, never officially apologizing, never even considering the possibility of her and me as something more.
Although I’m certain any chances between Vale and me are dead now.
Crushed beneath my boots and buried in the dirt.
What a fucking tool.
Vale thinks I used her.
Selfishly, I did. But I thought?—
It doesn’t matter what I thought.
I didn’t think. I acted.
Irresponsibly, immaturely, impulsively.
Too soon, I’m pulling up to the edge of Vale’s driveway.
It’s late; the house is dark, minus a light in the front room.
Stone’s sheriff truck is here.
If he’s still awake and recognizes my vehicle, there might be hell for Vale.
And I’ve already put her through enough.
I place my truck in Park and pop open my door, planning to get out and circle round to Vale’s side.
“Don’t,” she whispers, cracking open the passenger door on her own and holding up her hand .
My forehead furrows.
I don’t like this. Not her tone, or her refusal of me being a gentleman.
I’m twelve years too late.
“Bee,” I whisper. We should probably talk more, but then again, we just had half an hour to cover more details, offer explanations.
The deep, dark secrets behind my actions.
And I’m still trying to process how disappointed and hurt she must have felt back then.
Spontaneous sex in the woods.
Her crushing on me. Me in a bad way.
Not finishing her off.
And then she’s pregnant.
For the longest time, I thought Hudson might be mine.
The timing worked, but Vale would have told me if he was.
Despite everything between our families, if I was that boy’s father, she would have told me.
I believed that wholeheartedly.
But I should have asked.
I should have apologized.
I should not have let things go so long.
Because I’m learning hard truths now.
Hudson’s absentee father.
Vale’s disappointment in me .
At the exact time she’s causing an awakening in my spirit, I’ve learned I crushed hers.
Vale hops out of my truck and turns back toward me.
“Thanks for the ride.” Her eyes are sad.
The typical clear blue now foggy.
Her shoulders slump forward, her body looking small in my oversized shirt.
She closes the door, and I watch her round the front corner of my truck.
Fuck it . I cut the headlights and the engine, and press open my door.
Taking quick steps up the gravel drive, I catch Vale by the elbow, spinning her to face me.
“What are you?—”
“I’m sorry, Vale. Sorry for everything. For taking advantage of you that day. For not satisfying you. For crying like a fucking baby afterward. ”
“It’s—”
I press two fingers over her lips.
“I’m sorry I didn’t seek you out and apologize sooner, and I’m fucking sorry I never knew you had feelings for me.”
I never intended to be so cruel to her.
She was my best friend’s little sister.
A playmate to my younger brother.
And she’s turned into a beautiful woman and a damn good mother.
“I’m just sorry, Vale. For all of it.”
For destroying our families and breaking them apart.
Tears prickle my eyes.
The sensation is something that has rarely happened in twelve years.
Dammit, what is it about this woman that makes me a mess?
“I know you are, Cort. I know .” She clenches her fist near her chest and stares at me in the dark night, like she really understands.
Like she knows I never wanted to hurt anyone.
Not Stone. Not her. Not our families.
I’d been impulsive, just like I’d been with her all those years ago, and I’ve paid for it ever since.
Paid for that decision over and over again, but right now isn’t about me, it’s about the wrong I’ve done to her.
“Bee,” I whisper, brushing a loose lock of her hair around her ear, admiring my hat on her head.
It looks good on her, just like my flannel looks right, even if it is three sizes bigger than her.
I tug at the middle of my flannel shirt, pulling her closer to me.
“Vale, let me hug you.” The desperation in my own voice is a whisper in the breeze.
I need her closer to me.
I need to feel her against me, her heart beating near mine.
I have never been a hug-it-out kind of guy.
Never been someone who sought affection, especially after my ex.
But right now, I need to hug Vale.
Like bees crave pollen and lungs desire oxygen.
Vale nods, and I pull her into my chest, wrapping my arms around her neck and knocking my hat back on her head.
She catches it against the back of her head, but I pull it off her, not wanting anything in the way of keeping her close.
Her body molds against mine.
Her soft curves fitting against my hard planes.
I breathe her in—sweet honey and mountain air—inhaling, like she’s the fresh breath I’ve recently learned I desperately need.
Vale eventually wraps her arms around my waist, clutching the back of my tee in her fists.
Her nose buries into my chest. We stand like this for a long time, sucking in deep breaths and holding on tight.
Everything in me wants to kiss her.
Make it right. Make it romantic underneath the stars on this dark night.
But my chances with Vale have been checked off a list. My only hope now is understanding and forgiveness and then retreat to our corners in Milton County.
Nothing could be so simplistic, though.
I couldn’t separate myself from Vale now if I tried.
She was still my massage therapist, and I was still her son’s baseball coach.
On Wednesday morning, I didn’t rush to undress for my appointment but sat patiently on the edge of the massage table waiting for Vale’s arrival.
Her son’s practices and subsequent games are hardly a place to talk.
When she enters the small space, she does a double take at my seated position, dressed in jeans and a Haven Exteriors tee.
While she sets down her tablet, I reach for her hand and tug her toward me, spreading my legs so she stands between my knees .
“What are you doing?” She glances toward a corner near the ceiling.
I look up there as well then back at her.
“Are there cameras up there?”
She nods and casually tries to pull her hand free from mine, but I don’t let go.
I spin our hands, so our palms press together and our fingers link.
Her skin is so soft.
Staring down at her slimmer digits slipped between my thicker ones, I lift our clasped hands and kiss her fingertips.
The scent of honey tickles my nose.
“Vale, I want you to talk to me. About you and—” I point between us because something has been on my mind.
Some guys might find Vale’s admission a jab at their ability, and thus a blow to their ego, an insult even.
Admittedly, being selfish and unfocused, I hadn’t gotten her off.
But there was something in her tone the other night that suggested the issue is deeper than poor timing and a fast fuck in the woods.
She said she needed more.
And I want to know what more means.
“Is this about the other night? What I said happened? Or rather didn’t happen?”
Vale rolls her eyes and tries to pull out of my grasp again, but I hold tight.
Tighter than I’ve ever tried to hold onto someone.
Whether I openly admit it or not, Vale is important to me.
Because she is the younger sister of my former friend, and as such, once felt like family.
But also, because she’s recently been patient and kind toward me.
She’s shown me nothing but compassion and consideration.
I don’t deserve her attention or even her time.
But I want it.
I want to give, not just take from her.
“Yes.” I meet her eyes, steeling my gaze, so she knows I’m serious.
I want to understand.
“If I have touch aversion—haphephobia—as you explained about me, what do you have? Or don’t you have? That makes . . . it . . . difficult?”
Another thought hits hard, that I hadn’t considered before.
“Did I hurt you?” My voice cracks, like I’ve been punched in the gut, taken unaware and can’t breathe.
I sit up straighter, squeezing her hand with fear that I did harm her.
“No.” Her instant answer is a poor consolation.
There was still something missing between us.
And while I know a lot of what was lacking, I still think there is something deeper.
She’s not afraid of touching someone.
She’s a massage therapist. But is she afraid of being touched?
Glancing down at where our hands are joined, and then watching her gaze upon our connected fingers, another thought strikes.
I dip my head so I can get her to look at me better.
“Is this about your dad?”
Vale gasps, squeezing my hand tighter, while at the same time tugging at my fingers, like she wants me to let go.
Or like she wants me to hold harder.
Either way, her head whips upright, her tone sharp.
“We aren’t discussing my dad.”
Does she mean presently?
Or does she mean ever?
Or does she mean about what I know happened with him .
. . and her.
“Did he hurt you?” I’m well aware of the history surrounding the Sylvers and their father.
The verbal insults to the older set.
The physical abuse to the younger ones.
Stone wasn’t half as concerned about Vale because her father basically pretended like she didn’t exist.
Poor kid was treated like a ghost. But Stone made certain Vale was seen by him, as did all her brothers.
As did me and my family, until I wasn’t around anymore.
“No.” Vale’s voice is low, her gaze lowered once again, staring at our linked hands.
“Vale,” I whisper .
“He never touched me.” Her voice is tight.
Harsh and quick and breathless.
Maybe he didn’t touch her.
But one night, he crawled into her ten-year-old bed.
Drunken fool, mistaken room.
And all hell broke loose.
Maybe that was the crux.
Flint Sylver ignored his only daughter.
He wasn’t an affectionate man.
Not loving or kind. Not patient or consoling.
He hurt his children on a variety of levels, and I have no doubt the abuse caused lasting implications for all of them.
Hell, I know firsthand how abusers behave and the permanent results.
In my case, I repel touch.
But in Vale’s case .
. .
“I want to understand.” She’s helped me in so many ways.
I want to help her, if I can.
Then again, why should she trust me with more of her secrets?
Why hand me her issues or her troubles?
I’ve proven I haven’t been there for her.
Twelve years of silence.
She’d been willing to go a dozen more.
I’m not.
And I’ll sit here for my entire session waiting for her to speak.
Hell, I’ll give up all my future appointments and just hold her hand until she tells me something, anything.
Eventually, her shoulders sag and her fingers loosen in my grasp.
She exhales heavily.
“Touch deprivation, that’s what it’s called. It’s when someone longs for touch but gets in their head about it.”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine but quickly divert staring down at my lap instead.
She shrugs. “Probably stems from not being hugged enough as a child.” Her voice is placating, but rough.
The underlying ache is evident.
The lack and absence almost suffocating.
Stone was a great big brother and an amazing mentor for his siblings, but he wasn’t overly affectionate, though certainly his lack was unintentional.
What twelve-year-old boy is overly hugging?
Or thirteen, or eighteen, or twenty-two?
Vale’s mother had been the sweet one, from what I remember of her, and Stone felt her loss greatly when she passed away, leaving six siblings below him, including a brand-new baby girl.
Valentine.
A child who never knew her mother’s love or warmth or kindness.
“I just sort of get in my head,” Vale whispers, head still lowered, gaze on my thighs.
Her hand continues to rest in mine, I’m just not certain she even feels my fingers wrapped around hers.
“What happens in your head?” I keep my voice equally low.
Patient like she’d been with me.
Giving her time to warm up, to process, before she answers.
Vale closes her eyes.
“There’s a whole psychology behind it. Some people have high excitement. They are easily aroused.”
She flicks a quick glance at me before looking away again.
“But without high intention, they can’t get to the finish line. Things like ‘I’m taking too long’ or ‘will someone hear me’ or ‘does he really want to do this’ get in the way.”
She purses her lips and twists them side to side.
“It’s common in couples with kids. One partner or the other worries about the kids interrupting them or walking in, and they can’t keep their head in the moment.”
“So in your head . . .” I wave my hand near my ear.
“You start questioning everything.”
When Vale doesn’t answer, I add scenarios.
“Like you worry that someone won’t be patient for what you need? Or someone doesn’t want to do what he is already doing with you?”
Vale tips up one shoulder, dismissing the situations.
Fuck, Vale , I want to scream .
She pinches her lips tight before stating, “I’m like my own cockblocker.”
Then she whips her head back, eyes wide but blinking up at the overhead light.
Her throat rolls, exposing a deep swallow.
“And why are we even talking about this? This is your therapy session.” She tips her head forward.
“Your massage therapy session.”
As I’m momentarily stuck on the roll of her throat, where I wanted to lick up the column, suck at her skin, and then lay her out on this table and show her how patient I can be with her, how very much I want to do anything she’ll let me do to her, it takes me a minute to respond.
“Just to be clear, I did want you that day.” Fuck, I want her now, but not like this.
Not with her so raw and vulnerable.
“I wanted to do what we did, and I’m sorry I didn’t focus more on you.” I’m sorry I didn’t take more time, more care.
I was such an idiot.
Shaking my head, I glance down at how Vale’s fingers fit with mine, and how our hands kind of dance together, exploring the heat of palm-to-palm contact.
Lifting our fingers only to lower them back together again.
I’ve never been a hand holder, and yet I don’t want to let go of Vale.
“What happens when you’re alone?”
Vale’s eyes widen.
“What do you mean?”
While the question might be intrusive, I power on, desperate for anything she’ll give me in the way of answers.
“When you are by yourself and use your toys.”
“What toys?” she tilts her head.
I mirror her position.
“Okay, Sterlet.” Don’t play coy with me .
“How do you know about that?” she gasps.
Her brows lift. The sheen in her eyes from moments ago is gone.
“Doesn’t everyone know about that?” I tease, knowing I hadn’t until a few weeks ago .
“That’s . . . personal.” Her throat rolls again, and my mouth waters once more.
The tension between us shifts from heavy topics and harsh realities to arousing .
. . and alluring.
Because I want to be the one to help Vale explore where she can go if she only gets out of her head.
I can be patient. It’s been twelve years of denying any attraction I’ve felt toward her.
A new clock is ticking.
One that is ours.
“I could help you.”
“Cort.” She chokes on a bitter chuckle while shaking her head.
“Look, you said you need time and patience, and I have plenty of it.” Although, I’m acting impatient now.
“And you’ve done so much for me. I want to do for you.”
Vale looks at me, her eyes steady but brows pinching.
“It’s not just something you can give me. Like you can’t hand it to me.”
Instantly, I roll my lips inward, because I can give her orgasms with my hands, and I fight a retort until I can’t hold it back anymore.
“What about if I use my mouth?”
Vale’s mouth pops open.
Her eyes are bright a second before she narrows them.
“Are you teasing me?”
“I was hoping you’d take it as flirting.” I glance sheepishly at her, ducking my head while fighting a small smile.
“Cortland Haven,” she scolds, tugging at her hand in my grip one more time, while attempting to step back, but I hook my feet around the back of her knees, keeping her close.
“You’re helping me get over my touch aversion,” I admit, clinging to her hand, proving that I might not be as averse as either of us thinks.
Maybe it just took the right hands to be on me.
“Let me help you never feel deprived again.”
She pulls hard at our clasped hands, swatting at my shoulder with her other one.
“I’m not deprived.”
But isn’t she?
I am. I might be averse to touch, but only because it turned hurtful and hateful.
A weapon instead of Cupid’s arrow of love.
With the right Valentine, everything could change. For both of us.