Chapter 35
35
[Cort]
H enry Stanton was a motherfucking motherfucker, and I couldn’t believe Andy Whitehall bought that shit about boys being boys, and Hudson tossing a ball at Atticus, that Atticus caught with his cheek.
Unfortunately, Henry withdrew Atticus from Haven Hitters, and I had to remind Hudson that he did nothing wrong.
“Not one thing, bud,” I tell him when I pull him aside during our first practice after the weekend.
Hudson is standing, but I kneel on one knee so I’m closer to his eye level.
“We know the truth.” I point at my head and then my chest. “And you did not lie.”
I doubt the boys were horsing around that late at night.
Sneaking in late night video games?
Having the volume too loud?
Yelling into headsets forgetting others can hear you?
Absolutely guilty. Maybe.
But I don’t believe Hudson threw a ball at his friend, that pegged him in the face because Atticus was a lousy catcher.
Fucking Henry .
“Other kids are talking,” Hudson reminds me of the chatter among the parents and the kids before practice began.
I nod once, glancing down at the ground to collect my thoughts before looking at him again.
“Hudson, I get that you’re walking a fine line. You should always tell the truth, but sometimes that truth does not belong to others. It’s no one’s business what you witnessed, except for your mom, and me, because I was there. And the people who can make it better for Atticus and Amelia, like your uncle.” I leave off Andy because he’s another motherfucking motherfucker who is clearly on some power trip with some backward-ass sympathy for Henry.
“But will they get help?” Hudson asks, with concern written all over his young face.
“I hope so, bud.” I really do, but I also don’t have much hope unless divine intervention strikes Henry, or a miracle occurs before something more severe happens to the Stanton kids.
“Now, you ready to pitch some awesome pitches?” I ask, hoping to distract him from deeper worries and get him back to being a kid for at least the next two hours.
“Yeah.” His enthusiasm isn’t there yet, but it will be.
Kids are resilient like that.
I hold out a fist and Hudson bumps his knuckles to mine before I stand, grunting as I lift myself upward because of my knee.
“You okay there, old man?” Hudson teases.
“Hey.” I jokingly point at him.
“Easy kid.”
Hudson finally smiles.
The first one he’s had since arriving at the ballpark.
He turns and takes a few steps away from me, before turning back around.
“And, Coach.” Hudson adjusts his ball cap on his head.
“ Thanks for being there. For Atticus and Amelia. With my mom.”
I try to steady my expression.
Hold back my surprise, wondering what Vale said about me being present.
We haven’t had a chance to really talk other than quick check-ins with one another.
“Of course. I’m always here for you, Hudson.” Always have been.
As Hudson turns back around, I watch him walk back to the practice field and then glance over his head where a man dressed in a brown uniform catches my eyes.
I’ve been waiting for this moment, caught between dread and apprehension, neither emotion particularly good.
With a deep inhale, I make my way across the field, telling myself I just need to get this over with.
This is community business.
I’m a mandated reporter, as I’d told Vale.
I must report my suspicions or findings to the proper authorities.
Stone isn’t Vale’s older brother in this case.
He isn’t even Hudson’s uncle.
He’s the local sheriff.
I stop several feet from him, fighting the urge to look away from him, knowing I need to look him in the eyes.
“Sheriff,” I address him formally.
“Cortland.” His responding tone is just as tight.
When he doesn’t say more, I speak.
“Need more information about the Stantons?”
“Nope. Andy got your statement.” Stone stares at me, with eyes unlike his sister’s.
I’ve seen varying shades on Vale from clear to cloudy, foggy with lust and filled with laughter, and none of those colors match this hard, cold glare.
For half a second, I expect him to shout that he knows what I’m doing with his sister.
Instead, he keeps a steely gaze on me, weighty and watching, assessing.
Like he does know the truth and he’s waiting on me to explain myself.
But I’m not making a move without Vale’s permission.
Without her knowing what I’d say and when.
I continue to hold my ground a second, thinking he’ll ask for more clarification or an additional detail about the case.
After what feels like an eternity, when he doesn’t say anything else, I rub my hands together and break.
“Okay then. Let me know if you need my help in any way.”
While I know a lot about the abuse the Sylvers suffered at the hands and foul mouth of their father, I’m doubtful Stone has any hint to the abuse I suffered from Bailey and what ultimately led me to leave her.
I understand what the Stanton kids are going through, and the last thing I want is two helpless children living with their worthless drunk dad.
But this isn’t my jurisdiction to moderate or meddle in.
Without salutation, I turn on my heels and stalk away from Stone, feeling the heat of his glare burning into my back, right along that old stab wound from my ex-wife, possibly adding his own indentation to match her mark.
Stone has no idea how lucky he is he didn’t end up with Bailey.
There’s no forgiveness for what we did to Stone, but he’d escaped a level of hell by losing her.
One he should be grateful for.
Not grateful to me, just gratitude in general.
Stone Sylver has suffered enough in his lifetime.
Stepping onto the ball field, I shake off Stone’s cold glare and get back to business as best I can.
Coaching kids on how to be team players and strong individuals, like Hudson Sylver.