Chapter 36
36
[Vale]
W hile Hudson had seen the Stanton twins in school, he was suddenly on the outs with Atticus, who kept his distance.
The separation hurt Hudson and confused him.
As much as I’d wished for the friendship to end, it broke my heart that by trying to help his friend, Hudson lost him.
Fortunately, when our family eventually learned all that happened between Hudson and the other kids, Knox invited Hudson to come over to his place to hang with Tim, his fourteen-year-old bonus son, on Friday night.
Thanks to a case of hero worship for the older boy, Hudson was thrilled to spend time with his newer cousin.
The distraction would do him good.
The time also offered me the freedom to sneak to Cort’s house.
Even though I have a key, I hadn’t planned on using it.
I intended to knock.
But Cort was already walking out his front door when I arrived as if he’d been anticipating me, as if he’d been as eager to see me as I was to see him.
I fight the urge to run up his front walk and throw myself at him, like a giddy teen.
His bad back and injured knee are a reminder that catching me wouldn’t be a good idea for him.
Still, as I step up his stoop, he reaches for me and pulls me toward him by my hip, cups the side of neck and welcomes me back to his home with a searing kiss.
“Hi,” I eventually say, pulling away to break the temptation to wrap my legs around him and dry hump him on his front porch.
“Hi.” He swipes back my hair, holding it at the base of my neck.
After pressing a kiss to my forehead, he releases me and sweeps his arm toward the open front door.
“Come on in.”
Once inside, I kick off my shoes, making myself comfortable like I have on so many of our lunch dates.
“It’s such a beautiful night and I have a hankering for burgers. Is that alright with you?”
“As long as you’re cooking, I’ll eat whatever you make.” I make meal decisions most days, then prep them and clean up afterward.
It’s nice not to have to decide what’s for dinner once in a while.
A wine bottle already sits out on the countertop and Cort points toward it.
“I can pour you a glass, but I was also thinking a margarita might go better with a burger.”
“Cortland Haven, are you trying to make me love you?” I laugh until I see Cort’s brows pinch.
Licking my lips, I immediately backpedal.
“I mean, you know, in the you-make-a-mean-margarita kind of love.”
Cort arches one brow and leans against the kitchen island.
“I didn’t know there was such a way to love someone. ”
“Oh, yeah,” I dismissively wave a hand, as my cheeks grow warmer and warmer.
Cort only shakes his head and offers me a lopsided smile, humoring my ridiculousness.
“A margarita it is then.” He turns toward the opposite counter and begins making the drink from scratch.
None of that pre-mixed combination I buy because I don’t need an entire bottle of tequila in my house.
He even salts the rim, and adds lots of ice, and I’m grateful I don’t have to drive home tonight.
At least, I hope I’m not going home.
Turning back toward me, Cort hands me the margarita in a tall glass and taps his against mine before we each take a sip.
“Dang, that’s good,” I hum in appreciation.
However, Cort’s attention is on my wrist. “What’s that?”
I glance down at the bracelet I’m wearing.
A silver band with a bee charm dangling from it.
“Oh, this?” I brush off the gift.
“Every year, Ken sends me a gift for Mother’s Day.”
Cort’s arms are spread, bracing him on the island opposite me, and he arches a brow at the explanation.
He remembers who Ken is and his absence.
“The first anniversary, if you will, of my being a mom, I got a beehive starter kit from him.” I’m reminded once again how I’d thought it was such a strange gift for a busy new mom.
“Most years the gifts are impersonal but always themed around bees.” A beeswax candle making kit.
A journal with a bee on it.
Cort lowers his head, the corner of his mouth ticking upward.
I can’t decide if mentioning Ken’s thoughtfulness lands like a brick between us, or if Cort is pleased by the kindness.
I jangle my wrist. “Then, last year this gift arrived. Must have marked the end of an era. Ten years as a mother. Ken didn’t send something this year. ”
Mother’s Day passed a while back.
“Just this final gift. An Alex & Ani bracelet with a little bee?—”
Glancing back at the charm dangling from the thin silver bangle, I finger the delicate insect.
All bee-themed items .
Little Bee. When Ken didn’t know the nickname.
Didn’t know a thing about Cort and the tag he’d given me.
Snapping my head upright, I stare at Cort standing on the other side of the island, head bowed.
“Cortland,” I whisper, my throat suddenly thick.
“It was never Ken, was it?”
It never made sense.
Why would a man who didn’t want to be a father acknowledge Mother’s Day for me.
For that fact, why would he bother sending gifts on his son’s birthday when he didn’t want to know his child.
Yet, I’d never given it a second thought.
In my refusal to believe Ken was a bad man, I’d given him too much credit as a good one.
Continuing to stare at Cort, he finally lifts his head.
His eyes are a storm of emotion.
Struggling with the whirlwind spiraling inside myself, I can’t read his expression.
Out of all the questions I have, I settle on one.
“Why?” My voice remains quiet but filled with confusion.
Cort shifts his eyes away from mine.
“For a while, I thought Hudson might be mine.”
“What?” I whisper again.
“When I finally got my head out of my ass, and learned you had a child, I did the math. The timing felt about right. A March baby, counting backward, landed roughly in June. It made sense, but I also believed you’d tell me if Hudson was mine.” Cort levels me with a serious stare.
“Even though I’d fucked up, made an ass of myself by the Falls and all, you’d have told me.”
I nod, assuring him I’d never have kept a secret like this from him.
Even with fear of Stone’s disappointment, I would have never kept Hudson from Cort, if I believed in my soul, he was Cort’s child.
A piece of honesty falls out of my mouth before I can stop myself.
“I wanted him to be your son.”
At first, I’d hoped Hudson did belong to Cort, giving me a permanent reminder of him.
“But he isn’t.” I’d been a little hussy that summer and I’d done the math.
Conception was closer to the fling with Ken than the morning with Cort.
Cort nods to accept the hard truth and another thought hits me.
“March?” I continue watching Cort.
“How did you even know his birthday was at the end of March?”
“Trinity.” Cort’s sister works in the NICU at the local hospital, but before moving into the specialized department, she worked the regular maternity ward, where I had Hudson.
She hadn’t been my nurse, but there was no doubt she would have known of his birth.
“So, if Ken never sent Mother’s Day presents. He also never sent Hudson . . .” birthday ones either .
Cort is already shaking his head, lowering his gaze once more.
And I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
I’m so stupid .
Instead, I stand from my stool and round the island, extending my hand toward Cort.
He twists, leaning his hip against the counter, and stares down at my offered hand a second, before glancing at me.
He doesn’t take my hand but instead continues to watch me.
“Aren’t you mad?”
“Mad? No, anger is not the emotion I feel.” Am I upset that he’s been keeping this secret all these years?
Was I a little stung that the gifts hadn’t come from Ken?
The answer to both was overruled by the immediate understanding that Cort had been trying to atone for what he considered a shameful moment by celebrating both Hudson and me.
My son’s birth and the honor of being his mother.
I wasn’t mad. I was overwhelmed by emotion for this man.
Ten years. Eleven, if I included Hudson’s recent birthday.
Mentally, I flip back through the gifts in my head.
A Tennessee Terrors little slugger baseball onesie.
Cort’s favorite team.
A tee-ball mitt. A pair of baseball cleats.
And this year’s gift, a pair of tickets to a Terrors versus Anchors game.
“Take my hand, Cort,” I instruct, my voice quiet, knowing the only way I can show this man my gratitude and appreciation.
My forgiveness for something he doesn’t need to be forgiven for.
Cort still doesn’t reach for me.
Instead, he stands upright.
“Hold that thought.” He holds up a finger to emphasize his point before he disappears down the hallway and then comes back with a small square box tied with a ribbon in his hand.
“What’s this?”
“Year eleven,” he whispers, staring down at the box he presents to me.
Hesitantly, I take the gift, pull the ribbon, and slip the lid from the top.
Inside is something labeled a bee revival kit along with a bee ID tag.
“It holds bee food syrup for tired bees.”
I flip the item, but my eyes don’t register the instructions.
It’s like I’ve forgotten how to read, and I glance back at Cort who gives a soft shrug before slipping his hands in his jeans’ pockets.
“It reminded me of you. Your sweetness has revived me and brought me back to life.”
My eyes instantly water.
“I should have given it to you a while back, I just didn’t know how?—”
“It’s so precious, Cort.” The small vial is rose gold and dangles from a keychain.
“Thank you.” I hold out my hand again.
“Maybe in the future, you can give me these gifts in person.”
This time, Cort slips his hand in mine.
“There are lots of things I want to give you, Vale. All of them in person.”