Stone Sylver doesn’t have a child, and until recently most of his siblings didn’t either. Out of his brothers, most of their kids are girls and under the age of ten which leaves only one option.
Hudson Sylver, age eleven. Valentine Sylver’s son.
I’ve known for a long time Vale had a child. I’ve seen her around Sterling Falls the few times I’ve ventured into the town next to mine. Motherhood agrees with her. She always looks happy when she’s around the kid. That’s all I’d ever want for any of the Sylvers.Happiness.
Hudson is on the younger side of our twelve and under qualification, and possibly under-skilled for our team as most boys—correction, most potential players—will be twelve years of age within the year, if not already. Hudson just turned eleven.
I hand the tablet back to Clint without a glance in his direction. Instead, I focus on the collection of boys seated on the ground, scanning from face to face, as if I could pick Hudson out of the crowd.
The truth is, I can.
He looks exactly like his mother. Same wicked blue eyes. Same dusty blond hair. A dimple to boot as he laughs at something the kid beside him says.
He’s wearing a Chicago Anchors T-shirt, probably a fan of the professional baseball team because his uncle used to play for them. Being the nephew to a world-famous, all-star athlete isn’t going to win him brownie points. He’ll still need to prove himself.
Flicking my gaze from the skinny kid sitting with his legs extended in front of him, leaning back on scrawny arms, I scan along the row of parents standing a few feet back.
Anxious dads wanting to relive their glory days through their progeny.
Frazzled moms with to-go coffee mugs and a cell phone in hand. Some have another kid on their hip.
However, one woman stands apart from the rest. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, one hand lifted to her lips, where she appears to be biting her thumb nail. Her gaze is laser-focused on her son.
Looking at Vale is like the glare of that sunspot. Or getting hit by a defensive back at top speed.
I should look away from her, but that’s the thing about Valentine Sylver. Despite our age difference. Despite the riff between our families and the loss of friendship with her brother, there came a point where I couldn’t pull my gaze from her. When I’d noticed that Vale Sylver wasn’t my best friend’s annoying little sister, but a grown woman. A young lady on the verge of a new chapter in her life. A story I’d never be a part of, and yet something inside me stung at the thought.
And then I’d made a foolish and reckless decision and sealed our forbidden fate forever. Thus, putting me on the periphery of her life and never within her line of sight until today.
Until this moment.
When I catch her glance up at me, watching me watch her, like the moment that got me in trouble with her in the first place.
2
[Vale]
While I knew this was a bad idea, I didn’t have a choice. Hudson really wanted to play for a travel baseball club, and Haven Hitters was the closest team, even if the coaching staff was less than ideal.
I don’t have anything against Cort or Clint Haven as human beings. Both men are unfairly attractive with bodies that are probably a crime beneath their athletic wear. Cort had once been Stone’s best friend; Clint had been my brother Sebastian’s. When the older boys severed their friendship, Sebastian’s strong ethic for loyalty pulled him away from Clint, cutting off their relationship as well.
Boys can be so stupid sometimes.
Just my luck that having six older brothers, I’d have a son. However, Hudson is the reason for my being, and I would not trade him for anything. I love him, plain and simple. He’s a good kid, having grown up without an actively involved father,just as I had, but having the love of his Uncle Stone, serving as his mentor and protector, also like me.
Which makes it difficult to deny him anything, especially when he begged to try out for this team.
At eleven years old, he barely makes the twelve and under requirement for the club. He’s young and skinny, and compared to a few of the other boys, a little scrawny. However, with an uncle like my brother Sebastian, Hudson has learned to be a scrapper. He has drive and determination to be the best he can be, and I never want to squash that fortitude.
There’s a saying for mothers of boys:son up to son down. The phrase embodies my kid. High energy, enthusiasm for each day, and sometimes, utterly exhausting. He also has a huge heart and a wise soul. And I really want him to make this team despite my apprehension about the coaches.
Well, one coach, at least, because regardless of my brothers’ circumstances with the Havens, declaring their familyourfamily enemy, I have my own history with Cortland Haven. One I’ll take to the grave with me.
Thoughts of that moment give me pause and draw my attention to the man clouding my memories to find him glaring back at me.
Dark eyes narrowed. Thick arms crossed over his broad chest. Making a statement with his wide-legged stance.Don’t mess with me.
Ha! Too late for that message but one I’ve never repeated, not once in twelve years. In fact, I hardly look at Cort Haven, feeling blessed that he lives one town over and rarely ventures into Sterling Falls where I reside. If his stare down is meant to intimidate me, it won’t. It has the opposite effect where bubbles go off in my belly. Actually, it’s more like a soda being opened and the fizz releases. And I hate that I’m not more indifferent toward him. That after all this time, I can pretend on theoutside that I don’t care if he glares, but on the inside, I’m a bubbly mess.
