I hang my head, thinking once again about the sweetness of my son and the kind gesture he made for Amelia.
Glancing down at Cort, I notice his eyes are open, but I’m not certain he’s breathing either.
“Just give me one second, baby, and I’ll come to your room.” I should check on all the kids anyway and then lock my damn door.
When I pull away from Cort, he holds his position. Arms underneath my pillow. Head turned to the side. Back on display. Eyes on me.
Shaking my head, I rub my hands together, trying to blend in the honey balm on my fingers. Then, to be extra petty at his presence, I swipe my hands over Cort’s denim-clad thighs, using them like a towel to remove the excess. Cort doesn’t move; he doesn’t even speak. With atsk, I slip out my door as best I can without fully opening it and head down the hallway.
Inside Hudson’s room, Atticus is fast asleep. However, Hudson is lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
“What’s the matter, baby?” I whisper.Please don’t let him know his baseball coach is in my bedroom. I pull up his blanket, and he tucks it beneath his arms before I smooth the covers over his chest.
“Think Amelia is okay in there?”
“I’ll check on her next, buddy, but I bet she’s fine. That was really sweet of you to give her the bear.”
“It’s not her Blue, though.”
“It was still thoughtful. You’re a good friend.” And if he keeps up the gestures, he’ll make a great boyfriend one day.
I take a seat on the edge of his bed and glance once more at Atticus in the other bed before whispering to Hudson. “Do you think there is something to worry about between Amelia and her brother and father?” I ask, prying into lives that are not my concern through an eleven-year-old.
“Like what?” Hudson counters.
I love his innocence, and shrug. “Just want to remind you that you can tell me anything. Or come to me with anything.” I stroke my finger playfully down his nose and he smiles.
“Get some sleep.” I lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. Before I’m fully standing, he rolls to his side, and I slip from his room, checking on Amelia as promised before returning to my uninvited guest.
Quietly entering my room, Cort remains in the same position he was in when I left. Hands beneath the pillow. Belly pressed into the cover. Back on display. Only, his eyes are closed.
“Cort,” I whisper, stepping closer to the bed.
“Cort,” I repeat, jabbing his tight shoulder.
“Cortland Haven,” I state a little louder but not loud enough that Hudson might hear me through the wall. I smack his arm, causing him to lift his head, rub his nose against the pillow, and turn his head in the opposite direction.
He didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t even blink at me. And now he’s settled back down, fast asleep.
“Are you kidding me?” I say in a normal tone, which still has no effect on the resting intruder. I stare down at Cort for several seconds wondering what the heck to do with him before I concede defeat and follow through on my nightly routine. With it as late as it is, I’m drained of all energy.
When I return to my room, Cort hasn’t budged and as much as it’s a risk to have him caught in our home, in my room, I’m also too tired to fight with him right now.
It’s his funeral, I guess.
I round my double bed, of which Cort is taking up most of the space, and rest on my back at first, staring up at the ceiling much like Hudson was doing next door. Eventually, I turn on my side, face Cort, and slip my hands beneath the pillow in a loose prayer pose.
Cort’s forehead is furrowed even in sleep. His nose strong.His lips are pouty and surrounded by a trimmed layer of facial hair that’s a thirsty mix of silver and ink. I slide my hands closer to him, fingertips almost touching his forearm but still respectfully distant. My thumb twitches, wanting to reach out and trace the fine lines and firm edges of his face, as if my finger is a painter’s brush which can memorize this creation before me.
Instead, I hold still, watching Cort for another minute before my eyes slowly drift shut. He stirs beside me, and I sense Cort moving his arm, thinking he’ll assume I’m asleep and sneak from my bedroom. Instead, his hand slides over mine, curling between my index finger and thumb so he’s holding four of my fingers within his larger grasp.
We sleep like this for I don’t know how long, before the heat of his hand is gone, and the warmth of a fingertip strokes over my cheek, brushing my hair around my ear.
Then, I wake to a cold, empty bed.
15
[Vale]
