“However, I don’t want you to do him any favors,” I remind him, worrying he’s giving special treatment to Hudson because of me.
“I’m not.” Cort looks directly at me over his shoulder. “He’s a great kid with a lot of potential.”
I smile and nod, agreeing about my son.
“Was Josh good at sports?” Cort’s son was already a teen when I had Hudson, and as our paths didn’t cross then, I don’t know much about his boy.
He stares toward the river again, the sky turning darker with the dimming evening light. “In a small community, it isn’t unlikely that kids play all the traditional, seasonal sports. Football in the fall. Basketball in winter. Baseball in spring. And Josh did all three. I’d hoped he’d go to college on a scholarship for something, but he opted out of playing at the collegiate level. He played intramural sports, though. Less pressure. More time to study.” Cort snorts and turns his head toward me. “I think he meant more time to party.”
He smiles softly thinking of his son who is on the verge of graduating college with a master’s degree. “He had a rough go of things when he was young. I wasn’t around as much as I should have been. His mother was home too much with him.”
Cort doesn’t speak about Bailey, ever, and that’s fine by me. I am not a fan of her because of her history with my brother. Which is a major reason Stone would never forgive me for being with Cort.
“I’m so proud of him, but don’t take any credit for who he is.” Cort turns his attention back toward the river.
“You have to take some credit,” I tease, not liking his self-deprecating comment and hoping he’ll open up more about why he came back to the area, as a single father, Josh in tow. “You’re one side of parenting him. Bailey being the other.” Icringe at giving her praise for anything, but I don’t want to dismiss that she is Josh’s mother.
Cort’s head quickly whips in my direction. “Bailey didn’t do anything for Josh, other than fuck him up.” The strength in his statement speaks volumes. I’m intrigued and curious by the sharpness of his tone and the dark look in his eyes, but I don’t pry. I don’t want to hurt Cort by dragging up his murky past, but I hope one day he’ll talk to me.
He looks back at the river and lifts his beer, taking a deep swallow before setting the bottle back on the wide armrest.
“Was it difficult to give up football?” I ask next, still tiptoeing around another difficult topic. “I remember it being hard for Ford when he had to give up baseball.”
My brother had a career-ending shoulder injury.
Cort squints into the darkening sky and softly says, “Yeah.” He pauses before adding, “My body has taken a beating over the years. As a tight end, you either tackle or be tackled. And as much as my hamstrings and ankles took the brunt, it was my knee that eventually gave out.” He absentmindedly squeezes his right kneecap.
“I’m sorry you got hurt.” Recalling once again how my brother Ford handled his injury, which wasn’t well. I can only imagine how Cort felt both physically and mentally. The pain in his body; the loss of a game he loved. Cort had been recently injured and released from his team right before our interludethatsummer. His mind must have been a mess.
“It happens.” He doesn’t sound bitter as much as melancholy over the loss.
We both remain quiet a second, letting the peacefulness of hushed evening sounds flow around us. The gentle roll of the river below. The soft call of night creatures coming to life. Unexpectedly, a string of fairy lights flickers on along the underside of the railing around Cort’s deck. The ambiance is lovely.
Glancing over at Cort after the sudden illumination, I catch him looking at me.
He stands and holds out his hand. “Want to dance with me?” He smiles softly. “I don’t want to make you a liar.”
I set my hand in his but pause a second, glancing down at his leg. “What about your knee?”
“I think I can handle a dance with my girl.” With a sharp tug, he pulls me upward, and I collide with his firm chest.
“Your girl, huh?” I tease, stroking my hands up his shirt and over his shoulders.
“Want me to call you my Little Bee, instead?”
My gaze leaps to his eyes, seeing he’s teasing me with the childish name. “Want me to call you my beekeeper?” I snark back, arching a brow. “Although I do call you that. In my phone.” Keeping Cort my secret, I have him listed in my favorites as The Beekeeper.
“Because I’m a hot man over forty?” He chuckles, under-appreciating how very handsome he is.
“The hottest.” I wink.
He laughs even harder, and I’d wager his cheeks are heating with the compliment.
With his hands on my hips and mine on his shoulders, I state, “There’s no music out here.”
“Yes there is. Just listen.” Tugging me closer to him, he slips his hand behind my back and takes my other hand in his, pulling our joined hands upward. Then he moves us side-to-side to the melody of the evening around us. A soft breeze, chirping crickets, and the river. Only this isn’t some high school dance movement. Cort sweeps us across his deck, taking slow, measured steps before larger, dramatic ones. We spin and he twirls me away from him and pulls me back. He knows how to lead a girl, and quickly, I’m lost to the magic around us and his eyes on mine, drinking me in.
Eventually, he dips me, and I tip my head back until Cortbrushes his nose along the column of my neck. As he pulls me upright, his lips skim my jaw until we face one another. We stop dancing, but other movements take over.
