“Um, actually, I don’t recall that,” I admit, having never known she thought such a thing. Trinity is older than me. Somewhere in between Knox and Ford area.
“Of course, I wanted a sister,” she says a little louder. “Brothers are the worst.”
She knows I don’treallyagree with that sentiment.
“And I always thought one of us would marry into the other’s family and then we’d be linked together forever.” Trinity lifts her wineglass, like she’s toasting the room.
What would she think of that scenario now? If it were to happen? The thought is a gut punch to my belly because it could never happen. Never be a possibility. While Cort and I might be intersecting, our paths will eventually diverge again. They must.
Because my oldest brother isn’t the worst. He’s the best. And he’d never forgive me for my recent behavior.
“Whoa, girl. How much wine have you had tonight?” Enya teases our friend.
Trinity lowers the glass and stares absentmindedly into it. “Not enough.” Her voice softens and I think back to weeks ago when she was staring at her phone, a scowl on her face, thinking about her ex.
“What’d he do now?” I lower my voice as well, gently nudging her arm with my elbow.
“Nothing.” She sighs. “And isn’t that the point.” Lifting her glass, she finishes the rest of her wine in one swallow and stands. Or attempts to, using the couch armrest and my thigh to force herself upward before taking a staggering step forward, then righting herself, and heading to the help-yourself-bar in Meredith’s kitchen.
“Oh my,” I whisper, watching Trinity stumble away.
“Valentine Sylver.” Enya hisses beside me.
“What?” I turn toward my sister-in-law, hoping for an innocent expression, but certain guilt is written in every line on my face.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, knowing without asking.
“I don’t know,” I admit with a heavy exhale.
Playing with fire feels too crass of a comeback. I’m not a twenty-something girl anymore. I’m not looking to tempt fate or be reckless or push boundaries. This is more than sneaking off behind a tree and making out with a cute boy for an hour.
Hearts are on the line. Mine. Cort’s. And Stone’s.
“I really don’t know.”
28
[Vale]
Cort’s final massage therapy session is upon us. He had to reschedule his typical Wednesday morning one for a Friday. His health insurance has only approved so many visits, and he’ll be on his own to exercise and stretch to strengthen his back and keep his muscles loose.
While he sits on my massage table for the final time, I stand between his spread legs. “You should do yoga.”
He laughs. “You aren’t serious.”
“I’m totally serious. Many athletes do yoga to strengthen their flexibility and settle their minds.” I tap my temple.
Between work and raising my son, plus Hudson’s intensive baseball season, I still find time to sneak in a yoga class at the local studio near Reflexology.
“I’m going to miss my Wednesdays,” Cort softly says, holding my hand and linking our fingers together, staring atthem joined as one, like he’s still surprised how well we fit. Still surprised at how comforting touch can be.
“I’m going to miss them, too.” These rare moments of privacy beat staring at him across a crowded baseball diamond full of kids and their parents.
With a too-quick, parting kiss, Cort exits Reflexology.
But to my complete surprise, I find him standing next to the front desk around noon.
“Cortland?” I glance at Derrek, who is seated at the desk, and glances suspiciously between me and Cort. “Did you forget something?”
