“What?” Fists form at my sides, while my mind races in circles.
“Baileyhitme.”
At first, I can’t see it. Cort is bigger than her. He’s stronger. Surely, he would have held her off. Or fought back. But Cort doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to harm a woman. The anguish in his eyes confirms it. The confusion. The frustration. The struggle he must have felt between keeping her at bay and hurting her.
Men can be victims of domestic violence, and I know this. I’m a little ashamed of myself that I hadn’t thought of it. Most people believe a big, burly man couldn’t possibly be abused byhis smaller wife. A sense of implausible, when it’s very possible. It’s a reason there is a stigma and shame attached to such behavior.
My heart breaks for Cort in an entirely new way.
“When I didn’t do what she wanted, didn’t say what she needed—” Cort flinches like he can feel the effects of her hand on his face. “God, I felt so weak at times.” He hangs his head, again the conflict weighing on him.
“She drank. A lot.” He lifts his head again but stares over my shoulder. “And I’d made too many excuses for her, enabling her. I let it go on for too long.”
He eventually looks back at me. “How could I teach my son to be a fighter, to know his worth, when I didn’t know how to respond to his mother’s behavior? While he witnessed her act in such a degrading manner? How do I teach him to respect women, while equally teaching him to stand up for himself? But don’t fight back. Don’t touch her.”
I don’t have an answer for him.
Cort shakes his head. “Bailey and I fought constantly. Sometimes, she’d even toss Stone in the mix. Tell me how he was a better man. How she lost him because of me. She even blamed Josh.”
Cort snorts, incredulous, as if an innocent baby was ever to blame for adult decisions. His gaze latches on my face, imploring me to understand.
“So, you left her because of what she did to you?” I confirm quietly. Of course he did. Whatever strength he needed to finally walk away, he found.
“I left her because of what she did to Josh.”
“No!” I gasp, while shaky fingers cover my mouth. No,no, no, no. Not his son.
Cort gazes over my shoulder again. His eyes distant and glassy, and full of regret. “I never had a clue how rough he had it. I mean, I knew she said things, and I didn’t like them, andwe’d fight about her words toward him as well, but I neverreallyknew the truth until he had a bruise on his arm.”
“Oh my God, Cort.” I step forward, reaching for him, but then halt, retracting my hand and forming fists at my side again to prevent me from touching him.
“He was only eleven,” he chokes on a strangled sob.
The same age as Hudson. The same age as his entire twelve and under baseball team.
Cort crosses his left arm over his chest and taps at his right shoulder. “She stabbed me when I told her we were leaving.”
“Cort, that’s just . . .” What word describes it best? Awful isn’t strong enough. Deranged doesn’t cover it.
“The season had just finished. I was on the IL without a decision on whether I’d play again or not. I’d been sticking things out for Josh, thinking I was providing a good life for him, doing the right thing for him. I didn’t want to separate a mother and her child.”
He exhales, the sound raspy and rough. “Then I’d learned she’d been smacking him around for years, and he never told me. He was fucking afraid of her. My boy scared of his mother, and he never mentioned it to me.”
A heavy sob leaves his throat, but he quickly coughs to clear it.
“I’ve been so selfish.” His head lowers for a second, shaking it side to side before whipping it upright, gathering inner strength, forcing his voice to steel. “And I tarnish everything I touch.”
His friendship with Stone. His marriage. His poor son.
“I won’t do that to you, Vale. I can’t.”
Unable to stop myself, I reach for his left arm, the one I drew on, and now bears a permanent mark. With my thumb, I swipe lightly over the bee.
“You did what you thought was best for Josh, both at first and then later on.” It’s all we can do as parents. The best weknow how in the moment, until we learn more, or better, or accept what’s best for our child.
“She’d already done so much damage.” Cort’s voice cracks.
Bailey probably had. Recalling where I was at twelve, even at ten, so much irreparable harm had happened and the trauma was buried deep within me, yet I’ve carried on. Persevered. And from what Cort has told me about Josh, he’s moved on as well. Perhaps never forgetting, but making peace with his past, focusing on his future.
