Page 33 of Sterling Touch
After my restless night, I’m sluggish despite the need to hurry. Hudson and Atticus have baseball practice, and Atticus is in a panic because he doesn’t have any of his stuff. He eventually reached his father who promised to bring Atticus’s equipment to the ballpark.
Henry, however, arrives late and Atticus doesn’t even address his dad, other than grabbing his ball bag and cleats from his father’s outstretched hand. Eventually, Henry nears where I’ve set up two camp chairs. One for myself and one for Amelia who is enraptured by the book she picked to read last night.
“Henry,” I greet him through gritted teeth.
“Miss Sylver.” He’s all smiles and charm, and an I-got-laid-last-night ease.
Quickly, I stand and move in a way Henry needs to turn hisback on his child and face me, blocking her from witnessing me rip this man a new one.
“You have some nerve,” I whisper, glaring at him. “If you needed a sitter for your kids, or a night off, you could have at leastaskedme.” I not only feel taken advantage of, but a bit underappreciated for stepping up forhiskids. I won’t even get into the whole idea of him possibly leaving his kids alone for a night while he galivanted around.
“Well, you know how it is.” He winks.
I shiver and cross my arms. “Actually, I don’t know how it is.” I don’t have the luxury—nor desire—to dump my kid on others or let him fend for himself. Even with my brother and I living together, I don’t assume Stone will care for Hudson. My son is my responsibility.
Henry’s smile turns salacious, slithering up his face, and causing me to shudder. “I could help with that. Anytime. You just ask.”
My mouth pops open.
“She won’t be asking.” The sharp, curt masculine voice behind me sends a new kind of ripple down my spine.When did Cort come over here?Even more befuddling is I can’t decide if I’m appreciative that he’s defending me or irritated he isn’t letting me speak for myself. I’m not used to someone standing up for me. Not like this.
Henry glances over my shoulder but I resist turning, keeping my hard glare on his once-smug face which has turned a little sour. On the tip of his tongue is a retort. I don’t have to hear it to know it will be something insinuating and insulting. However, Henry swallows whatever he intended to say.
Instead, he slips his hands into his pants’ pockets—pants a little too formal for a Saturday morning baseball practice for children—and gazes toward the practice field, narrowing his eyes.
“Maybe you should get to coaching our kids,” Henry mutters.
“Maybe you should be parenting your own.”
Shock skitters over my skin at the strength of Cort’s scolding.
Henry turns on Cort. “Don’t make me report this team.”
“For what?” Cort snorts, bristling behind me.
Among other things, Henry has been vocal about Kennedy Archeras a girlmaking the team.
My gaze shifts to Amelia, only a few feet away, behind her father. Certain she’s no longer reading but listening to adults bicker with one another, I spin enough to share a glance with Cort and tip my head in her direction.
His eyes widen at her nearness before his nostrils flare and he walks away, the bigger man of the two.
Henry smirks. “Put him in his place.” He dips his chin, pleased with himself.
He is his only fan.
“Amelia,” he states sharply. “Let’s go.” He tilts his head toward the parking area.
“Where?” Her eyes narrow in suspicion at her father.
“Breakfast.” Henry turns toward me and tweaks one brow. “I didn’t get enough to eat last night.”
Gross.
“I already ate at Hudson’s.”
Henry’s weasel-eyes jolt away from me, glance at Amelia and then return to me. “At Hudson’s?” The truth hits him slowly, like he hadn’t known that his daughter spent the night at my house as well.
He steps closer to me. “There better not have been any shenanigans between your son and my daughter.”
