Page 62 of Sterling Touch
Their home was warm and bright, and full of laughter and love, not harsh words, physical repercussions, and dirt.
“You know my dad wasn’t much of a loving man,” I continue, lowering my glass to the counter.
Cort stands on the other side of the island, his arms spread wide, and hands braced on the top. He’s stopped moving and given me his full attention.
“I remember,” he whispers. He’d been a witness many times to the way my father spoke to Stone, but Stone, and Cort for that matter, were gone when the true wrath of our father was unleashed. When insults turned to injury. He cut Judd the most with his words, skipping to Ford next. His physical abuse went to the scrappier set of Knox and Sebastian. Somehow, Clay knew how to deal with our dad, but he’d left the house as well.
Cort keeps his gaze on me. He’s already admitted he remembers what happened between my father and me. Ten years old, and my father was drunk. Crawled into my bed, his breath hot at my ear. I’d been frozen in place, uncertain how to react, my throat clogged with fear.
Sebastian’s voice is what I heard first, yellingyou sonofabitch.
Knox was next.
I’d closed my eyes, squeezing them shut, knowing they were about to fight again. My dad and Knox went at it constantly the year before he left for the Navy.
That night was the catalyst for our father’s death.
He took his own life.
I lick my lips. “Probably why I was such a wild child in my late teens and twenties,” I weakly attempt to joke, referring back to my dad not being a loving man. “Chasing love in all the wrong places,” I add, huffing and dismissively waving my hand. “I think there’s a song about that.”
Cort tilts his head, sympathy in his eyes. “Little Bee.”
“Anyway.” I bitterly chuckle, picking up my wine but pausing before taking another drink, “That got heavy fast.”
Phew, I don’t know where any of that came from, and I feel itchy and exposed, like I’ve revealed too much about myself.
Cort doesn’t take his eyes off me, watching me in that way he does, like he can see inside me. However, I don’t want him to see all the broken pieces.
Slipping from the stool, I round the counter. “Put me to work.” It’s the best way to take my mind off the memories and bring me back to this moment, where I’m safe, standing in Cortland Haven’s kitchen.
“Tonight”—Cort watches me—“I take care of you.”
I chuff, prepared to tell him I take care of myself. On the tip of my tongue is a secondary retort:I don’t know what that would feel like. I have no idea what it means to have someone take care of me.
Cort certainly took carewithme last weekend, but I mean on a deeper level. Someone looking out for just me. My needs. My wants. My dreams.
As if knowing I’m about to argue, Cort keeps his steely eyes on me and unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt. He methodically rolls up the right side and then the left.
My gaze instantly drops to his forearm. “Oh, you got your bandage off. Let me see.” Without thinking, I reach for Cort’s arm.
He pulls back and I’m reminded that touching him comes with caution. No sudden movements.Noted. While I’m curious why that is, I don’t ask because I’ve already dampened the evening by bringing up my dad.
In an attempt to brush off the twinge of hurt at his retraction, I weakly smile and glance up at his face. “Well, I’m glad you’re better.” That was some bandage he had on his arm before.
Slowly, Cort lowers his shoulders and stretches his left armtoward me. He closes his eyes a second and flips his arm so I can see the inner part of his forearm.
Prepared for a deep cut or a nasty burn, I gasp when I see what’s really present. Swallowing thickly, I say, “That permanent marker should have washed off.” Because a week out from drawing that silly bee on his inner arm, there shouldn’t be any trace of the mark. What I see isn’t anything made with a marker, though, but definitely permanent ink.
“Cort,” I whisper, looking up at him again.
“Told you I’d never forget.”
My gaze falls once more to the tattoo etched into his skin in a perfect replica of what I drew.
A buzzing bee.
That’s forever, my head registers but my heart warns,don’t you dare hope.
