"I don't have anything to be embarrassed about."
Courtney opened her mouth, snapped it closed. Her mind was completely blank and she had no idea how to respond. Harland laughed, the sound too warm, too familiar. He stepped toward her, placed a large hand on her shoulder and steered her toward the door.
"Go. Leave us men in peace."
"What?"
"You heard me. It's time for some male bonding over the porcelain throne. Out you go."
"But you—"
"Or you can stay. Your choice. It's not like you haven't seen it before. And you already know it won't bother me."
"But I—" Courtney closed her mouth with an audible snap. Harland laughed again and nudged her out of the bathroom, gently closing the door in her face.
She'd just been kicked out of her own bathroom! This couldn't be happening. It really couldn't.
But it was. She heard Harland's low voice, the words too muffled to make out. Laughter. The sound of the toilet seat being raised. Another chuckle, followed by the strangled sound of Noah's laugh.
"Courtney? Is everything okay?"
She turned, noticed her mother standing at the top of the stairs behind her, a book in her hand. Had she been so dazed she hadn't even heard her mom coming up the steps? Obviously, because there she was.
"Is everything okay?" Her mom repeated the question, concern on her face.
Courtney nodded, shook her head. Nodded again. "Uh, yeah. I guess. Harland's showing Noah how to—" She stopped, looked back at the bathroom door, felt a sharp sadness sweep over her. "He's showing Noah how to use the toilet. Standing up."
Her voice broke for reasons she didn't understand. A brief smile spread across her mother's face then quickly disappeared. "Why are you upset, sweetheart? Isn't that a good thing?"
She should say yes. Yes, it was a good thing. Yes, Harland was getting to know his son. Yes, maybe it was a sign he was serious. But she couldn't say any of those things. So she just shook her head and pushed past her mother, practically running down the stairs. She hesitated then hurried through the kitchen and out the back door, out into the lonely, chilled night.
Chapter Thirteen
The back door opened and she heard the shuffle of one hesitant step. Her time for feeling sorry for herself had come to an end. Just as well. She didn't need to be sitting out here in the cold night air, having a pity-party for one. And she certainly didn't need more time to think, not when she couldn't make sense of all the dizzying thoughts swirling through her mind already.
"I'm getting ready to come in now, Mom. Just give me a minute."
"Uh, sorry. It's just me."
Courtney froze at the sound of Harland's hushed voice. She didn't bother turning around, couldn't even look at him. If she didn't, maybe he'd go back inside. Better yet, maybe he'd just leave. Was that asking for too much?
Apparently so because he stepped all the way outside. She heard him pull the door closed, heard the sound of his steps coming closer. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth and looked to her right, away from him.
Please don't sit down. Please don't sit down.
Her silent plea was ignored. He lowered himself to the bench next to her. Too close, because she could feel the heat of his leg near hers. Then something soft and warm draped around her shoulders, making her jump. She reached up with one hand, surprised to feel the comforting softness of a fleece blanket. She adjusted the blanket more fully around her shoulders then glanced at Harland.
His face was lost in the shadows, his expression unreadable. But she could feel him watching her, knew he was studying her.
"I thought you might be a little cold, sitting out here without your coat."
"Oh. Th-thank you."
"No problem." He looked away and shifted on the bench, stretching his long legs in front of him. He propped his elbows on the table behind him and tilted his head back. Courtney's breath caught in her throat as memories assailed her.
How many times had he sat just like that, on this same exact picnic table? He'd stare up at the sky and point out the different constellations to her. Some of them were the actual constellations but mostly it was just stuff he made up. Silly things, like Horace the Hockey Player and Winifred the Wimp. They would sit out here for hours, his arm draped around her shoulders, and just talk.
Talk about whatever happened that day. About what they would do tomorrow. About their plans and dreams for the future.
Courtney's throat thickened and she looked away. How long ago had that been? A lifetime ago, when they were both different people, before real life caught up to them.
"You okay?"
"Hm? Yeah. Fine." She pulled the blanket more tightly around her, hoping he hadn't noticed the husky thickness of her voice.
"He peed."
She glanced at him, careful not to meet his eyes. It didn't matter, he was still gazing up at the sky. "What?"
Harland turned his head, just enough so she could see his crooked smile. "Noah peed. Standing up. The kid needs to work on his aim, though."
The sound she made couldn't really be called a laugh. It was more like a whimper, a choked mix of laughter and sorrow that she didn't quite understand. Harland turned toward her, one hand reaching out. He stopped, letting his hand drop into his lap before he actually touched her.
"Don't worry, he didn't make that big of a mess. And I cleaned it up, so…" His voice trailed off and he just sat there, watching her. She cleared her throat and looked away.
"Oh. Uh, thanks." Thanks? That was all she could think to say? It seemed so…inadequate. Forced. Nothing more than an empty word uttered to fill an awkward silence between two people who no longer knew each other.
The thought filled her with even more sorrow. What was going on with her tonight? Why all the sadness? Why the trip down memory lane, filled with memories more bitter than sweet? No, that wasn't true. The memories weren't bitter, not all of them. Just the ones at the end, when things had fallen apart.
"By the way, I like your hair."
Courtney was sure her mouth was hanging open. What was Harland up to? She glanced at him but he wasn't looking at her. He was bent over, his clasped hands hanging loosely between his legs.
She brought a hand up to her hair, fingering it self-consciously. "My hair?"
He turned his head and grinned. "Yeah. The color. I like it. I meant to tell you earlier."
He liked her hair? He actually noticed her hair? She hadn't even given it any thought and now he was sitting here, making it a point to tell her he liked it?
She looked away again, discomfort filling her as she muttered thanks.
They both sat there, mere inches separating them physically but a lifetime of distance between them in reality. She kept expecting him to get up and leave, kept waiting for him to get up and leave. Why was he still here? Noah was no doubt in bed, probably already asleep. There was no reason for Harland to still be here.
But he didn't move, didn't leave, didn't say anything. The silence stretched around them, broken only by the occasional sound of a car passing by out front, or the sound of a door closing a few houses down. And at some point, the silence was no longer uncomfortable, no longer strained or awkward.
And then Harland spoke again, his voice soft, too quiet and serious.
"I'm sorry."
Courtney stiffened again. She shook her head, tried to force a smile she didn't feel. "For the mess? You don't have to be. You cleaned it up, right?"
A large hand closed over her leg, its warmth almost scalding her. She stiffened even more, turned to find Harland watching her, his gaze too intense, focused solely on her. Her heart slammed into her chest and her lungs squeezed together, making it hard to breathe.
"Not for that, Courtney."
She wanted to look away, needed to look away. But his gaze held hers, as forcefully as if he was physically pinning her in place with his large body. She shook her head. In denial? But of what? Or was she merely begging him not to say anyth
ing else?
"I—" He stopped, his mouth pursed in a tight line. She could see his hesitation, feel his wariness. But he didn't look away. "The way I treated you. The things I said…you have every right to hate me."
"Harland, I—"
"Let me finish." He took a deep breath and finally looked away, glanced down at his hand, still resting on her leg. He moved it away, curled it into a fist and placed it on top of his own leg. "I was an ass. Worse than an ass. Hell, some people would say that hasn't changed. But I didn't mean—I should have never said what I did. I shouldn't have—"
"Harland, don't. Please." Her voice broke, her throat clogged with the same tears filling her eyes. She didn't want to hear him say these things, didn't want to relive those awful moments from that day three years ago.
He looked up, whatever emotion he may have been feeling hidden by the shadows covering his eyes. Then he pulled her into his arms, his hand cradling the back of her head as he guided it to rest against his shoulder, and held her. Just held her, his arms tight and warm, his embrace somehow comforting.
Courtney cried. She didn't want to, tried to hold it back. She'd cried too many times, wasted too many tears. Tears were worthless, accomplishing nothing except draining her. But she cried anyway, silent tears that burned her eyes and scorched her skin. And Harland just kept holding her, slowly rocking her back and forth, much like she sometimes rocked Noah. She heard him speaking, felt the rumble of the words in his chest, felt the warm air of his breath against her ear. But the words had no meaning, spoken too softly for her to understand.
She had no idea how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? No, not that long. She sniffled, hiccupped, then pulled back, trying to look away so she could wipe her face. Harland's right arm was still draped around her shoulder, a warm weight that both soothed her and made her wary.
"I got your shirt wet."
Harland laughed, the sound a short choke. "Nah. I'm pretty sure our son did that earlier."
Our son.
Two little words. Simple words. A mere six letters. How could they instill so much fear in her?
And so much hope. Hope? No, that was nothing but foolishness. Nothing but insanity.
She tilted her head, a sense of shyness coming over her as she watched Harland. He had changed, and not just physically. They had both changed. How could they not have, after everything they had each been through?
But she could still see the boy hiding beneath the hard shell of the man: uncertain of himself, awkward, lonely. Always pushing himself for a sliver of recognition and getting kicked instead. Afraid and pretending not to be, wondering what obstacle life would throw at him next.
Maybe that was why she said what she did. Or maybe she just wanted to give the father of her son a small gift. Or maybe, more likely, she was just simply tired. The reason didn't matter.
Courtney reached out and placed her hand against his cheek. Her fingers trembled against the warm skin, the stubble on his jaw rough yet somehow comforting at the same time. "I don't hate you, Harland. Not anymore. Not for a long time."
His eyes widened, brightened with a flare of…something. She should have seen it coming, should have prepared herself for when he leaned forward, for when his mouth claimed hers.
Prepared herself? No, there was no way she could have prepared for this. His lips were soft, gentle. Coaxing. The kiss so tender, like he was being given a precious gift to treasure. Her mouth opened under his, their tongues meeting in a hesitant reintroduction. Seeking, tasting. Learning again what each had known so well before.
And then Harland pulled away, startling her, leaving her feeling empty. He ran the tip of his thumb across her bottom lip and offered her a small smile.
"I need to go."
She blinked, too dazed to speak. From the kiss? Her reaction to the kiss? Or hearing him say he was leaving? It didn't matter. He leaned forward, pressed another quick kiss against her mouth, then stood up.
"You need to get inside, get some sleep."
Courtney blinked but he was already walking away, disappearing around the side of the house, disappearing into the shadows.
She pulled the fleece blanket tight around her shoulders, wondering what had just happened.
Wondering how she felt about it. Wondering what she should do about it.
She sat that way for a long time, with no answer except the silence of the night.
Chapter Fourteen
"So out with it."
"Yeah, man. Details. And a lot of them."
Harland spun the mug of beer between his palms, wishing he could ignore the men on either side of him. Not much of a chance of that happening. No, if he wanted to ignore them, he should have never agreed to go with them after the practice. But he did, and now here they were, sitting at the bar inside Mystics.
The place was just starting to fill, mostly with patrons heading to the restaurant side for dinner. The bar area itself was still relatively empty. That would change in a few hours, whenever the night's choice for music—a band or a DJ—showed up. It was a weeknight, so it wouldn't be standing-room-only packed, but it would still be crowded.
And Jason and Zach would probably still be here, looking to hook-up with whoever was on tonight's menu. Was it the place that drew the girls du jour? Harland took a sip of beer and looked around, not surprised to see a few of the female patrons already staring, their gazes curious and hungry.
No, it couldn't be the location. He saw the same reactions, the same come-ons, no matter where they went. It probably had more to do with Zach constantly posting on social media, like he was throwing up a neon sign advertising his whereabouts.
Did Jason do the same thing? Maybe. Or maybe he was just enjoying the side benefits of Zach's constant posting. It didn't matter, not when the end result was the same.
Too bad neither one of them seemed interested in hooking up right now, though. In a few hours, yeah. But right now, Jason and Zach both seemed more interested in pestering the living shit out of him.
Harland took another sip of beer, put the mug down and pushed it away. "There's nothing to tell."
"Oh bullshit. Don't even play that fucking game." Jason's voice was too loud, carrying across the bar. The young girl behind the bar—hell, was she even old enough to be working here?—looked over at them. Even from this distance, Harland could see the faint blush stain her round cheeks.
"Keep your voice down. Christ, Emory. We're not in the locker room."
"Since when do you care?" Jason tried to blow it off but he looked around, seemed to remember where they were, and lowered his voice. "Stop stalling. Now what the fuck did you mean last night when you said you had a kid? Is that why your game went to total shit last year?"
"Yeah, that would explain a lot. It's not like that shit just happens every day, you know?" Zach nudged him with a hard elbow then wiggled his dark brows, like they were sharing some kind of inside joke. Harland rolled his eyes, ignoring the comment about his game. Only he knew the real reason, and it had nothing to do with Noah.
And it wasn't something he planned on sharing with anyone. Ever.
He glanced back at Zach, who was still wiggling his eyebrows like some kind of whack job. "Are you sure you didn't get lead poisoning with your last ink job?"
Zach frowned and glanced down at his arms. The left one sported a full sleeve, a mix of Japanese and traditional, the detail exquisitely done. The start of a partial sleeve covered his right arm from the elbow down. The latest addition—a new school rendering of a hockey player—was still fresh, the skin slightly glossy from the ointment. Why Zach had chosen to get it a few days before scheduled games was a question only he could answer.
He looked back at Harland, still frowning. "Why would you even say something like that?"
"Never mind, it doesn't matter."
Jason leaned in front of him, nearly knocking over the mug of beer Harland had pushed out of the way. "I think he just accused you of being brain damaged."
"I
did not." Harland shoved Jason out of the way then started laughing at the outraged expression on Zach's face. "Okay, maybe a little."
"Whatever. Enough trying to change the subject." Zach whistled, the shrill sound splitting the air and startling the girl working the bar. She jumped, nearly dropping the glass she was washing. Zach raised his own glass and pointed toward the three of them. "Can we get three more, sweetheart?"
"Christ, could you be any ruder? And I don't need another one."
"Fine, I'll drink it." Jason downed the rest of his beer then reached for the mug Harland had pushed away. "And he wasn't being rude. That's her job. Lighten up."
"What? To be whistled at like that? Both of you—"
"For fuck's sake, Day-glo, shut the fuck up and tell us what's going on."
Harland leaned back in the chair and blew out a deep breath. He had hoped that maybe he could distract them enough to forget but he should have known better. They edged closer, their expressions turning serious, all joking around forgotten.
"Start talking. What's this about a kid?"
"His name is Noah. He'll be three in April." Three. Harland still couldn't believe it. He had missed so much, all because of his own arrogance, his own selfishness. Because he had believed—no, he couldn't blame anyone else. The fault was his and his alone. He'd made mistakes, so many mistakes. But no more.
He had wanted to tell Courtney that last night, had tried but couldn't find the right words. He'd managed to get out I'm sorry then fumbled everything else. And then he'd seen the tears in Courtney's eyes, felt her despair, and all he could do was pull her into his arms and hold her.
And hope that maybe she could feel just a little of what he felt.
But he hadn't meant to kiss her. Hadn't even considered the possibility. And God, it had been so hard to stop, so hard to pull back when all he'd wanted to do was pick her up and carry her inside and—
[York Bombers 01.0] Playing the Game Page 9
