From Max’s team, Jarvis drew back the arrow and landed two solid hits to the target, though not as close as Katie’s near bull’s-eye. He handed their team’s bow off to Cody and sneered. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”
Emma took a step forward before catching herself, then looked to see if Max had caught the exchange. If he had, he wasn’t letting on. Frustration stirred, but she kept her feet firmly in place—despite the urge to march over to Cody’s side and intervene.
Then a cold wave of suspicion doused her anger. Was this the kind of thing Cody dealt with at school every day? If he were the subject of constant teasing and tormenting due to his size and the perspective of being an easy target, no wonder he had so much pent-up aggression. No wonder he kept trying to prove himself to his peers, earn acceptance the wrong way.
She stared at her son as if she’d never seen him before.
Maybe she hadn’t.
Cody waited for the next guy on Luke’s team to go, then warily drew back his arrow, his arm visibly shaking even from her vantage point down the line. He sucked in his breath, and his first shot went over the target by a foot, disappearing into the golden field beyond.
He scowled, and Emma bunched the cuffs of her hoodie in her hands. Max used to have that same expression when pushed past his emotional limit. It was the same scowl she’d seen when his friend got sick in the backseat of his truck the day after he’d vacuumed it out for their first date. And the same scowl he wore when he saw Emma talking to a guy from her church youth group at the grocery store about a week later.
Did he recognize the expression at all? Would anyone else notice the similarities? Their matching cowlicks, identical eyes...
Max broke apart from the team and approached Cody, and her heart squeezed. He bent slightly to talk to him privately, clearly instructing him on how to better grasp the bow. He demonstrated, and Cody mimicked the motion with concentration.
The could-have-beens and should-have-beens paraded through her mind in sickeningly slow motion. Max and Cody batting a whiffle ball. Max and Cody teetering on a two-wheel bike without training wheels. Max and Cody in grease-stained jeans, bent over the hood of his truck.
He’d missed all those opportunities to be a dad. And Cody had missed all those opportunities to experience a father.
Emma tore her gaze away from them as Max jogged aside, allowing Cody space to prepare for his next shot. Cody raised the bow with a much steadier arm and frowned downwind as he focused on the target. Jarvis whispered something and nudged the guy next to him, and Emma chalked it up to the Lord’s grace in Jarvis’s favor that she didn’t catch what it was.
Cody continued to hold his position, the lines of his face more determined than she’d ever seen. Her heart stammered, and she desperately wanted to pray. For him to hit the target. For him to find what he was so desperately seeking. For him to get through this entire experience in one piece.
For him and Max both to forgive her once they knew the truth.
She held her breath as Cody’s amateur grip released. Her hopes soared along with the arrow as it shot straight and true in a steady arch toward the bull’s-eye.
And landed just short of the target.
Chapter Thirteen
“You are allowed to take breaks, you know.” Max put down his pen and studied her over the rim of his reading glasses, the likes of which Emma still couldn’t get used to. The small black frames alluded more to college professor than cowboy, but the contradiction only added to Max’s appeal. He made any look seem attractive.