Chapter Three

Jordan slammed into the town house and threw his keys at the hall table but missed, sending them skittering along the wooden floor. He didn't break stride, continuing until he reached the kitchen. The last few hours had been torturous. Gearing himself up to get dressed and presentable for rounds had required a pill. Making it through rounds at the hospital then the meeting with Keith's financial adviser had been arduous. So what if he had a couple of drinks beforehand to settle his nerves and dull the pain? The Xanax he'd taken in the morning hadn't done the trick; his body hummed, tight as a high wire. He needed another pill or drink; it didn't matter which. Nothing truly helped anyway.

"Fuck him," he muttered to himself. He sloshed some vodka into a glass and took out a bottle of tonic water and a lime to mix it with. "There's nothing wrong with a drink in the afternoon with lunch." Or two for that matter. Hell, he imagined those hedge fund guys did it all the time.

For Conover to lecture him was laughable. Those Wall Street moneymen were parasites, contributing nothing to the world. He was a doctor, for Christ's sake. He helped people. So what if he took the edge off sometimes, with a drink or one of his happy pills? The stress was tremendous, and he deserved a little relaxation.

The cool glide of the iced vodka down his throat settled him. It wasn't like he needed the drink or anything. Another swallow and it was gone. He'd better get something in his stomach before he really did get drunk. He hit a preprogrammed button on the phone and placed an order for a roast beef sandwich and fries to be delivered from the diner down the block. Checking his watch, he saw there were still several hours before he had to leave for Drew's clinic.

Drew had set up a treatment center for abused young adults, and he, as well as Ash and their other friend Mike, volunteered there as much as they could. Drew's sister, who also happened to be Mike's girlfriend and had her PhD in adolescent psychology, ran the suicide prevention line. Ash, along with two other lawyers, helped with the legal problems, and Mike, the resident dentist, took care of the dental problems. They'd received enough publicity by now to enjoy a steady stream of funding and had hired other doctors, lawyers, and dentists to assist them, but neither he, Drew, nor Mike ever considered giving up their work there. Jordan believed Keith had envisioned the foundation he wanted to set up to have the same type of success.

The doorbell rang, and he retrieved his food from the delivery guy. For the first time in a while, his stomach grumbled with hunger, and he attacked his fries. Beer-battered and crunchy, they were exactly the way he liked them. Once he'd eaten a few bites of the sandwich, he took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and gulped it down.

Except for a few sporadic visits, he hadn't been to the clinic to see patients since Keith's death. His chest tightened at the thought of spending time there this afternoon, but he knew he couldn't bail on Drew again or the kids who came for treatment. They needed him and his skill, and no matter his anger, he would be there to help them. As he bit into the second half of his sandwich, the resentment bubbling under the surface broke free, cracking through the shield he'd built up over the past nine months. How could he explain his anger toward his best friend? Who would understand it?

Irritated at himself, he tossed the sandwich aside. One day, when he had his emotions sorted out and more under control, he would talk to Drew. For now, he'd put on his game face and do what he had to do. A noise from the backyard drew his attention and he got up from the table to investigate.

A dog had somehow found its way into the yard. Instead of growling or barking like he'd expect, the animal's tongue hung out of its mouth, and the stubby tail wagged furiously. The sun gleamed against its short, shiny fur. The dog looked to be a Rottweiler/shepherd mix, and would normally possess a strong, muscular frame. Instead, the sun gleaming against its coat highlighted the outline of its ribs.

Jordan had always wanted a dog, but with Keith's allergies, he'd put that wish aside. The dog appeared mild mannered and not growly; Jordan approached the animal with care. It sat on its haunches, head cocked, an inquiring look on its face, and seemed to be assessing him as well. Jordan knelt down, and with warning bells going off in his head, he held out his hand.

"Hi there." Stupid, he knew, because if the dog went after his hand, his career as an orthopedic surgeon would be over. The dog stood and inched closer until it offered a warm, wet swipe to Jordan's fingers. Jordan petted the dog, who immediately rolled over on her back for a belly rub.

"Good girl…nice girl." He gave her a few pats and could feel how thin she was. With no collar, it was obvious she was a stray, and probably a hungry one at that. "Come with me." He stood, and she followed at his heels as he returned to the kitchen table and his leftover sandwich. A low whine came from her throat. "It's okay, girl. Take it." He placed it down for her, and in two bites it was gone.

Keith had always told him he was too impulsive and made snap decisions, but he wanted this dog with every fiber of his being. Something to love, that might love him back. Having finished the food, she sidled up to him and rested her muzzle on his knee, a contented sigh huffing out of her. The feel of her warm, sleek fur against his hand as he petted her soothed his earlier anger. "You want to stay with me, sweetheart?" Her answer was a lick of his hand.

Jordan checked his watch and saw he only had about an hour until he had to be at the center. Not enough time to take her to the vet and the pet store for supplies. He had to leave her in the yard, not knowing how she'd react to being locked inside a strange house without him.

Now that he'd made up his mind to keep her, he got out a bowl and filled it with cold, fresh water. As soon as he placed it on the ground, near the glass door that led inside to the kitchen, she lapped at it with gusto, the water slopping over the sides of the bowl. After she finished, the dog lay down in a patch of sunlight and closed her eyes.

"I have to go to work, girl, but I'll be back in a few hours. Stay here, okay?" Jordan rubbed behind her ears, and that stubby tail wagged. She stretched out, the picture of contentment. He went inside, showered, and got dressed. When he was ready to leave, he glanced outside to see if she was still there. His heart sank when he saw the sunlit space where the dog had lain was now empty. Shit . Nothing in his life went right. Even a stray dog didn't want to stay with him. His hands shook as wrenching loneliness slammed into him.

He strode back into the bathroom and shook out two pills. Without bothering to use a glass, Jordan swallowed them with a handful of water from the faucet. Unable to look at himself in the mirror, he squeezed his eyes shut while he gripped the edge of the sink. It took several minutes until the familiar lassitude of the pills seeped into his bloodstream and he could relax.

The image staring back at him in the mirror after he opened his eyes presented a man in control, happy, and without a care in the world—the man he used to be. Only the darkness in his eyes and the tightness around his mouth indicated the pain he held inside. Whatever it was, he'd make sure to hide it better when he got to the center; otherwise he knew Drew would be all over him, and Mike as well.

He wished people would leave him the fuck alone.

Once he'd hailed a cab to take him to the clinic in Red Hook, Brooklyn, his thoughts strayed to the meeting he'd had with Keith's financial adviser, Lucas Conover. Keith had always been a good judge of character, so he must've seen something in the man to trust him to handle the foundation. To be honest, the man pissed him off with his know-it-all attitude and sanctimonious talk. But the vacant expression in Lucas Conover's eyes struck Jordan as being at odds with his hard-ass behavior. Before he started working so closely with a stranger, he wanted to find out a little bit more about him.

In a flash of inspiration, he pulled out his phone and called Keith's old partner, Jerry Allen. They'd kept in touch after Keith's death, and Jordan trusted the detective to be discreet and honest.

"Allen here." The deep voice sounded brisk and efficient.

"Hey, Jerry. It's Jordan. How're you doing?"

"Jordan." Jerry's voice softened, and Jordan could hear him tell someone to hold on, he needed to take the call. "How are you? I've been meaning to stop by, but we're working this illegal gun-ring detail and time gets away from you."

Jordan appreciated Jerry's directness. "I understand. I haven't exactly reached out to you either. But listen, I'm calling for a favor." He outlined what he wanted from the police detective.

"This shouldn't be too hard to find out quickly. Who is this guy again?"

"It's Keith's financial adviser, the one I'll be working with to set up his foundation to keep guns off the streets and away from the kids." The cab entered onto the ramp for the Brooklyn Bridge. Jordan squinted in the sunlight as he took in the expanse of the East River and the skyline of downtown Brooklyn. The pills he'd taken earlier dulled the nerves that would normally kick in at the thought of entering the center and having to face his friends. He made a note to himself to refill the prescription with his therapist when he got to the center.

"So why are you checking up on him, if Keith used him?" An honest question and one Jordan had no real answer to.

"Well, you know Keith was way more trusting than me. And he may have known the guy but I only met him today for the first time. I'm not asking you to do anything wrong, am I? Tell me something about him; that's all." Jordan frowned into the phone as a vision of Lucas Conover's face came to mind. His chestnut-brown curly hair and deep-set hazel eyes were so different from Keith's golden-blond looks. Not unattractive, but not Keith. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. What the fuck did he care if the guy was good-looking or not?

"No problem, I'll get the info for you, and maybe you'll come over for dinner one night soon? I know Marie misses you." Jerry's calm, unruffled manner brought Jordan's thoughts back to the phone call and away from Conover.

"I'd love to. Your wife, aside from being gorgeous, makes the best eggplant parmigiana." He chuckled. "If I weren't gay, I'd steal her from you."

"If you weren't gay, she'd go in a second."

They both laughed and agreed to a date and time for dinner the following week before ending the conversation. Jordan's good humor remained, thanks to the conversation and his happy pills, until he entered the clinic. Nodding hello to Marly, the girl who manned the front desk, he smiled faintly as she hugged him and whispered, "I'm glad you're back."

Jordan suffered the hellos and welcome backs of the rest of the staff. Their excitement at his return touched him, but his reality was altogether different. Everywhere he went, Keith's memory waited, lurking around each corner. In his office, he visualized Keith lounging back in his chair, eyes glinting with desire, those powerful legs spread wide, a seductive smile curling his lips. Love, regret, and loss slammed into him with a force so strong he swayed, then grabbed on to the doorframe.

"This was a fucking bad idea," he murmured to himself. "How am I going to get through this?"

"We'll help you, man."

He turned around to see Mike and Drew standing behind him, their solemn faces pale and strained. Unable to speak, he held out his arm, and Mike grabbed him, tugging him into a bear-like hug. Drew took his other arm, and as they'd done since they were kids on that playground long ago, they held each other, healing their hurts.

"It'll be all right. Every day might seem impossible, but look how far you've come." Drew wiped the wetness from his cheeks. "Take it as slow as you need, but I think coming back on a schedule and keeping busy will help more than you know."

Jordan desperately wanted to believe Drew's words as truth. He needed to believe it because his grief was slowly strangling the life out of him. Realistically, he understood. Life went on. Keith wouldn't want him to mourn forever, and he was young enough that he might meet another person to share his life with.

That was reality.

Emotionally, however, the thought of touching someone else and having another man's lips on his made him want to curl up into the fetal position. The sudden brutality of Keith's murder and the fact that he never had the chance to say good-bye crippled Jordan. But he couldn't go on like this any longer. Only the knowledge that it would kill his parents stopped Jordan from swallowing a whole bottle of his pills before he went to bed at night. To think he was the one who used to make fun of overly emotional people, calling them weak and failures. Keith had always called him out on his cavalier snobbery and coldness, telling him people fought battles he couldn't understand because he'd been lucky to live a life untouched by hardship or pain.

I didn't know what you meant until now. I've been a selfish fuck. If Drew and Rachel could make it, I can too.

"I'm going to try. I went to the financial adviser today, and we discussed the foundation Keith set up." He pulled away from his friends and straightened his tie. "Have either of you ever met him?" Once again the recollection of Lucas Conover's sad eyes gave him pause for thought. What battles had he fought to hide his pain? Jordan made a mental note to pay more attention the next time they met.

Mike shook his head. "Not me. What about you, Drew?"

"Nope. Don't see why we would've, either." Drew stretched, groaning as he reached upward. "God, I think I need a massage. I had early morning rounds at the hospital, then came here and had a bunch of girls walk in with lacerations on their faces and chests." He grimaced. "A goddamn fistfight because one poor girl talked back to someone who called her fat. I've been stitching all morning."

Jordan pushed the disturbing thoughts of Luke Conover out of his head and turned his attention to the files on his desk. The center had two young orthopedists who'd been hired in the past six months, and Jordan was impressed with their work as he viewed the X-rays. "These two are good. The breaks they've set are healing nicely."

Drew cracked a smile. "High praise coming from you, who never thinks anyone's work is good enough."

Jordan twirled a pencil around and around his fingers to keep his friends from noticing how they shook. "Things change, right?" His smile stretched thinly across his lips. He wanted a drink. He needed two. Anything to settle his nerves. Christ, he could feel his heart slamming so hard it was ready to explode through the bones in his chest. Before he forgot, he needed to refill his Xanax prescription.

"I have to call Dr. Meyers, and then I'll look at whoever is here."

Drew shot him an unreadable look. "Are you still seeing him?"

"Yeah. Once or twice a month now." Better than the three times a week right after Keith had died.

"Are you"—Drew took a step forward, then seemed to think better of it and stopped in front of the desk—"are you dealing with it better now at all?"

Jordan watched Drew gnaw at his lower lip, and his hostility escaped for a moment. "Sure I am. I'm learning to deal with how senseless his death was, why I have to move past my anger."

"Who are you angry at?" Drew's pale green eyes stared unflinchingly back at him.

Another reason he'd been unable to move forward with his life was his unresolved resentment toward Drew over Keith's death. Up until now, Jordan hadn't thought Drew understood his fury and pain. But the way Drew looked at Jordan right now? The time for that talk was fast approaching. He couldn't do it. No matter that he wanted to verbally flay Drew until he broke, Jordan didn't have it in him to hurt Drew like that. One day, there'd be time enough for the two of them to sit down and have that talk, but until they did, Jordan knew he'd never be able to resolve the divide in their friendship. It was his problem.

"Myself." True as well, and a much safer answer. Besides, he really needed to call Dr. Meyers and get another bottle of pills. He picked up the phone and, with a raised brow, waited until Drew took the hint.

Red patches streaked Drew's pale face. "Talk to you later." He turned on his heel and left with Mike.

Jordan got through to the doctor right away. "Hey, Wes, I need a refill for the Xanax."

A heavy sigh filled his ear. "No can do, my friend. The time has come for you to wean off the pills and stand on your own. I told you last month it was time, and I meant it."

The pencil he'd been holding snapped in his hands. Jordan welcomed the pain of its jagged edges digging into his fingers. "Come on, Wes," he pleaded. "I've gone back to work and I need—"

"No, you don't need them, Jordan. That's what I'm telling you. You're using the pills as a crutch to keep from dealing with your emotions and anger over Keith's death." Wes's voice gentled. "Talk to Drew. Tell him how you feel, and I promise you the anxiety will diminish."

He huffed out a dry laugh. "Sure. No problem. Talk to you soon." Ending the call, he tossed the broken pieces of the pencil across his desk in disgust. Shit . What was he going to do now? He only had enough left until the end of the week. An idea formed in his mind, one that never would've occurred to him a year earlier.

With precise, even steps, giving no indication of the tumult inside him, Jordan approached the supply room. It was also where they kept their locked inventory of prescription drugs. Impatient at his failure to find what he needed, his gaze traveled over the glass shelves until finally, on the bottom shelf, he saw them. Several bottles of medication Mike, and even he, prescribed to some of their patients when they needed to ease the pain from their broken bones or dental work.

He curled his hand around one of the bottles when a noise from behind startled him. When he turned around, he came face-to-face with Drew's sister, Rachel.

"Jordan? What're you doing?"

With an ease he didn't know he possessed, Jordan placed the bottle back on the shelf. His stiff, cold fingers shook only slightly. "Hey, sweetheart, I didn't know you were here. It's great to see you." He smiled and gave her a hug and a kiss.

"Yeah. I came to pick up Mike." Her suspicious, knowing eyes glanced at the drug cabinet, then back at his hands. "What are you doing in here?"

"I was checking inventory."

"We have people to do that. And you've never cared before. Is there a problem?" She squeezed his arm.

Her sympathetic tone grated on his nerves, but he tried not to let it show. "No, of course not. I have to get back; I have patients waiting."

Rachel opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, then snapped it shut. She pushed back the dark, wispy strands of hair that had escaped from her sleek ponytail, and grabbed his hand in hers. "Promise me if you need to talk, you'll call me." Her wide green eyes searched his. "Please, Jordan."

"Sure." The lie tripped off his tongue so easily he almost believed it himself. But he knew he wouldn't. "I gotta go." He pecked a light kiss to her cheek and, with a casualness that surprised even him, walked out of the supply room and into the waiting area.

Two people sat in the chairs, a teenage girl with her mother. "I'm Dr. Peterson. How can I help you?"

The girl bit her lip. "After the fight, they pushed me down and my wrist hurts so much I think maybe it's broken."

"Let's see," he said. She followed him into the examining room, where he sat her down and chatted with her for a few minutes as he assessed her wrist. While her daughter was being x-rayed, he talked with her mother, trying to ease her nerves.

The X-rays read negative, and he diagnosed it as a very bad sprain. He wrapped her wrist up, accepted the thanks of her mother, and collapsed in the chair of the examining room after they left. Thank God they were the only ones waiting for him this afternoon. Seeing patients again was harder than he'd expected. Baby steps, Wes had told him in his therapy session last week. Every small step would lead to something bigger. He filled out her chart and went through some of the other charts of patients the new orthopedists had seen, remaining impressed with the quality of their work. The clinic was lucky to have these doctors.

He splayed his fingers against his chest, the rapid beat of his heart playing against his fingers. He needed something, anything to calm him down. Maybe a drink before he went home. Not like anyone was waiting for him there. He said good night to Marly at the front desk and walked out into the early twilight. The setting sun painted a peacock's tail of color across the lavender-gray sky. Charcoal snuffs of clouds drifted above the buildings in lower Manhattan. Wandering aimlessly down Van Brunt Street, he decided to head over to the Fairway supermarket, where he could catch a quick bite on their outside deck, then go home and have a drink. Or two.

After purchasing his sandwich and bottle of water from the café, he sauntered out onto the deck, looking over the twinkling lights of the city. He drank his water and stood, enjoying the cool, early-evening breeze playing against his face. A young man, probably no older than seventeen or eighteen, stood next to him, shoulders hunched, fingers drumming a beat. He eyed him curiously.

"I ain't lookin' to rob you. You want anything? I got Xannies, Molly, X, and Oxy."

Fascinated, Jordan watched as the kid's hand slid into his jacket pocket and pulled out several plastic baggies filled with different colored pills. His nerves escalated at the sight of the familiar yellow pills.

"Whaddya say, man?" The kid nervously licked his lips.

Jordan smiled slightly.