Chapter 15

Chapter

Fifteen

Jordan

Jordan waited at the nursing station. It was 4:05, and Gertie still hadn't returned. Normally, he’d be happy not to cross paths with her before he left the hospital, but today he was counting on it. He had a game at seven in Chestermere and didn’t have much time to spare, especially with the weather starting to roll in. His weather app had barely mentioned potential snowfall, but the forecaster he followed online had been predicting it would be a doozy.

He heard Gertie before he saw her. Her voice could have been used for Marge Simpson’s sister in a spin-off series. Gertie turned the corner and stopped when she saw him standing there.

“What the hell are you still doing here?” she asked, straightening her scrubs. Her hair was pulled up into a banana clip that spanned the entire curve of her skull.

Jordan smirked. “I’m a dedicated employee.”

She rolled her eyes and walked past him, leaning over to make a note on a Post-It. She had hundreds of Post-Its scattered around the desk and somehow kept track of every last one of them. If any of the nurses accidentally knocked one to the floor or, heaven forbid, threw one in the trash, they all paid for it.

“Are you excited for that staff dinner on the twenty-eighth?” Jordan asked.

She turned her head, her eyes narrowing. “What staff dinner?”

“Sorry, does it have a fancier name? You’re sitting at the table Dr. Mallory purchased, right?”

Gertie lifted an eyebrow. “The cancer fundraiser?”

“You’re pro-cancer? ” He looked aghast. Gertie rolled her eyes, and Jordan laughed. “Yes, the cancer research fundraiser. Lots of small talk. Probably keynote speakers.” He drew out those last words. He knew how much she hated listening to other people talk.

Gertie shuddered. “They needed an extra butt in the seat, and I was promised cheesecake.” She stuck the Post-It underneath the lip of the counter, then picked up her clipboard.

“What if I had an extra butt for you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’d have to own a suit. Or at least a shirt and tie.” She stalked from the nurses’ station, heading down the hall.

Gertie with the zingers. Jordan followed her. “Not for me, for a friend.”

“Your friend is interested in cancer research? ” she asked.

“Yep, and she has lots of money. Might be interested in making a donation.” None of that was technically untrue. Rhonda had to make a good salary, and considering how much she believed in Reviact, she probably would be one of those people to take money out of her own pocket for a worthy cause.

Gertie stopped, and he almost ran into her hunched back. She turned to face him. “I was promised cheesecake.”

“That’s why . . .” Jordan pulled out his phone and typed a quick search into his browser. “I was thinking you could go here instead.” He turned the screen to face her. “I’ll get you a gift card. Forty bucks should buy a lot of cheesecake.”

A smile played at the corner of Gertie’s mouth. “You’re buying me off?”

Jordan scoffed. “I’m doing you a favour. Just because I love you.”

Gertie shooed him away and continued down the hall. “I want that gift card in my inbox.”

Jordan smiled to himself and walked back to the nurses' station to grab his coat.

He waved goodbye to the night shift and strode to the exit. The automatic doors hissed shut behind him, the antiseptic scent of the hospital replaced by the crisp bite of winter air. The wind was being an absolute asshole.

Jordan pulled up his collar as he descended the steps, his boots disturbing the barely collecting snow. He hoped traffic wasn’t backed up because of the weather. He only had an hour to get ready and book it out to Chestermere.

He crossed the parking lot, weaving through the cars until he reached his truck. It groaned to life, and he cranked the defrost, hoping to clear the iced-over windshield enough to see his way back to the apartment.

The drive home wasn’t too bad. He was able to maneuver around most of the Vancouver transplants who didn’t know how to drive in Alberta. He parked his truck, then jogged up the steps to his place, already pulling out his keys.

Once inside, Jordan stripped out of his scrubs and tossed them into the laundry. He headed straight for his bedroom, grabbed his hockey bag, and started pulling out his gear. He was already in his base layer when he remembered he hadn't texted Rhonda. He tugged on his shirt and reached for his phone on the nightstand.

He'd thought about her more than he cared to admit over the past two days. Every time he looked at his bed, he imagined her back in it. The string of texts with her friends hadn’t helped. Now anytime his phone buzzed, his blood rushed straight south.

That was a problem, considering Rhonda hadn’t ever texted back. She was pissed. Probably. But he wasn’t going to text her with news of his brilliant strategy to get her in front of Mallory just for her to give it a thumbs up.

Which meant he was going to have to call her. He swiped to her contact and hesitated, then moved his thumb to the call button. He pressed down and lifted the phone to his ear.

This was stupid. She probably wouldn’t answer. His hockey bag sat open on the floor, his pads spilling out onto the carpet.

The line rang once.

This was a mistake. He could still?—

“Hello?”

His mouth went dry. "Hey." Jordan cleared his throat, his mind scrambling for the reason he'd called. Rhonda was silent on the other end, but his mind and mouth refused to connect.

“Jordan, I’m driving, so?—”

“I got you an audience with Dr. Mallory,” he said in a rush.

"Oh. Good." Rhonda’s voice was clipped.

Jordan frowned. That was not the reaction he'd been expecting. He'd anticipated at least a little gratitude. Maybe some gushing. Or best case, a “Thank you, Jordan, you're amazing,”

He scoffed. “Okay.”

“What?”

Jordan's jaw tightened. He didn't want to be petty, but he'd gone out of his way to make that connection for her. It cost him cheesecake money. “Nothing.” He drew a breath, trying to keep his tone level. "Dr. Mallory has a table at the Founders Event on Monday. I got a ticket for you."

The line was silent for a beat. "At the dinner?"

“Yeah.” So she’d heard of it. “I pulled a few strings.”

Rhonda was again silent on the other end, and Jordan's frustration bubbled up. She had what she wanted and now didn’t have any use for him. He’d seen it coming this time, at least. “You’re welcome,” he snapped.

“What?”

“I thought what you meant to say was ‘Thank you, Jordan, for going out of your way to do me this favour.’ So I’m saying ‘You’re welcome.’”

“Jordan—”

“No, it’s fine. I get it. I’ll?—”

“Jordan, can you shut the hell up?”

He bristled, then paused as his brain registered information he wasn’t consciously tuning in to. Her voice was shrill. Her breathing was heavy.

“I’m sorry. I can’t see the road. My brain can’t take anything else in,” she blurted.

Jordan spun to the window. Big fat flakes swirled outside the glass. She was driving. She’d said as much a few seconds ago, but it hadn’t registered. “Where are you?” he asked.

Rhonda’s breath came fast and shallow through the phone. “I don’t know. I passed the signs for Airdrie. I think? I don’t know—” Her voice broke. The visibility didn’t seem awful outside his apartment complex, but storms had a tendency to break a bit further north.

"Rhonda, listen to me. I want you to take a deep breath. Can you do that?" Jordan's voice was steady, his training taking over. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."

“The tires are slipping!”

“ Breathe. I want you to ease off the gas. Gently. Let your car slow down on its own. Don't slam on the brakes, just let it coast." Jordan's grip tightened on the phone. "You're doing great. Just keep your hands on the wheel, and look as far ahead as you can. Try to focus on any taillights or road signs. Anything that can give you a point of reference."

Rhonda sniffed. "I can't see a damn thing! I’m going to pull over.”

“Rhonda, you have to wait for an exit or a pull out. You can’t?—”

The line clicked dead. Jordan stood in stunned silence, staring at his phone. He glanced down at his hockey bag, then pulled a hoodie from the hooks next to his closet, and stalked out of the room.

He grabbed his keys, shoved his feet into his boots and grabbed his winter coat and a toque, then ran out the front door and into the howling wind.