Chapter 20

Chapter

Twenty

Jordan

Jordan opened the door and stopped cold, his hand still gripping the handle as if letting go might knock the moment off balance. Rhonda stood in the hall, crouched in a hockey stance, but she faced away from him, staring at something in front of her.

She spun to face him, her lips slightly parted, like she’d frozen mid-breath. Her hair bounced, and one curl looped just shy of her cheekbone, framing a faint freckle he’d never noticed before.

He became acutely aware that he was in sweats and an old T-shirt. Why was she here?

His pulse raced as he took a step forward, but Rhonda put out a hand. “Don’t—you’re going to step on it!” she shouted, and Jordan jumped back. He looked down and saw a pile of . . . food?

He gave Rhonda a questioning glance, then leaned out to see what was hogging her attention. There, leaning against the doorframe of his apartment, was Darcy McClellan. His blond faux hawk a bit mussed, his arms crossed over his chest.

He didn’t have to say anything. The smirk on his face was communication enough.

Rhonda straightened. “This is—I was just dropping this off. For a work thing.”

Darcy nodded slowly. “Uh-huh.” He strode forward, then stopped at the sound of another door clicking open.

“Hey, babe—” A woman with shoulder-length auburn hair ran out into the hall wearing a silk nightie that barely covered her underwear. If she was wearing any.

“Ginger?” Rhonda looked between the two of them. “How long has this been going on?”

Darcy shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re the one bringing bread and cheese”

Rhonda planted a hand on her hip. “You said nothing about the fact that you and Ginger were together when we were at the Dusty Rose. You acted like you were just friends.”

“We are friends.” Ginger walked up to Darcy and clung to his arm, leaning into his side. “Good friends.”

Darcy’s neck reddened. “Okay, you two have a nice . . . work chat.” He gave a wink that could only be described as sarcastic. As they walked back to the apartment Ginger came out of, Rhonda whirled and dropped her forehead against the wall.

“Shiiiiiit.”

Jordan leaned against the wall next to her. “Can I take a guess?”

She nodded, rubbing her skin against paint that was probably applied in the nineties and never wiped down since.

He pulled her back and turned her to face him. “You think he’s going to tell the Snowballs.”

“Oh he’s definitely going to tell the Snowballs.”

“But you told him it was a work thing.”

Rhonda rolled her eyes. “People don’t have work things at each other’s apartments.”

“Um, we did.”

“We had sex after,” she hissed.

Jordan tensed, his blood raising a degree at the memory. “It seems he has his own secrets.”

Rhonda waved him off. “Nobody’s going to care that he and Ginger are a thing. He probably just likes the intrigue of keeping it secret. Like they’re role playing every time he goes to the bar.”

Jordan nodded, trying to match her end of the world energy. “Right. But they’ll all hate you if they found out you knew me.”

“Absolutely.”

“Because your friends are assholes.”

Rhonda groaned. “No, I’m the asshole.” She slumped and walked back to the entry of his apartment and pointed at the picnic on the ground. “This is a thank you. I didn’t know if you liked sugar.”

“Doesn’t everyone like sugar?” He bent down to pick the food up.

“No.” She didn’t smile.

Jordan walked the bread and a small jar of fancy pickles inside and set them on his kitchen counter, then went back for the rest. “Thank you for what?”

“For helping me. On the road.”

Jordan nodded, something white and warm spreading through his chest. “Did you get your car back?”

“Mm-hmm.” Rhonda picked up the last few items and handed them to him. Then she swiped her hands together as if she was miming being finished with something. “Okay. So. Thanks.” She turned and stalked back down the hall.

Jordan didn’t even think to follow her, he was so stunned. He picked up the brownie bites and cheese and barely set them down when his phone chirped.

He found it on the couch, and his stomach clenched when he saw the name on the screen. Claire. He swiped to answer and held the phone to his ear. "Hey."

"Jordan. Hi." His sister's voice was tired. A door closed, the speaker rubbing against something.

"What's up?" He tried to keep his tone light, but he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that always accompanied a call from his sister. Was he going to have to go pick her up somewhere? PayPal her money?

"I just wanted to say thanks. For this morning."

Jordan leaned back against the counter. What the hell was happening? He blinked and scanned his apartment, making sure he hadn’t somehow woken up in an alternate reality this morning. "Okay."

Claire let out a breath. "It’s helping. The Reviact."

He took this in while simultaneously scouring the sounds in the background for any hint of where Claire could be at the moment. There was another voice, but it didn’t sound like she was in a public place. "That’s great."

Her voice was soft. "I’m two weeks sober. I kind of don’t want to say it out loud. Don’t want to jinx it."

Jordan straightened and started to pace. “Yeah, I get that.”

“It feels easier this time.”

That tiny ball of glowing hope he’d tried so hard to stamp out flared to life. He drew a deep breath, wishing he could extinguish it. Force it into dormancy until she had at least a year under her belt. Last year at this time, Claire had ended up in the ER. The week before Christmas.

“What do you need?” Jordan stalked to his bedroom, looking for the keys to his truck he’d stashed on his nightstand.

“Oh, nothing. I was just calling,” she said. Jordan froze mid-step. “Anyway, I have to go, but—” she paused and sucked in a breath. “I can’t really make plans, I don’t want to . . . you know. Cancel or anything. But I thought I could call closer to Christmas. Maybe we could do brunch or something. If I’m still feeling better.”

Jordan blinked. His ears were ringing.

“Jord?”

“Yeah. No, that would be great.”

“Okay. Talk soon. Oh, and I applied for a job. It’s nothing big, just working at the new Target. But I should know by next week.”

Jordan was speechless. The call ended, and he hadn’t even said goodbye.

He dropped to the bed and set his phone next to him. Was this some practical joke? He waited for someone to jump out of his bathroom and tell him he was on Punk’d.

Rhonda dropped off food. Claire called just to talk .

He didn’t know what to do with it. Jordan ran his hands through his hair and threw on a baseball cap. He had to go to the rink. He grabbed his hockey bag and stick and then grabbed one of the brownies on his way through the kitchen.

He was going to be early to the rink for once.