Chapter 23

Chapter

Twenty-Three

Jordan

Jordan had been all confidence on Monday night. Something about the way Rhonda had been desperate for him in the hall at the Founder’s Event made him feel powerful. In control.

But Tuesday morning, he'd woken up in a cold sweat. Rhonda hadn't texted him. Not that he'd expected her to.

But he'd kind of expected her to.

Maybe he’d pushed too far? Made too many demands?

He rolled out of bed and jumped in the shower. He only had five minutes if he wanted time to make eggs for breakfast, but he wanted to stand there for an hour.

He'd come home on cloud nine, high on the euphoria of feeling a genuine connection. But he'd been in this exact place before. Sonia had a thousand moments of vulnerability, and then she sealed back up like a lockbox.

That was almost worse. If she never would have opened up, he never would have been able to convince himself to stay hooked. The constant whiplash had almost destroyed him. The only reason he could still be in contact with Claire was because he wasn't in a romantic relationship with her.

Everything he’d said to Rhonda was true. He didn’t want to be that guy. Not with her. He couldn’t put his finger on why it felt different, but it was.

Rhonda was pure energy. Her mind went places his didn’t. When he was with her, it was like the record he’d been listening to had been flipped over to secret, alternate tracks.

He’d never been with a woman who was so intuitively herself. She knew what she wanted, not only sexually, but in every aspect of her life. It was like a drug to him. Not having to guess, watching her dive into her own pleasure and grab her goals by the balls.

That was why he’d never gotten Medicine Hat out of his head. Why he’d tripped over himself to get her out to the parking lot in Okotoks. Why he’d given her his number on a napkin.

Jordan got out, dried himself off, then put on his scrubs and walked into the kitchen. He heated up olive oil, cracked two eggs in the pan, and then scrambled them. He shouldn't have gone to the event.

He'd been in such a logical headspace for the past week. Then Rhonda had shown up at his door, and he'd had to endure her wearing his jacket and looking up at him with her dark eyes, saying things like, "I want to know your name."

He was cooked.

Jordan ate before the eggs had fully cooled off and burned the inside of his mouth. He hurriedly brushed his teeth, threw on his coat, and hoped his erection would fade by the time he got to the lobby.

He rode the elevator down to the street and scraped off his windshield. The streets were clear, and he arrived at the hospital with just enough time to grab a coffee. His morning rounds went quickly, which he was grateful for since he had a shift at urgent care later that night.

He tried to double-stack them, especially on weeks when he had tournaments and had to be gone all weekend. This weekend, they were driving down to Lethbridge for an eight-bracket round robin. They'd play some of Alberta's favorites, but there were at least four teams from British Columbia as well.

It was a perfect way to get tuned up before the Christmas invitational. He was about to take his lunch when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, and when he saw Rhonda's name on the display, he paused before swiping up.

He wasn’t sure he was ready to see it, but his curiosity got the better of him.

Rhonda

Hey. How's your day going?

Jordan pursed his lips and drew a deep breath.

“Wheatfill, stop slacking.” Gertie came around the corner, giving his phone the whole eyeball. Jordan turned the screen to her.

"Gertie, what am I supposed to say to this?"

She scoffed. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you like her."

Jordan grinned. He was about to ask her how she knew it was a woman until he realized that Rhonda's name was at the top of the text thread. "I was about to take my lunch, by the way."

Gertie waved him off, reaching for the stack of Post-its.

"What would you say if I did like her?" he asked.

"That's easy. You tell her it would be better if she were here."

Jordan laughed. "I can't say that yet."

"Why not? What are you waiting for?"

Jordan pondered this for a moment. If Rhonda was his drug, it wouldn’t be long until he was desperate for another hit. “I don't know. To know if it's safe."

Gertie scoffed. "Safe? Love is never safe. If it was, it wouldn't be so good."

Jordan's grin widened. "You've been married for thirty years.”

Gertie turned to look at him with her eyebrows raised. "You don't think it's terrifying every single damn day? Love is never safe. After a week, after a month, after a year, after thirty years. You have to keep offering up your beating heart and hope that the person you hand it to is gonna wake up wanting it in the morning.” She turned back to the desk and hunched over. “So I'll ask this one more time, asshat. What are you waiting for?"

She finished writing her Post-it note and stuck it to the edge of the desk. No pudding. Room 278.

Jordan didn't even want to ask. "And what if she doesn’t want it?" He folded his arms over his chest.

Gertie blew out a breath. "Oh, honey. Heartbreak is so much easier than love. Because you don't get a choice in the matter. You just have to endure it.” She took a step closer. “You're standing here, aren't you? Means you already know how to survive that. You either choose love or it chooses for you." She patted him on the arm. "That cheesecake wasn’t great, by the way." She stalked past him. “How was the small talk?”

Jordan snorted. "I didn't even stay for dessert."

Gertie laughed out loud, grabbed her clipboard, and walked back down the hall.

Jordan turned his phone over and started to type.

It would be better if you were here.

Rhonda

See, you said no sex, but then you send something like that.

How are you?

Rhonda

I wanted to text you last night

Why didn’t you?

Rhonda

Too busy panicking about what I said to Mallory

Damn it. I left too soon

Rhonda

I'm sorry if you get fired

Double damn it

Rhonda

You were right. I don't have anything to lose

I’m usually right

Can you still make your sales goals without it?

Rhonda

Doubtful

I'm sorry

Rhonda

I don't know. I suddenly don't care as much as I did a month ago

Jordan stared at that message, his heart picking up speed. He stalked out of the nursing station and leaned against the wall. This was hot. This was so damn hot, he regretted everything he said the night before.

That's me. I'm a bad influence

Rhonda

That's what the Snowballs keep telling me

Rhonda

Rhonda

So now what?

You're bored of texting already?

Rhonda

So bored

I have a double shift tonight, but what about lunch tomorrow?

Rhonda

I have a work lunch in Airdrie. After?

No. I have coaching, then practice, and then a night shift

Rhonda

Overachiever

Thursday?

Rhonda

I leave Thursday to go down to Fort McMurray. I have meetings there until Friday evening, but then I'm home on the weekend

I leave Friday to go down to Lethbridge for a tournament

Rhonda

Jordan hesitated. The he held is breath and typed:

You could stay

The three dots appeared, then disappeared. Jordan wondered if he was experiencing a cardiac event.

Rhonda

What do you mean?

Fort Mac is only 30 min from Lethbridge. You could come to the game after your meeting

If you want

He typed and re-typed different versions of “But you don’t have to” until Rhonda’s message came through.

Rhonda

Okay

Okay as in yes?

Rhonda

Okay as in I'll consider it

What's there to consider?

Rhonda

The fact that I'll be on vacation and won't be able to have sex?

You can have sex, just not with me

Rhonda

See you Friday

Rhonda

I'm packing all black lace

Brat

_____

Chubs’ house was the epitome of suburban living in Northeast Calgary, with its long, straight street and neatly manicured lawns. The quiet was disrupted by the rumble of engines as his teammates pulled up and parked their vehicles, then grabbed their gear and hauled it to the driveway, ready to load it into the passenger van he’d rented to take to Lethbridge. They’d driven separately before, but it was always more fun to get rowdy.

Jordan pulled up next to the group and parked, pretending to tip a chauffeur hat. He got out and opened the storage compartment at the back of the bus, then climbed back in the driver’s seat.

The guys piled in, and Chubs’ brother Mike climbed in last. He used to travel with the team for every tourney, but then he went and got married. Now he had two toddlers and they rarely saw him on the weekends.

Jordan fist-bumped him over the seat, waited a second for everyone to get settled, then pulled away from the curb.

"Jord, your eye still looks like shit," Cam called from a few rows back.

Jordan smirked. "Thanks, bud. Appreciate you.”

Steele leaned over the seat. "I wondered if Country mentioned you on his latest YouTube stream. Haven’t watched it yet."

Jordan glanced in the rearview. “Let me know if I’m famous.”

Chubs opened a bag of chips. “Speaking of famous, I set the new squat record at the gym last night. Seems that piqued Ellie’s interest.” He lifted his arm and flexed.

“Can’t deny a man who locks in on leg day.” Wyatt nodded in approval.

Jordan laughed. Van talk was just as good as locker room talk. Maybe better. After sitting around the table across from the doctors on the board at Rocky Ridge, he’d briefly questioned his life choices. Here he was in his thirties still laughing at jokes about ball sacks.

At work, he put on a mature face, and that part of him did exist. The part that took life seriously, that thought about life goals, taxes, and retirement. But the idea of eating the same thing for breakfast every day and tracking his HDL intake felt like a death sentence. Maybe he wouldn’t ever have to be the guy that sat at a table he sponsored with a sour expression on his face. Maybe he’d be the one copping a feel on his wife beneath the tablecloth.

Wife. That thought brought his train of thought to a screeching halt. Had that word even once crossed his mind in the past ten years? It had been there in his early twenties. After everything went down with Lisa and Sean, it had taken him a while to bounce back. But when he did, he’d been positive he wanted someone permanently in his life. After Sonya, he was dead set against it.

“. . . already texting me. Said I was ‘unexpectedly charming.’” Chubs was still on his leg day story, then. Jordan reached for his water bottle.

Mike laughed, shaking his head. “That means she expected you to be a complete disaster, bud. Low bar.”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Ball and Chain,” Chubs shot back. “Bet you’ve forgotten what a first date even feels like.”

Mike grinned, unbothered, and leaned forward. “Yeah, well, while you’re out here fumbling through Tinder and doing squats for attention, I’m at home with a wife who knows how to make lasagna better than your mom.”

Cam snorted. “Food flex. Shit’s getting real.”

Jordan chuckled. He was in a damn good mood, and there was one reason for that. He glanced down at his phone, but there weren’t any new notifications from Rhonda. She was probably busy schmoozing doctors.

Plenty from Ethan, though. They’d been texting for the past couple of days. He’d shown up for practice the day before, which was a step in the right direction. Finally, as of last night, he’d convinced him to at least think about talking to his parents and reaching out to Jace’s. He of all people understood what it looked like to avoid the tough conversations.

His phone screen lit up, and he grinned. Think of the devil.

Rhonda

Should be at the rink by about eight thirty. Nine if I suck at my job

Jordan glanced over at Steele in the passenger seat. He couldn’t ask him to type a message out for him. Instead he waited until they were at a red light, then tapped out a quick response.

Try not to throw your bra on the ice, but I understand if you can’t help yourself

Rhonda

What if I’m not wearing one?

He laughed and set his phone back in the cupholder. By the time they left the city limits, the van interior transformed into a makeshift convenience store, the guys breaking out snacks like they'd been starved for Red #7. Bags of gummy bears, chips, and cans of soda were passed around. Steele, true to form, had a protein shake and a bag of almonds. He made sure to hand out judgemental looks like religious pamphlets.

Someone connected their phone to the Bluetooth, and soon enough, the van was pulsing with an early 2000s playlist. He didn’t know he needed every lyric to “Work It” by Missy Elliott dragged from his brain, but there it was.

They pulled into the hotel parking lot, and the team unloaded, eager to check in and rest up for a few hours before round one in the tourney. Jordan grabbed his bag from the luggage compartment and followed the line of guys through the sliding doors and up to the front desk.

Steele checked in for them, then turned and handed Jordan his key. “I feel honoured.”

Jordan took the card. “I need your ugly mug to keep me on the straight and narrow."

Steele snorted. "I don't need to be in the room to know what you're up to, bud."

They left the others and headed to the fifth floor. Jordan tossed his bag in front of the bed and used the washroom, then dropped onto the mattress and stretched out.

“Thanks for driving.” Steele plugged in his phone charger.

“No worries, bud.” He stacked another pillow behind his back. “Hey, you doing okay?”

Steele nodded. “I’m heading out to Toronto for Christmas. It’ll be good to see the fam.”

Jordan gave him a look. “You’re not missing Christmas dinner, though.”

He laughed. “Nope. I leave on the twenty-first.”

“Good. Glad I don’t have to cut your ass.” Steele had a bit of a community at the shop where he worked, but Jordan wasn’t sure he’d really put down roots. He’d come to Calgary with a girl he’d been dating, and when that hadn’t worked out, he’d been waiting for the day Steele told him he was heading back east. He didn’t want to lose him. He was a good guy and an even better winger.

They relaxed in silence until four o’clock. Steele looked up from the floor where he’d been arranging his gear. "I'm gonna grab something to eat. You coming?"

Jordan glanced up from his phone and spotted two socks draped over the chair, one purple and one green. “Do they always have to be those colours?”

Steele shook his head. “Nope. Just mismatched.”

Jordan sat and threw his legs off the bed. “Ever missed a game?”

“Yep. And regretted it.”

Jordan grabbed his wallet, and they headed down to the lobby. He didn’t have an obvious superstition like many of the other guys, but he did have a pregame ritual. He put his skates on first because when he was first going pro, he’d accidentally created a Pavlovian response. Skates equaled pre-game dump. It was annoying to take off his gear. Skates, toilet, then gear. Worked every time.

They found a restaurant nearby and ordered spaghetti. They didn't have a lot of time and easy carbs were the best thing before a game. By the time they got back to the lobby, Nate and Mike were already sitting on the couch.

Nate held up a hand. “You two need to hurry the hell up.”

Steele flipped him off on the way to the elevator.

They didn't have far to drive to get to the rink, and by the time they pulled into the parking lot, the chatter had started to die down. Jordan grabbed his gear from the back and followed the rest of the team inside the building.

In the locker room, their laughter and easy conversation gave way to the sounds of bags being unzipped and sticks clattering against the benches. Everyone had an earbud in, listening to whatever got their blood flowing.

Jordan followed his ritual to a T, and just as he pulled on his jersey over his pads, Mike clapped his hands together.

"Alright, boys, let's focus up." He stepped into the centre of the room. Jordan loved when he came along to games if only so he didn’t have to do the pep talk.

When they were mostly circled up, Mike continued, "We've got Puck Me from Stirling, and while I’ve heard they’ve had some struggles with flow this season, don’t for a second underestimate their centre . . .”

Mike dove into specific strategies and pulled out a whiteboard. Jordan looked around the room. His time in the NHL might have been cut short, but he wouldn’t trade playing Elite League for anything. How lucky was he that in his thirties he could still get out on the ice and compete? It wasn’t a million dollar paycheck, but that couple thousand bucks at the end of the season felt just as good as a contract celly.

Mike continued, outlining their strategy for the first period. Jordan tried to focus on his words, but his thoughts kept drifting. The words “Rhonda’s coming” played on ticker tape on repeat in his head, and his skin buzzed like he’d just chugged Pre-Workout.

They huddled and cheered, then walked out to the bench. Jordan took a few laps around their side of the ice, but that was it. He didn’t like doing an extensive warm up before the whistle blew.

The game against Puck Me from Stirling started out intense, but by the end of the second period, their energy began to wane. Jordan and his teammates took advantage, and by the time they entered the third, the score was four to one.

He came off the ice with fifteen minutes on the clock, and that’s when he found her. Rhonda walked down the steps to the centre section of the stands. Her hair was pulled back, and she had on a dark blue toque. She wore a puffy white jacket, and her cheeks were flushed from the cold. She sat, then looked up and scanned the ice. He waited for her to make it to their bench, and when she did, his pulse quickened.

A couple of minutes later, Jordan jumped back onto the ice, infused with new energy. He joined the line change and took up his position. The puck was in their defensive zone, and Cam and Nate worked to clear it.

The seconds bled away, and Jordan's adrenaline spiked as they entered the final minute of play. He knew they had the win in the bag, but he wanted to put an exclamation point on it. Point differential could influence their seeding in later rounds.

With thirty seconds left, Steele intercepted a pass and sent a clapper up the ice. Jordan was already in motion, and he caught the puck on his stick. He skated past the blue line, then cut left to avoid a defenceman.

Jordan faked a shot, then pulled the puck back and slipped it between his legs. The goalie bit on the fake, and Jordan lifted the puck top shelf. It hit the netting with a satisfying thud, and the crowd erupted as much as they could for an out of town team.

His teammates swarmed him, slapping his back and helmet, but he was looking up into the stands. There she was, on her feet, her hands clapping above her head. He hadn’t realized until that moment how much he’d ached to see her cheering in their game against the Snowballs. He knew she couldn’t, but damn if he didn’t want her to.

Jordan skated back to the bench as the final seconds ticked away and the buzzer sounded. They lined up for their handshakes, then retreated to the locker room. When Jordan arrived after thanking the refs, the air was already thick with steam from the showers.

Jordan hurried to his locker.

"You in a rush there, Wheatfill?" Cam hollered from the other end of the bench. Jordan ignored him, stripping down to his compression shorts and grabbing his towel. He marched past Steele, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"I know that look!" Steele called out, and Jordan flipped him the bird as he disappeared into the shower.

The water was scalding. Better than the lukewarm water at their home base. He let the heat seep into his muscles, washing away the adrenaline and lactic acid buildup. He soaped up, rinsed, and was back in the locker room in record time.

Jordan ignored the looks and quickly towelled off, then reached for his clothes. He pulled on his jeans and shirt, then tossed the keys to the van to Cam.

"Cap’s got a girl.” Chubs waggled an eyebrow.

"Not just a girl. A Southern Alberta girl," Wyatt held up the keys and jangled them.

"Southern Alberta girls are tough as nails," Steele grinned.

“They’ll change a tire on a gravel road and still make it to puck drop,” Nate quipped.

Mike laughed. “They’ll walk three miles in the snow just to tell you you’re wrong. Ask me how I know that.”

The guys laughed, and Steele bumped Jordan’s shoulder. "You gonna join us after whatever this is?"

Jordan chuckled. "If you find something open past ten in Lethbridge, I’ll be impressed." He nodded to the team. “Great work out there.” He turned back to Steele. “Keep me posted. I’ll be back after dinner.”

Nate whistled, and Jordan pushed through the door to hoots and hollers. He wound his way back up to the main entryway and didn't see Rhonda at first. He frowned, his eyes darting from face to face, until he found that white puffy coat.

Rhonda turned her head and spotted him, a smile spreading across her face. Jordan's stomach flipped. They walked toward each other, avoiding the other players and fans milling about, and then they were finally standing in front of each other.

"Hey," he started, but before he could say anything else, Rhonda was on him. She didn't waste time with pleasantries. She wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him down, her lips pressing against his.

Jordan's eyes widened in surprise, but it only lasted a second. He melted into her, his hand sliding up to cradle her jaw. She tasted like snowflakes. Cool and crisp. It might’ve had a little to do with the Wintergreen gum she was chewing.

He pulled back, breathing hard, a laugh rumbling in his chest. "Well, hello to you, too."

Rhonda grinned, her cheeks flushed. "Sorry, I was just?—"

"Don’t apologize." Jordan took her in.

She bit her bottom lip, her breath still coming in little puffs. "Okay, well. Hello.” She stepped back, flicking her hair behind her shoulders.

Jordan worked to draw a full breath, but his body wasn’t cooperating. “You hungry?" he asked.

Rhonda shifted on her feet. "Are you asking me on a date, Wheatfill?"

Jordan grinned. "That depends. Do you have your car?”