Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

Jordan

It was eight forty-five on a Monday night, and Jordan's lungs burned. He skated a lap, then stopped at centre ice, his eyes scanning his players as they moved up and down the rink. Steele took a shot on Chubs in the net, Wyatt charged at him, then Cam and Nate fought for the puck and lost it to Sam.

Jordan's breath condensed in white puffs in front of his face. The rink was old, the boards scuffed and dented from decades of pucks and bodies crashing into them. The bleachers, mostly empty except for a few die-hard fans and the occasional girlfriend, creaked with age. The ice itself was a patchwork of old and new, the scars from previous games and practices barely covered by the fresh layer laid down by the Zamboni, but he lived for this. For the smell of the rink, the snap of the puck, the camaraderie.

Jordan blew his whistle, and his teammates circled back, their blades carving arcs into the ice. "That was a shit show. Nate, you were out of formation."

Nate grunted. “Yep.”

“Fix it.” Jordan led them back to the boards where they switched out pairs, then started again. He partnered up with Wyatt on defence and got in line for the drill.

"Left your balls in the dressing room!" Steele shouted as Cam skated past him.

Cam flipped him off, then got back in line. They'd been practicing breakouts, and he needed to get his defence more in sync. They were up against Mills Hoodie this weekend.

After a few more rounds, Jordan called his players in, then they ran through their final set of rushes. He banged his stick against the boards, and the guys circled up. "Alright, strategy for the weekend. We know their boys are bruisers, so we need to close those gaps and play smart, not just hard. We can’t afford to let them break through the blue line. No free lanes to the net.

"When they’re cycling the puck along the boards, I want our defencemen to play tighter, force them to the outside. If they’re digging in deep, stay low, cover the slot, and don’t get drawn out by their forwards. We’ll use our wingers to press high and cover the points, so defence can stay focused on protecting the net.

"Offensively, we need our puck movement sharp and our heads up. They’re big on clogging the middle, so we’ll work it from the perimeter and draw them out. Quick passes, work them until they’re spread thin, then hit those seam passes to catch them off guard. When we’re on the rush, if you see an open lane, go for it, but no hero plays—we need that support trailing behind. If they come at you along the boards, chip it in deep and go to work below the goal line. Keep the zingers. They can’t hit what they can’t catch.”

His players nodded around him, and Steele clapped him on the shoulder. "Nice speech, Cap. Almost brought a tear to my eye."

Jordan gave him a gloved finger as the metal door at the end of the ice creaked to life. The team worked to get the pucks and nets off the ice, then clomped down the hall into the locker room.

They found their lockers, stripped off their gear, grabbed towels, and walked over the peeling rubber mats to the showers.

"Hey Nate, is the Zamboni driver gonna be disappointed you didn't get her number?" Cam called out from under the spray.

Nate laughed. "Shut your hole. I was being polite, admiring her work ethic."

Chubs snorted. "Yeah, nothing says hard work like driving in circles."

"You know what, Chubs? Maybe you should look into dating a Zamboni driver. That way, you can finally have someone who knows how to handle a short knob."

Jordan laughed as the hot water beat down on his neck, running in steady rivulets over his shoulders and back. He grabbed the soap, scrubbing at the sweat and the layer of grime from drills and sprints. His shoulders ached from the weight room yesterday, arms heavy from passing drills, but that would all be gone soon enough. Replaced by the fluorescent lights and antiseptic smell of the ER.

He worked the soap over his chest and stomach, then braced a hand on the tile and tipped his head into the spray. The guys’ voices drifted from the locker room, laughing, joking. They’d be out the door soon, heading home for leftovers, Netflix, maybe a couple beers. Simple, easy.

He rinsed off and grabbed his towel. He’d be off by dinner time for the rest of his shifts that week, but he’d swapped his Friday afternoon for a night to ensure he wouldn’t miss the game. It would be brutal coaching his youth team the next evening, but he’d get to nap all morning. Hopefully, since it wasn’t a weekend, the urgent care would be quiet.

Steele grabbed his towel and started drying off. "You think they'll ever fix these showers? I swear, every time I turn it on, it's like playing Russian roulette with scalding hot and freezing cold."

Cam nodded. "It's like trying to wash off with a dribbly garden hose."

Nate snorted. "Hey, at least we have showers. I remember playing in rinks where we had to change in the parking lot and use wet wipes."

Chubs grinned. "Sounds like your sex life, Nate."

Jordan stalked back to his locker, his mind wandering back to that parking lot in Okotoks. He’d thought about her after Medicine Hat, regretted not getting her name or something to go off of, but after his truck . . .

"Hey, Jord. You got plans for the weekend?" Cam pulled on his shirt.

Jordan shook his head. "Nothing special. Why?"

Cam shrugged. "Just thought we could grab a beer or something. It's been a while since we all hung out off the ice."

Jordan nodded. "Sounds good. Let's set something up." He was about to say more when Steele caught his attention.

"Be right back," Jordan said to the guys, then walked with Steele into the other room, standing in front of the line of sinks. This was standard procedure. Every one of these guys had taken him aside at one point or another, especially after barely joining the team. Steele wasn’t green, but he’d had to overcome a lot to be there.

"Hey." Jordan leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

Steele shoved his hands in his pockets. "So, you still doing weekends at the hospital?"

Jordan nodded. "Sometimes, yeah, but I dropped to part-time. Now I pick up shifts at the urgent care. I can work that around our games better.” Steele nodded, and Jordan pressed, knowing it would be difficult for him to say what he needed to. “What’s on your mind?”

Steele ran a hand over the back of his neck. “An article came out. Just an online news site or blog post or whatever. Talking about NHL has beens, or would’ve beens.”

Jordan sucked in a slow breath. This was a constant occurrence on Pucks Deep. Sometimes one of their players did something to incite media attention, but mostly, it came like a sale catalogue in the mail. Unannounced and unwanted. “How’d you find it?”

“Old teammate in Ottawa.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah.” Steele exhaled in a whoosh.

Jordan waited until Steele lifted his eyes. “You’re not that guy anymore.”

“No, I know.” He shifted on his feet. “I just wish—maybe if I could’ve figured things out sooner . . . “

The regrets, the wishing they could go back in time and make different choices. Jordan was all too familiar with that. But it was a losing game. One that only led to more suffering in the present. “You have to accept it, bud. Who knows what would’ve happened if you stayed in the NHL? You have this story in your head that life down that path would’ve been easier, but you didn’t know how to deal with your shit. That’s why you got arrested. If it wouldn’t have been that, it could’ve been something worse.”

Steele nodded. “I know.”

Jordan pushed off the wall and clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I have a shift tonight, but if you want to come by tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Stay with Chubs and Nate tonight.”

Steele sniffed. “Thanks.”

“We’ve got you.” Jordan followed him back into the locker room.

After packing up and saying his goodbyes, Jordan walked down the hall, climbed the stairs and pushed through the rink doors. He exhaled and watched his breath billow out like smoke into the night air as he walked to the parking lot. His shoulders eased. It was always a rush at practice, but now that the adrenaline had done its job, the fatigue settled in. No sleep tonight. He’d be raiding the hospital’s supply of energy drinks within the hour.

He pulled his keys from his pocket, but his fingers froze when he spotted someone standing next to his truck. Jordan's steps slowed. Standing on the passenger side, a thin figure shivered in a too-thin hoodie and jeans that looked two sizes too big. Her hair was bleached blond, and she had a ratty backpack slung over one shoulder.

Jordan clenched his jaw. "Claire.” What the hell was she doing here? She turned, her eyes darting as she wrapped her arms around herself. "Did you drive?"

Claire shook her head. "A friend dropped me off."

Jordan took a step closer. "Who's the friend?"

"Just . . . a friend."

"What's his name?"

"It’s a she, and you don’t know her."

Jordan stared her down, but Claire looked away, her breath coming out in quick puffs. "Get in the truck."

He unlocked the doors, and they both climbed in. Jordan turned the key in the ignition and cranked up the heater. Claire held her hands up to the vents. They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the fan blowing warm air.

"It’s been . . . what? Three months?" Jordan finally said.

"Four, I think." Claire nodded, her eyes fixed on the dashboard. "I'm staying with a friend. I can't go there until Wednesday, though."

Jordan frowned. That was two days away. "Where've you been staying?"

"Here and there."

Jordan ground his teeth. Here and there meant she'd been sleeping in places he didn't want to imagine. He ran a hand through his hair, then gripped the steering wheel. "Alright. Let's find you a place for the night."

Jordan pulled out of the parking lot and headed down Macleod Trail, his mind spinning. He should've been more surprised to see Claire, but considering the last few months, it wasn't a shocker that she'd show up unannounced. Especially since she didn't answer his texts. Hard to do when your phone was being shut off every couple of weeks.

His hands tightened around the wheel. He couldn't take her home. Not because he didn't want her there, he did. More than anything. But he’d learned from past experience that he couldn’t have her around when she wasn’t sober. He talked with his patients about healthy boundaries all the time. Harder to implement in real life.

"You still playing with the same team?" Claire broke the silence, her voice hoarse.

"Yeah, Pucks Deep. Same crew."

"How's Cam? Still working that landscaping job?"

Jordan tensed. "Yeah, but he's been talking about going back to school. Something with engineering, I think." He hoped the message was clear. Cam’s doing well. Don’t mess with him again.

"Good for him." Claire smiled faintly.

They drove past a Tim Hortons, and for a split second, Jordan was tempted to pull in and get them both a coffee. Just to drag out the time they had. But Claire never seemed to turn up on a day off. It was like she had radar attuned to the brief moments between his other responsibilities.

He turned onto seventy-second and headed toward the industrial area where he knew there was a hotel that wouldn't ask too many questions. Jordan pulled into the parking lot, wincing at the neon sign. “This place, okay?”

Claire nodded. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

They walked into the lobby, the air smelling faintly of disinfectant and something chemically floral. The receptionist barely looked up as they approached the desk. Jordan pulled out his wallet and handed over the credit card he kept for exactly situations like this. It had a five hundred dollar limit.

The receptionist ran the card and handed him a key. “Room 214.”

Jordan turned to Claire and handed her the key. He pulled out cash from his wallet and handed her a couple of twenties. “For food or anything else you need.”

Claire took the cash, her fingers brushing his. “Thanks.”

Jordan hesitated, then looked her in the eye. “You know, Alpha House is still an option. If you want to get clean.”

Claire nodded, her eyes glued to the floor. “I’m doing okay.”

Jordan’s throat tightened. “Right. Okay.” He pulled her into a hug, holding her tight. “I love you, Claire.”

“I love you too.” She pulled back, her eyes glistening. “Thanks.”

Jordan forced a smile, then watched as she walked to the elevator. The doors closed, and he stood there for a moment, his heart aching. He wanted to believe her. She was his sister. But he spent all day with patients just like Claire.

He knew better.