Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

Rhonda

Rhonda woke up feeling like her head was stuffed with cotton, every muscle in her body heavy and sluggish. She blinked at the ceiling, piecing together where she was. Right. Penny and Brett’s new guest room. She lifted up the sheets. In her bra and panties. Perfect. Hopefully Brett didn’t see anything he didn’t want to.

Sunlight filtered in through gauzy white curtains. A tall, unmarked dresser stood against one wall, and a reading chair was tucked in the corner with an Instagram-worthy stack of books on the delicate side table next to it. A watercolour of peonies hung on the far wall, and the walls were a soft grey just like the rest of the house. It was simple but cozy, and she’d take that over the fluorescent lights of urgent care any day.

Rhonda pushed herself up on one elbow, squinting at the clock on the side table. 8:12 a.m. Her heart thudded, her Cortisol spiking—had she slept through an alarm? Had she even set an alarm?

Her phone sat on the nightstand, charging, and she grabbed it, flipping through her calendar. Nothing scheduled today. She had no hospital visits, no appointments. Her heart released its grasp on her throat and settled back in her chest.

Which made plenty of space for her mind to circle back to last night. She groaned, pressing her palms against her face as flashes of moments and conversations in the urgent care came back, hazy but vivid. Aaron had been standing next to her, his hand on her arm, but then . . . Jordan.

Her cheeks grew warm as she remembered him walking through the door. The way he’d frozen, the whites of his eyes growing. How he’d recognized her right away was beyond her. By how tight her skin felt, she must’ve looked like she’d run into a beehive with her mouth open.

She thought of his hands brushing over her skin as he checked her vitals, his voice saying “ just a little pinch ” as he administered the IV. The whole thing felt like a fever dream, but Rhonda glanced down at her arm and found the cotton ball and tape still there in the crook of her elbow.

Fenugreek. Rhonda shivered at the memory of her throat on fire, the sensation of a hand squeezing around her neck. How many foreign dishes had she eaten in blissful ignorance? And what else could it be hiding in? She made a mental note to always carry the EpiPen. She was going to have to purchase a larger bum bag.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded to the small washroom attached to the guest room. Gleaming white tiles, an oval mirror, towels in greys and creams. It was so Penny—everything in its place, clean and functional.

Her own washroom, on the other hand, looked like she’d just checked in for a week-long vacation. It wasn’t too far from reality, considering how much she travelled. Everything was out. Easily accessible. She’d tried the whole organization thing, but she didn’t have the patience to put her tincture bottles away just to get them out again in eight hours. Maybe if someone else were affected by the lack of counter space, she’d suddenly acquire the willpower.

Rhonda splashed cold water on her face and took a moment, the exhaustion settling deeper into her bones. There was a profound hollowness behind her eyes. An ache in the muscles of her jaw.

After freshening up, she pulled on her clothes from the night before—they still smelled like warm spice—and shuffled out to the kitchen, where the scent of eggs and greens greeted her. Penny was at the stove, a spatula in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“There’s our little warrior,” Penny grinned, eyeing Rhonda over her cup. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck.” Rhonda slid onto one of the stools at the counter. “Did I—at one point was I talking about Jord—my nurse’s shoulders?”

Penny laughed and took the pan off the heat. “Yeah. You were pretty hopped up on the Dryl.” She poured a fresh cup of coffee, then plated up a serving of food on a modern white plate and slid it across the counter. “I checked on you a couple of times during the night just to make sure you were still breathing. You’re welcome.”

“So you’re the person I can blame when I have recurring nightmares about a break-in.”

Penny tipped her proverbial hat. “What are the chances that Jordan Wheatfill would be your nurse?”

“Yeah. Wild.” Rhonda took a drink of her coffee, hoping her cheeks weren’t betraying her. She should’ve left the subject alone, but her curiosity got the better of her. “Anne filled me in on him when he showed up at the Dusty Rose that one time in the summer. I didn’t know he was one of your patients.”

Penny settled into her right hip and scoffed. “That was well before I had anything to do with the Snowballs. I was renting that extra room at Brett’s, and he was kind enough to hook me up with Elite League players while I was scrambling for a job.”

Rhonda nodded, working to keep her next question casual. “So Brett didn’t care?”

Penny scoffed. “Oh, he definitely cared. The first session I had with Jordan—I was using the detached garage for my studio—Brett came out pretending he had to look for a lamp or something. He had his chest all puffed out, all hot and bothered.” Her eyes flicked up. “It was super hot.”

Rhonda laughed, her fork hovering over the eggs. “So he was mad because he wanted you. Thought Jordan was going to swoop in.” She took a bite, savouring the warmth and flavour.

“I don’t know. I didn’t realize how much history there was there. Did you know one of the Pucks Deep players put Fly—do you know him? Old captain of the Snowballs, before Sean—anyway, one of them put him in the hospital. After the game, came at him in the parking lot and left him with two cracked ribs.”

Holy shit. “This was a long time ago?” Rhonda didn’t know why she was asking. It didn’t matter. She’d seen the animosity between the players in person and between the fans in the stands.

Penny shrugged. “Fly only left the team a couple of years ago when he aged out, so not that long. There are a hundred other stories, and it’s not just the other players. Jordan’s one of the worst.” She cupped her coffee mug with both hands. “I don’t know. He was fine when I worked with him.”

“Right.” Rhonda’s heart pounded in her ears. He was fine when she’d worked with him, too. More than fine. She’d been with men who made it obvious from the first kiss that they were only in it for themselves. Jordan had been the complete opposite. It was why she’d cruised past the caution tape that night in Okotoks.

Every moment with him in Medicine Hat was seamless. As a perfect stranger, he’d made her feel safe, and given her long list of neuroses, that wasn’t a simple task. Instead of treating her like a brand new toy he got to play with, she’d felt like a gift he was unwrapping. It sounded cheesy, but there it was. Even in the cramped backseat of his truck, he’d found a way to admire her.

Rhonda swallowed hard, the dark intensity of his eyes startlingly clear through her antihistamine-hazed brain from the night before. I guess you know where to find me.

“. . . I thought I would find him on the couch this morning.”

Rhonda’s eyes snapped up. “Who, Jordan?”

Penny frowned. “No, Aaron.” She took another sip of her coffee. “He was so worried about you.”

Rhonda blinked. Right. She’d been on a date last night. And hadn’t thought about him once since she’d woken up. “That’s sweet.”

“I texted him this morning. He didn’t have your number, but I told him you were fine and I’d pass his along to you.”

“Mmm. Thanks.” Rhonda took her last bite of eggs and carried her plate to the sink, her pulse racing when one other detail snapped against her mind like an elastic. Jordan’s number. Probably still plastered to her hip on that thin strip of napkin at the bottom of her pocket. “Thank you so much for breakfast. Text it to me?”

Penny nodded and checked the clock on the stove. She blew out a breath. “I have to get going. But no rush. You can stay as long as you need.”

“I’ll clear out—I need to prep for some appointments tomorrow.”

Penny rinsed out her mug. “You heard that Jordan works at Rocky Ridge, right?”

Rhonda feigned sudden remembrance. “Oh, yeah. He mentioned that last night.”

“Probably not an option. Now that he knows you’re with the Snowballs, but . . ." She exhaled. “I’m not offering this lightly because Brett would not be thrilled with this plan, but they do have an Elite League message board. I could have him reach out if you’re desperate.”

Rhonda’s heart twinged. With guilt or gratitude, she wasn’t quite sure. “No, it’s fine. I don’t want to rock the boat. I’ll figure something else out.”

Penny grinned. “Kay. Just go out the garage when you leave. I’ll text you the code.” She rounded the counter and wrapped her in a hug. “And never scare me like that again.”

Rhonda sank into her, the tension in her shoulders instantly easing. “Got it.”

Penny smacked her hip as she pulled back, then waved on her way to pick up her purse from the bench in the entryway. Rhonda waited just long enough for her to disappear into the mudroom, then raced into the guest bedroom like she was a sixteen-year-old who tricked her parents into letting her skip school.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the napkin, then wrestled her phone from its charger on the nightstand. She tapped on a new text message, her fingers hovering over the numeric keypad.

This was for work. Jordan had a connection there at the hospital, and she didn’t have to go through the Elite League boards or anyone on the Snowballs to get in touch with him. Nobody on the team would blame her for accidentally meeting him at work, just like they didn’t hold it against Penny when she’d treated him before she’d been wrapped into the family fold.

Rhonda typed the number, then jumped when her phone vibrated in her hand. A text from Penny with the garage code. And Aaron’s number. She swiped out of that conversation and went back to her new message and began to type.

This message is for Jordan Wheatfill. Checking if this is still your number? This is Rhonda. If you don’t remember me, I was a recent patient—food allergy.

She didn’t want to say too much in case she was texting a random stranger, but needed to give him enough info that he wouldn’t just delete it. Though remembering her didn’t guarantee he wouldn’t ignore it. What had she said to him when she’d gotten out of his truck? Something about how she was glad he didn’t live locally because he was too tempting?

How embarrassing. It was bad enough she’d had to see him at the bar after that, realizing that he’d known who she was that night and not said a word, but now he had the genuinely horrifying image of her sitting on a hospital bed, sweating through her shirt, with a face reminiscent of Quasimodo’s half-sister.

Rhonda pressed send. She didn’t have a better option. She’d been working for years to find a connection there, and somehow Bailey Winters, the rep for TheraNova had gotten their version of Cardivex in last spring instead of hers. It had performed worse in clinical trials, and they were only offering half of what Cantra would’ve given for inpatient benefits and rebates. When she sent that information to Rocky Ridge, she received a one-line reply.

Dr. Mallory isn’t available at this time.

It was the same response she’d gotten every six months when she dutifully responded to her calendar alert. Dr. Mallory was never available. Unless you were TheraNova.

At least they didn’t have an answer to Reviact, but she’d still had no luck getting in for a presentation. Dr. Mallory had also been notably absent at the luncheon she’d held for other chiefs of pharmacy and therapeutics. Jordan was the first lead she’d had in ages, and regardless of their history, she had to take it.

Maybe the night before would make things better, not worse. All that giving-her-his-number-at-the-bar energy was probably so far gone he’d be shocked to see her text him. She could show up and make a few connections with the nurses he knew, and he’d be happy to pass her off.

Too many coincidences. She couldn’t ignore the cosmos.

Her phone buzzed.

Looks like you found me