Jordan Reclaimed

by Scarlett Cole

  “Why do you think this starts and ends with you?” Jordan asked. “Everyone at this table is as much part of the band as you are. Everyone here has as much say and right to comment on what’s going on. It wasn’t all on you. Just lessons learned.”

  They’d all been through enough in the seven months since shit had gone down. Remembering the sight of Pixie, unconscious on the floor, while a maniac with a gun stood within point-blank range of Petal still caused Jordan nightmares. Dred didn’t need to shoulder more of the burden.

  “Fuck, you guys could be on Springer. I’m sorry, no I’m sorry, no I’m really more sorry than you’re sorry. Pull up your big boy panties and get over that shit,” Lennon said.

  Jordan and Dred stood at the same time. Sometimes the guy engaged his mouth well in advance of his brain. “You do realize that Nikan was nearly killed, right?” Jordan asked. “He took a bullet to the arm if you remember.” Sarcasm laced his words.

  “I remember, but he wasn’t killed was he?” Lennon replied, apparently not caring in the slightest that Dred was flexing his fingers, ready to punch the crap out of him. “And neither was Pixie. Or Petal. So we grow up and move on. Shit happens. We know that better than most.”

  “Fuck you,” Nikan said, rubbing the spot on his arm where the bullet had messed up his skin. “Not all of us can detach like you do.”

  “Yeah.” Lennon stood and walked toward the office door. “It’s such a fucking awesome life skill,” he yelled and slammed the door after him, the noise reverberating around the otherwise quiet space.

  “Fuck,” Elliott exclaimed. “Did you really need to go there, Nik?”

  “He’s an asshole,” Nikan said, grabbing his notebook. “One of these days, one of us is going to kill him, and if it’s one of you rather than me, I’ll alibi the shit out you!”

  Jordan couldn’t resist laughing. It was true. If the five of them were in a yearbook, Lennon was “most likely to be killed by a fellow classmate.”

  “I’m out,” Elliott said. “Heading down to the distillery district. Anyone want in?”

  Jordan looked out of the window one more time. When had it become his responsibility to look out for Lexi? Shit. He wouldn’t rest if he wasn’t sure she got home safe. Perhaps he should call the ballet. And say what? Hi, there’s a woman who dances there. Lexi. Has she left yet because I want to come get her.

  “I’ll get a cab with you. Got some place else I gotta be, but it’s on my way.”

  As they stepped outside a few minutes later to get into the taxi they’d called for, two young women bounced up to them.

  “Oh my gosh. We love you guys,” the pretty brunette said, unzipping her parka to reveal a T-shirt from their last tour and porn star–worthy breasts.

  The blonde followed suit. “Would you sign our T-shirts for us, please?” she asked, handing a silver pen to Elliott.

  “There are days that I really fucking love my job.” Elliott grinned as he signed the rather large curve of a breast.

  “Will you sign the other?” the blonde asked him, offering her chest in Jordan’s direction.

  “What’s your name?” he asked as the snow continued to whip around them. He took the Sharpie and added his own name opposite Elliott’s messed-up scribble.

  “Mia,” she answered, her blue eyes looking up at him through dark eyelashes. “I love the way you’re touching me right now,” she said.

  Jordan moved his hand as though she’d scalded him and returned her pen. Less than a month ago, he’d have walked her straight back up the driveway, had some fun, and sent her on her way hours later.

  But somehow it felt disrespectful to Lexi now, though he couldn’t explain why.

  * * *

  Uggs were seriously the world’s greatest invention. After a hard day of dance had bloodied her toes, Lexi loved the way they embraced her feet in what felt like giant balls of cotton wool. They’d also protect her feet from the snow that had fallen constantly throughout rehearsal. Vehicles on the Gardiner and Lake Shore were moving at a snail’s pace as drivers attempted to navigate roads without visible lane markings and snow so deep it didn’t quite clear their bumpers. She stood a better chance of landing a perfect row of seven double and one triple fouettés en tournant than catching a streetcar. Assuming they were running at all.

  It might be easier to walk the twenty minutes up Spadina and take the subway than attempt to take the streetcar out to her home.

  Lexi inhaled deeply, rolling her head from left to right, trying to let go of the stress that had affected her rehearsal and tightened her neck and shoulders.

  Tonight, she’d intended to talk to her father about his depression, even though she felt like Sisyphus attempting to push a giant rock uphill. It wouldn’t go well. Conversations about his mental health never did. But she’d counted his pills this morning and knew that he’d stopped taking his meds. Again. Which meant a rough ride for everyone, especially him. Perhaps she’d call the doctor first and see if he could help, although she wasn’t hopeful.

  The dressing room was empty as Lexi slipped on her thick sweater and down coat. From the day her father had defected, nothing had worked out the way he’d planned. Her mother had once told her that ballet had been a cruel mistress to her father, one that had lured him but rebuffed him in equal measure. Lexi found it hard to be sympathetic. He’d had opportunities, but his ego had gotten in the way just as much as his attitude.

  “How are you getting home?” Danielle, one of the other principal dancers, asked as she bustled in from her own rehearsal. She sat down in the chair and groaned in relief as she took off her pointe shoes.

  “I think I’m going to walk now that the snow has finally stopped. It’ll take an hour, but it’ll take an age to get a cab, and even longer for it to get me home. You?”

  “I think I’m just going to head over to Sophie’s and wait it out, let some of the rush hour traffic clear first. Want to come?”

  Lexi considered it, but if she left now, she could settle in for the night and do an extensive foam-roller session to ease her tight muscles. “Thanks, but I’m going to just get it over with. If it starts to clear up, I’ll hop on the street car, assuming it’s moving.” She rummaged in her purse and pulled out one of the many scarves she had tucked in there. The lovely pale pink cashmere was soft against her skin, and luxuriously warm. She bundled it around her neck, added a matching hat, and pulled up her hood. Now she needed to get out of there before she boiled alive under all the layers.

  “Well, text me when you get home so I know you’re okay,” Danielle said.

  “You too,” she said, hugging her friend.

  If she was going to walk, she needed music. She connected her headphones to the phone in her purse and found Jordan’s songs. He could keep her company on her way. She pulled on her gloves and headed outside.

  The only positive thing about snow was it kept the treacherously low temperatures at bay, which would make her trek marginally more bearable.

  “Lex,” a voice called out to her, and she lifted her hood a little.

  Jordan.

  The tenseness she’d carried in her shoulders through rehearsal dissipated at the sound, and she was shocked to realize the stress was less about her father’s early-morning sniping about her bulky masculine arms and more about the man who now stood on the sidewalk in front of her. She hadn’t been sure if his absence over the weekend was deliberate or just the result of other plans, but one thing seemed clear—even though he might want to stay away from her, he couldn’t, and she could barely control her racing heart at the thought. His heavy leather jacket fit him like a glove, but it could hardly be warm enough in the frigid cold. She shivered on his behalf as the wind howled off the lake around them. “Why are you here?” she asked. If they were going to build any kind of . . . what . . . friendship, maybe, relationship even, she needed to know what was going on.

  “Can we just walk?” Jordan asked, tilting his head in the direction of the city. His hair was
tied messily back off his face, with loose pieces blowing in the wind.

  Lexi didn’t move. “You wrote me a beautiful song, Jordan. One that moved me to dance better than I’ve ever danced in my life. Then you disappeared on me. So unless you are willing to talk to me . . .” She could see her breath turning to white smoke as she spoke.

  Jordan buried his hands in his jacket pockets. “Fine. I was worried about you getting home okay in the snow.”

  “You were thinking about me?”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah. I was thinking about you,” he admitted gruffly.

  “Why?” The word fell from her lips before she had the chance to stop it.

  “Isn’t it fucking obvious?” he snapped. Her heart stopped beating. “Now where do you need to get to?”

  He cared about her, which eased the cramp she’d felt deep inside. “Did you bring a car?” Lexi asked, and Jordan looked down at his feet. His black biker boots were likely cold and uncomfortable.

  “I don’t drive, but I can find you a cab if that’s what you want.” There was sadness in his tone, defeat. She didn’t want a cab, didn’t want to give him a reason to not get in with her and leave her wondering about all the things they might have been able to talk about. She wanted to close the gap between them, take the step, take his hand, do something. When she danced, the music spoke to her. Not the lyrics and the tune, but some kind of harmonic frequency that resonated deep at the very core of her. It gave her an instinctual level of understanding about the piece. Somehow she felt that around Jordan, and she desperately wanted to explore it with him.

  “I actually thought it might be more of an adventure to walk. It’s a little under an hour to Riverside from here. You don’t need to if you—”

  “Let’s go,” Jordan said. “I’m Cabbagetown, so headed the same way.”

  “Wait.” Lexi opened her tote and rummaged around inside it, finding the large red and black plaid scarf she’d worn the day before but had forgotten to take out once she’d gotten home. She took the step toward him, and handed Jordan her tote. “Come here.”

  She pulled the scarf through her hands and attempted to wrap it around the back of his neck but couldn’t quite reach. He bent forward to let her, his cheek lining up with hers. She deftly wrapped the scarf around his neck. For a moment they hovered close to each other. His ear brushed the side of her face, and she couldn’t help but to lean ever so slightly in his direction.

  “Lex,” Jordan growled softly, but turned toward her, his lips hot as they brushed up against her cool cheeks. He attempted to straighten up, but Lexi pulled on the edges of the scarf. Like a puppet, he allowed her to move him until he was looking straight at her.

  It was impossible to not get lost in the depths of those beautiful azure and amber eyes of his. If he’d just close the inch-wide gap between the two of them, their lips would touch and she’d be able to know if his lips were as soft as she imagined. And to finally find out whether kissing someone with a beard tickled.

  Jordan’s hands grabbed her wrists gently and slid them down the scarf so he could stand tall again. “Thank you, Lexi,” he said gruffly, taking her tote from her and throwing it over his own shoulder. “Just walk with me, and I’ll explain as we go.”

  The lake was frozen near the shore as they set off along Queens Quay. The sidewalk was quiet with the exception of the few pedestrians hurrying into the condo units that lined the waterfront. Even the Starbucks was deserted. A street car trundled by as they crossed the intersection with Spadina, but Lexi didn’t say a word. Despite the warmth the streetcar would offer, the idea of walking with Jordan was more appealing, despite the way snow was piled up around the curve of the road. Lexi let out a cry when Jordan swept her into his arms and lifted her over the snow bank.

  “Fuck, you weigh less than some of my guitars,” he said, putting her down gently on the ground.

  “One of my dance partners doesn’t share that opinion,” she said.

  “Well, he’s an idiot,” Jordan said bluntly, and Lexi smiled beneath her scarf.

  They walked along Queens Quay, barely touching until a group of pedestrians walked toward them and Jordan put his hand on her shoulder to pull her to his side so they could get by. Even through the padded coat and thick sweater, she could feel the gentle pressure of his palm, which set off butterflies in her stomach as she wondered whether he would leave it there.

  “Why ballet, Lexi?” he asked as he removed his hand.

  She tried to ignore the flush of disappointment. “I think the reasons have changed during different stages of my life. I started dance because my dad was a dancer. I was too young to care, plus who doesn’t love a great tulle skirt? As I became more aware of my father’s history, and his desire for his only child to follow in his footsteps, I stuck with dance because I didn’t want to disappoint him. But then somehow, I fell in love with it. It wasn’t an instant love-at-first-sight thing, but more of a slow burn as I realized I’d found the perfect way to express myself. What about you? What do you do?”

  As they passed a businessman bundled in a long dark coat, Jordan’s hand brushed against hers. For a moment, Lexi considered taking off her gloves just so she would have the opportunity to touch him for once, skin on skin.

  “I’m a musician. So are you from around here originally?”

  “Yeah, grew up in North York, but both my parents were born in Russia. My dad was a bona fide defector back in the seventies, which sounds way more intriguing than it really is. What about you?”

  “I’m a city boy. What made you pick Riverside?” She wondered why he didn’t expand upon his answers.

  “It was cheap and cheerful while still on the transit lines, I—Ah!” Lexi felt her foot slip out from underneath her. Jordan grabbed her, stopping her fall.

  Heart pounding, Lexi gasped. His hands loosened their grip but stayed planted on her upper arms.

  God, he was wrecking her focus. Ice had killed her father’s career—she knew better than to be careless.

  “Thank you,” she said, looking up at Jordan’s lips, which were as close to blue as any she’d seen.

  It wasn’t right that someone allowed himself to get so cold.

  And she desperately wanted to understand why.

  * * *

  Fuck, those lips of hers were going to be the death of him. He’d imagined kissing them, licking them, and seeing them wrapped around his cock. Half asleep that morning, he’d dreamed of being kissed awake by them, and when he’d awoken, he’d been simultaneously crushed that she wasn’t there to hold on to and relieved that he was still alone.

  “You remind me of an iceberg,” Lexi said, wrapping her hand around his elbow and rubbing his arm as if trying to warm him up. His stomach tightened at the contact. He’d bet his ass that she had no idea how her very presence warmed him.

  She’d called him an iceberg. Cold and unforgiving. Adrift in a sea of cold water. It kind of fit.

  “Why’s that?” he asked as the occasional snowflake fell between them. Her face was so close to his that he could see the dark blue rings around her pupils.

  “All the way here, when you’ve asked me a question, I’ve answered it fully. Yet when I try to shift those questions to you, you deflect or dodge them. They say only ten percent of an iceberg is exposed above the water. So I figure I’m seeing only a small piece of you.”

  They hadn’t moved and probably should. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes a little watery from the wind. And, as she had since the day they’d met, she saw too much.

  “For someone who comes across as kind of shy, you’re very forthright,” he said.

  “I’ve heard that before. But you seem to bring out one side of me more than the other.”

  “What do you want to know?” Why the fuck had he asked her that? He didn’t want her to know anything about him. It would send her running for the hills if she knew everything he’d gone through, and he took no joy in rehashing the past. Learning about her, however, was som
ething to be savored.

  “I know you play the guitar really well, but is it your job? It’s freezing, but you’re only wearing a leather jacket. Why? What made you pick Cabbagetown? Isn’t your head cold shaved like that? Do you have any siblings? Will you ever ask me out on a date?”

  Lexi slapped her hand across her mouth as if she hadn’t meant to let that last line slip out, and he couldn’t help but grin.

  He pulled her gloved hand away from her face. “Have dinner with me, Lexi. I don’t really want to drop you home right now, but one of us might die from exposure if we walk around much longer.”

  It was only partially true. Cold was too weak a word for the windchill. But in his case, it was more the idea of her walking away and him never seeing her again that had him trying to extend their time together.

  “Are you asking me out on date?” she asked.

  “It was more of a statement than a question.”

  “So you don’t want to bring me home yet?” she said and smiled. “That feels like you want me to stick around. Which feels like a date.”

  Jordan laughed. “Didn’t say it wasn’t a date. You just have no choice about joining me on it.”

  “As long as we have that straight,” Lexi said as she removed her glove and took his hand. Her fingers were so hot against his frozen ones that they stung, but rather than remove his hand, he squeezed hers tightly, savoring the connection.

  He looked for a dark restaurant or pub, somewhere he could disappear into the shadows, but all he could see was a little bistro across the street, so they walked over to it. It was mostly white, and dainty. He didn’t do dainty as a general rule. Once they’d hung up their coats and were seated, the hostess brought menus and took their drink orders. Jordan looked at the menu. Fuck. It was one of those tapas-style places, which would make it a royal pain in the ass to focus on Lexi. It would take him the best part of half an hour to read through the three hundred dishes to choose from, half of which included ingredients he’d never heard of like ikan bilis, freekeh, and purslane.

  “I can hardly make my mind up,” Lexi said, looking at the menu. She pursed her lips as she studied the choices.