I reach the clearing and feel the rocky shoreline under my feet, glancing around frantically. I see Rose and Luc.
“Luc!” The jerk said he wasn’t coming here but clearly changed his mind. And he got here before us! Luc’s sitting on a log leaning over Rose who is cross-legged on the ground in front of him.
I walk over to them and Rose jumps up, squealing as she throws herself into my arms. “You did it, Jordy! You did it! I’m so proud of you!”
“Thanks,” I reply, and smile genuinely. Already, I feel myself start to relax a little. Everyone notices me now and starts coming over, slapping me on the back, high-fiving me and hugging me. I thank everyone but grab Rose’s hand again.
“Where’s your sister?” I ask urgently. She glances around and gives me an exaggerated shrug.
“Umm…” Her perfect little face squishes up like she smelled something bad. “Oh,wait, you screwed up. I’m not supposed to like you anymore.”
I glance at Luc. “Is she drunk?!”
“I think so, yeah,” he replies, and raises his hands innocently. “I don’t know who gave her booze. I just came here when she called me and she was slurring her words.”
“Rosie! You’re fifteen!” I say with condemnation, ignoring the fact that Jessie and I were fifteen the first time we tried beer.
“It’s no bigs, Jordy! I just had a couple,” she explains, and then covers her mouth with her hand to stop herself from speaking. “I’m not allowed to talk to you.”
“I’m going to find your sister. Luc will get you home.” I wander around searching faces on the dark beach.
I walk to the edge of the sand heading west because I see two people—a guy and a girl—standing by the water. Standing really close together—too close. If she made up with Chance, I swear, I will just lose it completely. But as I get closer, I realize it’s Callie and a guy named Bobby. They’re making out. Hard core.
“Callie.” I clear my throat.
She turns around and frowns. “What do you want?”
Clearly, Callie knows about Jessie and me, and she’s not as drunk or as forgiving as Rosie.
“Do you know where Jessie is?”
“Why would I tell you that?”
I feel a huge wave of despair for the first time that night, but it wouldn’t be the last.
“Callie, please, I really want to make this right.”
She stares at me with hard eyes and pushes back her narrow shoulders.
“Where’s Hannah?” she asks bitingly. “She was here looking for you earlier.”
“I don’t care,” I say. “I broke up with her. I just want to see Jessie.”
“She didn’t look like your ex with her arms wrapped around your neck on national television while my sister’s heart broke.” Callie glares at me, and now my heart is breaking.
This is bad. Really bad. I start to panic so badly I’m sweating.
“Callie, honestly. I need to see Jessie.”
She sighs and rolls her eyes as she steps away from Bobby, closer to me. She pokes me in the chest with her finger. Hard. I don’t even flinch. I deserve it—especially since Jessie knows Hannah was at the draft.
“I love you like a brother, Jordy, but let me make this very clear.” She holds my gaze for a long moment. Her mouth is pressed into a tight line, her eyes are like stone. “I’m going to tell you where she is but if you screw up, that’s it. No more help. No more chances. Hurt her again and I’ll punch you.”
I nod solemnly.
Callie points to a place where the beach curves and the lake gets wider. “She’s in Arizona.”
“What?” I can’t breathe.
“After the draft I called Grandma Lily, told her Jessie got into Arizona, and she bought her the plane ticket. Finally the cow did a good thing. She left this morning,” Callie says, and I can see the slightest flicker of sympathy in her eyes. “What else was she supposed to do, Jordan?”
“Give me your phone,” I demand. “She doesn’t answer when she sees my number. Give me your phone.”
Callie hesitates but finally pulls her cell phone from her pocket and hands it to me.
“Thank you.” I hug her quickly and start to walk farther down the beach, adding over my shoulder, “By the way, Rosie is drunk.”
“What?!” she yells in shock, but I keep moving.
I walk around a giant rock as I scroll through Callie’s contacts and hit Jessie’s number. I lean against the rock and hit call.
“Hey, Cal.” Her voice is soft and she sniffs a little like she has a cold or she’s been crying.
“Hey,” I say softly. There’s a long moment of silence so I beg, “Please don’t hang up on me.”
Tersely she replies, “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“I didn’t know she was coming,” I blurt, my voice desperate and rough. “I didn’t invite her or anything, I swear!”
“But you didn’t ask her to leave either, did you?”
“I wanted to.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Look, just come back. Come here and we’ll work this out,” I beg. “Trust me. We can work this out.”
“I’ve decided to start in the summer session here,” she explains quietly. “I was going to decline because you promised me we’d be together, but then, when I saw Hannah there…”
“So, you don’t want to be with me,” I say. It isn’t a question, it’s a statement. An acceptance. A defeat.
“You kissed her! On national television!”
“I told you I loved you!” I yell.
“Jordan!” The voice cuts through the air around me like a butcher’s knife.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“She’s there?” Jessie’s voice turns cold and hard.
“Who are you talking to?” Hannah asks.
“Go away!” I snap at Hannah.
“Jordan. I’m done. Don’t call me again.”
“No! Jessie, wait!”
Out of nowhere, Hannah grabs the phone from my hand. “What the hell did you do to him? We’re in love and you’re trying to screw that all up.”
I reach for the phone, but she pushes me away. I don’t know what Jessie says, but a bitter, twisted sneer takes over Hannah’s features. “So you ruined my life for nothing then? I HATE YOU!”
Hannah screams those last words so loud that Callie comes running over. I finally managed to grab the phone back. “Jessie? Jessie?”
I hear a short beep and look at the screen to see the call has ended. Jessie’s gone.
“I warned you,” Callie hisses, and I glance up in time to see her fist hurling toward my gut. I buckle, winded.
Luc and Rose come running over. Luc grabs Callie by the waist and lifts her up, hauling her away. Rose chases them. I’m having trouble catching my breath, but it’s not from the punch.
“Jordan?!” Hannah says my name in a high-pitched, frantic tone. “Are you okay? Oh my God. Jordan!”
“Leave me alone,” I warn, and turn my back and start down the beach back toward the rocks, away from everyone. Tears are filling my eyes and I choke back a sob.
“Jordan!”
“Fuck off!” I scream at her, and continue to stumble away.
I get to the rocks and feel my stomach clench up, and I want to punch something so bad my fists ache. And then there’s a hand on my shoulder. I spin and see Hannah’s concerned face.
“I didn’t want you at the draft! I didn’t want you to be there for me,” I blurt out harshly, reminding her for the millionth time that I didn’t plan a future with her even though she planned one with me.
“No, because you wanted her all along,” Hannah spits out, and tears start to fall down her cheeks. “You left me for that fucking orphan and she doesn’t even want you now! You ruined everything between us for nothing!”
She turns and starts back down the beach. I watch her go for a minute and think about it. I had told Hannah I loved her when she first said it to me months ago. I didn’t do it
to lead her on. I did it because she was the first girl I had sex with. I thought that was love. I didn’t know how much more I could feel for someone because I hadn’t let myself feel things for Jessie. Now that I had, I knew that what I felt for Hannah wasn’t love. It was like and lust. It was painless. Thanks to Jessie, I knew love felt like pain. Deep, cutting, dying-inside pain. I storm up the beach toward the parking lot. Fuck this. Fuck her. And above all else, fuck love.
Chapter 23
Jessie
How was your trip?” I ask Callie as I sit in the waiting area outside my gate at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport with my phone to my ear.
“Fine. Long. Annoying.”
“Is Rosie there?”
“She got in last night but disappeared immediately,” Callie says with a sigh.
I smile. “Luc’s back too, then?”
“Yep. He swung by the house roughly forty seconds after her car pulled up.” Callie sounds irritated. “They went out for drinks and I think I heard her stumble in around three. She’s still sleeping.”
“Are you sure she’s alone?”
“Don’t even joke, Jessica Caplan!”
I shake my head and laugh. “Callie, Luc isn’t Jordan.”
“He’s a reasonable facsimile,” she argues hotly. “Tall, hot, cocky hockey player, horny.”
“If she loves him, she should be with him,” I say honestly.
“Thank God I don’t have any more sisters professional hockey players can decimate.” She pauses and her voice changes and becomes less bitchy. “So, have you talked to him?”
“Not since that nightmare at the bar,” I reply. I’d told her all about that, a few days after it happened.
“He’s turned into a real disaster,” Callie proclaims. “They’ve shown him at games, in the press box with that thing on his wrist, and he looks like a kicked puppy. And he mumbles his way through interviews like he has a speech impediment. And what the hell is with that hair? He’s really let himself go.”
I’m shocked and even amused. “You’re watching interviews he does?”
“Yeah. So? Whatever,” she mutters defensively. “I want new material to make fun of him.”
“Flight 412 to Boston will begin boarding,” a voice crackles through the waiting area. “We’ll start with first-class passengers and those with small children or needing extra assistance.”
“Gotta go, Cal,” I tell her. “We’re boarding. See you soon.”
“Okay, have a safe trip. And just one more thing—we’re having Christmas dinner at the Garrisons’. Love you! Bye!”
The line goes dead.
I want to be angry but I can’t do anything but shake my head and laugh to myself. I wonder when she accepted that invitation on our behalf. Being able to eat Donna’s amazing turkey and stuffing again is worth putting up with Jordan again for a couple of hours—if he even shows up.
This is going to be our last Christmas in Silver Bay. Seeing the Garrisons, the ones other than Jordan, will help make it perfect. I doubt Jordan will even be there. He should be back on the ice any day now. The Winterhawks are playing tonight and will play again on December 27 so if he’s healthy, he would have no time for a trip home.
I turn my phone off and shove it back into my purse, pulling my ticket out. I glance up and see the first-class line is dwindling fast, so I stand and get ready to get in line with the rest of the regular Joes.
And then I see him running up to the gate in his black wool jacket and his black wool cap. He’s got a black laptop bag on his shoulder and his ticket in his hand, which is wrapped in a tensor bandage instead of the brace I last saw him in. Of course he’s on this flight. Of fucking course.
I look heavenward and whisper, “Really? Really?!”
A middle-aged woman standing nearby hears me and gives me a funny stare. I sigh, smile and shuffle off to the left, away from her and out of Jordan’s sight line. Not that he’s looking around. He’s busy smiling at the gate attendant, who is beaming back at him, the way girls do with him. Then he disappears through the tunnel with the rest of the first-class passengers. That means I have to walk right by him to get to my seat.
“Now boarding rows fifteen through thirty-one. Please have your ID ready.”
I glance at my ticket. Fifteen A. Here we go.
My heart starts beating faster and harder as I walk through the tunnel to the plane entrance. Why, oh, why does this have to happen? I don’t know what to say to him. God, that scene outside the bar was so messed up.
The flight attendant greets me at the door and smiles. I nod and glance down the aisle ahead of me. He’s not hard to find. He’s standing up, in front of the second-to-last row in first class, shoving his coat into the overhead bin.
There’s a string of five people in front of me waiting patiently for his perfect butt to stop blocking the aisle. I try my best to hide behind the overweight bald guy in front of me. I see Jordan smile apologetically at the first person in the line and slip into his row. He sits down in the aisle seat and starts fiddling with his iPod. I can only hope he doesn’t look up again.
I shuffle down the aisle and I’m almost directly in front of his row when it happens. It always happens on every plane I’m on, but usually once I’m settled and trying to sleep. A baby starts to wail. The sound comes from behind me, and Jordan’s eyes dart up.
He sees me. He blinks. And blinks again. And then his eyes close tight and his lips move upward like they do when he’s about to laugh. He does laugh—hard.
“It is rather hysterical at this point,” I say to him, and can’t help but smile because what the hell else can I do? “See you later.”
I continue to shuffle down the aisle, past the curtain that divides him from the rest of us mere mortals, and I find my seat. It’s the window seat in a three-seat row. There’s already a friendly-looking guy in the middle seat and a tiny gray-haired woman in the aisle seat. I smile at them and thank them as they let me shuffle in.
I shove my bag under the seat in front of me and shrug out of my puffy knee-length parka, keeping it on the seat under me in case I get cold later. As I reach for my seat belt, I look up and I’m shocked by the wave of happiness that ripples through me when I see Jordan standing in the aisle. Before he can say anything, the guy beside me looks up and his face lights up.
“Garrison, right?” he asks with excitement in his voice.
“Umm…yes,” Jordan says with a tight smile.
“Dude! I’m a huge fan!” he gushes, and stands up in front of his seat so that all I can see now is his butt. “I grew up in Queens and I’ve followed the Brooklyn Barons since I was a kid. I was so psyched when we drafted you. You’re great!”
I start to laugh—loudly—and duck my head, unable to look at them.
“I’m not that Garrison,” Jordan clarifies. I can tell he’s smiling by the sound of his voice. “I’m the one that plays for Seattle. The Winterhawks.”
“Oh? Really? Wow, you two look alike!”
“But, hey, if you’re a fan of Devin’s, I have a proposition for you,” he says, and I stop laughing and look up. Jordan has a devious glint to his blue eyes. I’m suddenly nervous.
“Give me your address and switch seats with me for this flight, and I’ll send you one of Devin’s game-worn Barons’ jerseys—I’ll even have him autograph it.”
My mouth falls open. I can’t see it, but I’m fairly certain the other guy’s does too.
“You want to sit here?” He looks down at his cramped middle seat. “Where’s your seat?”
“Fourth row, aisle, in first class.”
“You’re giving up a first-class seat and you’ll give me a jersey?” The guy is astounded. Frankly, so am I. I have no idea how he’s going to wedge his giant frame into this seat.
Jordan nods. “That girl beside you is an old friend of mine and I’d like to catch up.”
The stranger glances down at me and grins. “You must be a very good friend.”
�
�I’ve never met him before in my life,” I lie.
Jordan rolls his big blue eyes but smiles his perfectly imperfect, crooked smile—the one that makes his dimple show and my insides melt. The guy looks completely confused, but he grabs his stuff and follows Jordan back to first class. A few minutes later Jordan is carrying his bag and his coat walking back toward me. He’s wearing an untucked white dress shirt under a thin, black V-neck sweater, and as he reaches up to shove his coat and bag in the overhead compartment, a sliver of skin above his belt appears. As I stare at his flat, hard stomach and the beginning of his blond treasure trail, my mouth waters. I wrench my eyes away and swallow hard as he slides into the seat beside me. His knees are wedged up against the back of the seat in front of him and his elbows are hanging over both armrests. The little old lady beside him looks annoyed, but we both ignore her.
“Hi, Devin Garrison.” I giggle.
Jordan rolls his eyes. “I get that a lot and I never understand why. I’m way better looking.”
“And you have a better slap shot. And your team is way better,” I declare.
He smiles at that. “Your hockey opinion is always good for my ego.”
“Not always,” I shoot back. “I still think you’re an idiot for not wearing a visor. I mean, you had to wear one in junior, so why take it off? And I used to say what is it going to take, a puck to the face? You should wear a visor.”
“Messes with my sight line.”
“You know what messes with your sight line even more? Losing an eye.”
He smiles at that. God, I love his dimple. I shouldn’t, but I do. We both fall silent. The flight attendants begin locking down the cabin and going through emergency procedures.
“I didn’t give away a first-class seat to talk about the pros and cons of a visor,” Jordan finally says a few minutes later.
“You just couldn’t wait until Christmas Day to fight with me?” I retort, only half joking.
“I’m kind of shocked you’re going home,” he admits. “You haven’t been home for Christmas since high school.”
“Rose begged us. She wants one last Christmas together in the house,” I explain. “And your mom invited us over for Christmas Day dinner.”
One More Shot (Hometown Players #1) Page 17