Chapter 20
JORDAN
“Anything else?” my father asks Monday morning in his office.
He’s actually in the building today, and my whole body is tense, sitting across from him. My demeanor is cool and unaffected by him, as if he were any other boss.
On the inside, I’m a mess, fighting off memories of him being distracted during dinner, answering calls while he was supposed to be spending time with me and my mom.
She made him take me out to a movie once when I was fourteen and he spent most of it in the lobby on the phone, making some hockey trade for his team.
“Nothing from me.” Tate looks at me. “Jordan?”
It’s the only solace in this moment, that Tate is here. I’m aware of the irony, that the man who is firmly on my father’s side is the only thing keeping me from bolting.
Tate’s eyes linger on my outfit—a cream cashmere sweater with matching trousers and suede boots. I’ve never felt so put together and stylish.
I shake my head. “Nothing from me.”
My father watches me. “I heard there was a problem with your apartment.”
I stiffen. Tate must have submitted the receipts for the clothes.
“Jordan will be staying in my guesthouse for the rest of the season,” Tate says before I can say anything. “I thought it would be easier than her finding a new apartment. We want her focused on the team.”
“Absolutely.” My father gives him a grateful nod. “I appreciate that, Tate.”
See? He did it for my father. Not for me.
“If there’s anything else you need, Jordan,” my father says to me, “just ask.”
“Yep.” I will never. “Thank you.”
“Tate says you’re looking for a bar manager. Have you found one yet?”
“Not yet.” I glance at Tate, who’s obviously still reporting on me, and he meets my gaze without guilt.
A pause. “Anything I can do?”
“Nope.”
My dad nods to himself like he’s not surprised. “Well, you’ve always been independent.”
Rage throttles through my blood, collecting in my throat, squeezing tight. You made me that way, I want to scream. You gave me no choice. Depending on you was not an option.
It’s in the past, and I’ve learned my lesson. Need people and they won’t show up for you. Learn to rely on people and they’ll remind you why you shouldn’t.
I shift in my seat, eyes catching on something on my dad’s desk. On his keychain. A hockey stick. Painted blue and with his old jersey number painted in white and SHERIDAN down the side. From the messy lines, it’s clear a child made this.
Pain sears through me. Ross couldn’t summon the energy to care about me, but he has a dumb little keychain from some other kid? What other kid would he know well enough to have been gifted this?
Tate sits beside me in silence.
Oh.
His daughter. Ross is close with Tate. Of course he’d be like a grandfather to Bea.
Well, then.
I stand, keeping my emotions locked away, aware of Tate watching me. “I have work to do.” I nod at my father. “Thanks, Ross.”
I leave the office and don’t wait for Tate to follow. It isn’t until I’m out of the building, walking down the street to a coffee shop, when I realize I forgot to thank my dad for the clothes.