Chapter 24
JORDAN
The second I close the supply closet door, the tears fall.
Gary is a fucking asshole, but he’s right. I’m here because I’m Ross Sheridan’s kid. I’m not self-made like my parents, I’ve been handed this position. Who the hell am I? No one. I have a famous, talented father and that’s it. I have no experience playing hockey.
I don’t belong here.
I feel sick. Every cell in my body wants to go straight back to my bar, where I can fade into the background. Where there are no expectations of me and no one cares who my father is. Where no one notices me.
The door moves against me but I’m standing in the way.
“Occupied,” I say in a shaky, high voice.
Please go away, I pray. I don’t want anyone to see me falling apart.
“Jordan?” Tate’s low voice comes through the door and my eyes close.
Anyone but him.
“I’m fine,” I call back, wiping my eyes. “I’m just looking for a stapler.”
“Let me in, please.”
There’s something in his voice that simultaneously calms me and makes me want to do as I’m told. I move out of the way, put my hands over my face, and the door opens.
Even with my eyes closed and my hands over my face, even without him touching me, his presence consumes the tiny space. I feel his gaze on me like a weight and hear him take a sharp inhale.
“Gary is the stupidest person I’ve ever met,” he says quietly, and I huff a watery laugh.
He takes a deep breath, and I feel his exhale rustle my hair. His scent fills the small space, clean, masculine, and deeply comforting.
“Can you look at me?”
“No.”
“Please.” His hands come to mine and gently, he pries them from my face.
The look in his eyes goes straight to my heart. The gentleness of his warm, strong hands, still holding mine, is nothing compared to that in his eyes. Soft and affectionate but furious. His jaw ticks and he lets out a slow, deliberate breath as he lets my hands go.
“I don’t know why I’m crying,” I whisper, sniffling and wiping my face again.
He holds my eyes with so much care, attention, and patience that my heart aches. “There’s no shame in crying. It’s good for us. Hayden Owens does it all the time.”
I huff out another wet laugh, wiping at my eyes. “Is my face all red and puffy?”
“Yes,” he answers simply, and I laugh again, drawing a small smile out of him.
“I’m fine. Really. I’ll go back to work in a few minutes, once I don’t look ugly anymore.”
“I never said you looked ugly.” A frown forms between his dark brows. “I have something to say, Jordan, and I’d like you to listen to every word.”
I swallow, bracing myself for the worst. For him to echo everything Gary said in the meeting.
“You’re just as qualified as those guys.
” He lifts a hand like he’s going to touch my face but hesitates and rests it on the wall near my head, instead.
“You have talent, intelligence, and work ethic. I know I wasn’t exactly .
. .” he pauses, searching for the word, “enthusiastic about you joining the team, but I was wrong, and I’m glad I was.
I believe we’re going to do great things this season, Jordan. I see so much potential in you.”
He searches my eyes. I’m stunned speechless by the sincerity in his gaze. It’s like he put my insecurities in a list and addressed them, one by one.
So this is what it feels like, to be one of Tate Ward’s chosen ones.
“And you need to believe it, too,” he says. “Okay?”
I don’t, but I get the feeling he won’t let this go until I agree. I take a deep breath. “Okay.”
A long moment of tension lingers. Damn him for being so kind, even to someone he doesn’t like. He makes it so difficult to hate him.
“No coffee this morning.” He pretends to be disappointed.
I let out another short laugh. “I figured I’d tortured you enough.”
And that low groan of pleasure he made when he drank it yesterday morning made me wonder if that’s what he sounds like when he comes.
“Too bad. I clocked you as a worthy adversary, but maybe I was wrong. And I was starting to look forward to those ten am sugar crashes.”
I can’t help but smile. His eyes turn fond and relieved, and my stupid, stupid heart flutters. When his eyes drop to my mouth, the air changes—snapping with sudden electricity—and the breath catches in my throat.
The urge to lift up on my tiptoes and kiss him hits me so hard I blink. He looks away, clearing his throat.
“I have another meeting,” he says.
“Me, too.” My face goes hot. “Thanks for checking on me.”
“Anytime.” He opens the door and strides down the hall while I go the other way, aimlessly walking while trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and my boss.
Georgia’s eyes flick up from her desk as we step out of the closet, but I barely notice.
I don’t know what that was, but it can’t happen again.