Chapter 23 – Jordan
TWENTY-THREE
JORDAN
“Little Carmichael.” Chase grabs my attention at the end of the row. “We’re gonna go study for the exam. Wanna come?”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Bow tie from the first day of class interrupts. “She’s been known to cheat.”
I glare at Jaxon over Chase’s shoulder. He’s laughing, hand slapping over his mouth from filling the auditorium with its sound.
Our professor skims where we’re gathered.
“For the record, I don’t.” I pack up my tablet and textbook.
“So you’re coming?” Chase asks Jaxon halfway down the stairs.
An hour later, we’re at a table in the library. Chase and I have run through flashcards and gone over our notes, creating diagrams on a whiteboard, all while Jaxon keeps stealing and then tossing my gummy bears at me.
From my peripherals, I can tell he’s gearing up to pelt me with one. As it arches in mid-air, I turn, catching it in my mouth.
“You’re supposed to be studying.”
He doesn’t blink, and just as it hasn’t for the past hour, his gaze doesn’t falter. “I am studying.”
Dad answers right away. His familiar voice, deep and rough, instantly calms my nerves. “Morning, Jojo.”
“Hi, Dad. You sound busy?”
“Surprising your mother with breakfast in bed.” He chuckles, and I swear I can feel it vibrate through the phone. Easily, I can picture his chest bubbling and cheeks turning cherry red. Smitten must run in the family. “Do you know how to unburn bacon?”
“You’re asking the wrong child.”
“Microwavable sausage patties it is. How are you, sunshine? Classes going well?”
“Mhm.” I shift in my bed, sitting up against my headboard. “Media Law and Ethics and Feature Writing are kicking my ass, but biology is…fun.”
“Biology?”
“I know, I know.” Helps when the person you’re seated next to knows how to make everything fun. Doodling in the margins of my notes, Post-its left in my textbook, outlandish commentary while dissecting starfish. It’s intoxicating. He’s intoxicating. “Our first exam was on Tuesday.”
“Aced it, I’m sure.”
“We’ll know in”—I look at the time on my alarm clock—“an hour.”
“Ooof. Early morning class…but I guess it’s better than an early morning practice. I do not miss those.”
“That’s why you still get up before the sun.”
“Touché. But you know what they say, ‘the early bird gets the worm.’”
“What worm is it that you’re getting? The newspaper and coffee?”
“Hey, now. I help out at the store, run a charity, and this morning, it’s spending time with the love of my life before she leaves for the weekend.”
“Where’s mom going?”
“New York for a floral convention and to see your sister. Wren and Meave”—Sutton’s mom and older sister—“are going too.”
“Fun.”
“Your mom wanted to invite you, but assumed—wait.” But assumed I’d have hockey, that’s what Dad was about to say. Official practices should’ve started this week.
Monday was strange. Grief straining my chest when I woke, our former team chat filled with somber texts. Xanie and I went to breakfast before class, but our food went uneaten and cold. Neither of us had much to say, heavy with the weight of loss.
It’s weird, I thought you only experienced grief when you lose someone you loved, not when you lose a part of yourself. I’m wrong. Grief has the capability to shapeshift, never one emotion, never linear, and never predictable.
I think I put on blinders, desperate to ignore the loneliness that I knew would come without hockey—the mirage of friendship and camaraderie I let myself gravitate toward and filled this emptiness inside of me.
Only to find myself hyper fixating on what Luka said and the casual dismissal from the Athletic Director, pouring that frustration into training the past month.
Walking onto campus on Monday was a wake-up call.
Like what I felt going back to school after Katie’s passing, it’s jarring how the world keeps going.
Around us, other teams are starting up, completely unaffected and unfazed, potentially unaware of the damage done.
Player banners hang from light posts, gear worn to class—all of it is blatant reminder.
“There’s a flight out of Madison at three this afternoon, or practically anytime from Chicago today or tomorrow if you want to go,” Dad says. “You should go.”
“Oh.” I must’ve zoned out. The clicking of his keyboard draws me back to our call. “Um, I’m busy. Actually…”
Antsy yet nervous, my feet kick at my silk sheets.
Dad’s quiet.
“I’m trying out for the men’s team this weekend.”
“You are?” He pauses, and for a split second, I’m waterboarded by all the possible things he could say. All ridiculous and pointless when he releases a jovial laugh. “Hell yeah! That’s my girl.”
“You aren’t…you aren’t mad or think it’s an insane, idiotic idea?”
“Mad? No. Insane? Only in the way skateboarders and surfers use the word. As in wicked cool. And the only thing idiotic about this would be you not making the team. Coach Mathieson doesn’t seem like an idiot to me.”
“He isn’t.”
“Jojo, I think this is incredible, and I’m a little jealous I can’t be there to watch. You’ll call me after?”
“First person,” I barely get out before he’s suggesting I set up a live stream or ask Xanie to film the whole thing. I roll my eyes, loving his ridiculousness.
There’s a shuffling of steps, what sounds like slippers padding on the floor. I guess from the sleepy groan, it’s Mom.
“Ew.” I grimace, overhearing their smooching through the phone.
“You should be happy your parents kiss,” Mom’s voice echoes, “and have a healthy sex life.”
“So happy.” I’m one more kiss away from hanging up on them. There’s laughter on their end as Dad tells her about the bacon.
“Jojo is going out for the men’s team tomorrow,” he informs her next.
“Is she? Why didn’t I know this?”
“I only found out five minutes ago.”
Mom peppers me with questions. I answer them as I get ready for class, finally saying goodbye after promising to call them both afterward and show them what a Carmichael is made of.
Jaxon’s waiting outside my dorm. Leaning up against the trunk of a maple tree casually, feet crossed, with his bookbag hanging off one shoulder.
Butchered, cropped shirt and cargo shorts that are little too short, showing off thick thighs.
The outfit is hotter than it should be, especially since it’s accessorized with a to-go tray with two coffees.
A smile blossoms on his face as I head in his direction.
I’ve found him in the same position almost every morning except for Wednesdays the past two weeks. Always with some form of an iced beverage in hand…and usually a half-eaten baked good.
He likes to pretend he isn’t walking me to class, ducking out before we reach the building, pivoting to head back across campus or the elementary school for student teaching. Or as he’ll do this morning, hang around outside the science building till Chase shows up to walk into our shared class.
“We should probably stop meeting like this.” He bestows me with the cold caffeine like someone from the renaissance period. I take the plastic cup from him, bringing the straw immediately to my lips. “People might start to think I’m your dealer.”
“Good thing coffee is legal in Wisconsin.”
“It’s your attitude without it that is illegal.” He winks, fingers graze the bottom of the cup, inching it closer to my mouth. “One drink wasn’t enough. You need another hit.”
I circle his fingers, removing them from the cup, and start heading to class. Jaxon scurries after me, stopping to recycle the carrier before catching up quickly with his long strides.
Comical is the only way to describe Jaxon’s reaction to coffee.
After every sip, if that’s what the minuscule droplet of liquid hitting his tongue could be called, he cringes.
Each morning, when we part ways, he discreetly discards the coffee.
I haven’t told him I know he doesn’t like coffee or that he doesn’t need to keep buying me coffee.
There’s something comforting in expecting him here every morning.
“Would you rather have feet for hands or hands for feet?” He uses his question of the day.
“Where do you come up with these?” I gape over at him. His nonsense shouldn’t surprise me, but it does give me whiplash. Yesterday, Jaxon asked about my favorite birthday as a kid. Tuesday was which Fruit Loop color I think best reflects my aura.
I’m already ambivalent about my feelings toward him, landing somewhere between annoyed and attracted. After what happened in my dorm the other day, it’s even worse.
“Well,” he starts, a shine to his expression, “sometimes the kids at school. Their imagination is…”
“Like yours.”
Jaxon gasps. “Offended.”
“Whatever.”
“I need to return this.” Jaxon takes my coffee, swirling it. “I think they forgot to add the espresso shots.”
I scoff, reaching for the cup, but he holds it above his head, which we both know I can’t reach even if I jump. I fold my arms, right hip popping out. “Greene,” I warn.
“Carmichael.” He mirrors my body language. Coffee within reach I snatch it back from him as an arm swings around my waist drawing me close enough to kiss. He tastes like coffee and fruity cereal and everything I want.
“What are you doing after class?” he asks, one hand drifting to the hem of my athletic dress.
“Group project.”
“Skip it.”
“I can’t.”
“Please,” he begs. “I’ve been thinking about spreading you out on the lab table. Make your body my experiment for the day.” My cheeks heat.
“Tempting.”
“Is that a yes?”
Over his shoulder, I spot Chase already outside the STEM building talking with two other guys I recognize from class. Distracted enough, I don’t move away from Jaxon.
I kiss him, dragging his bottom lip between my teeth as he likes. Jaxon groans as I release his lip, pressing up on my toes.
“Seems like you might be the obsessed one,” I whisper in his ear and without giving him a chance to respond, I walk away.