A Better Man

by Candis Terry

  Today, that rebellious teen was in tears and Jordan felt compelled to cross the room and offer comfort. His sister’s blue-­eyed scowl had been the only thing to stop him. For whatever reason, she made it clear he didn’t top her list of favorite people.

  Paybacks were a bitch.

  When Aunt Pippy wrapped an arm around Nicki’s shoulders, Jordan should have been relieved that someone was there for her. Instead he only swallowed another serving of guilt.

  Absent from the room was Ryan’s adorable young daughter, Riley. At only nine years old she’d suffered too many losses. The most devastating had come when her mother abandoned her for a career in Tinseltown. The former Laura Kincade’s big claim to fame thus far had been a toilet paper commercial in which she looked into the camera, grinned, and breathlessly exclaimed, “It’s deliciously soft.” Jordan had never thought to associate toilet paper with delicious but they could have used a case of the stuff to clean up the shit storm Laura had left behind.

  As a family the Kincades had moved to Washington State after their grandfather passed away and left their dad the vineyards. At least that’s what the parents had said when they’d decided to rip their five boys away from their suburban Philadelphia home. Later it became clear the move had also been to get him and his brothers away from trouble. Seemed most of them had been good at that. All of them except Ryan, who’d always been mature and responsible beyond his years.

  Jordan looked across the room where their oldest sibling and general manager of their family vineyards took the lead for the reading of their parents’ will. Dark brows pulled tight over his trademark blue eyes, Ryan scanned the somber faces surrounding him.

  “Aside from the circumstances, it’s nice to have everyone together,” Ryan said, his pained gaze dropping like a wrecking ball on Jordan’s mountain of guilt. “I know Mom and Dad never shared much information on the state of the winery business. They figured you all had your own lives to live and didn’t need to be worrying about the day-­to-­day goings-­on here. You might have wondered and you might not. Either way, Mr. Anderson is here today to let us know their final wishes.”

  Their final wishes.

  Jesus.

  The knot in Jordan’s stomach tightened over the bacon and pineapple appetizer he’d just devoured and made him queasy.

  The short and stocky attorney stood and withdrew a stack of papers from the folder in his hands. He reminded Jordan of an older version of Seinfeld’s George Costanza. Unfortunately the man wasn’t there to make jokes.

  “Before I begin, I’d again like to express my condolences on your losses. I’ve known your parents for nearly twenty years. I respected and admired them. And I want you to know that if any of you have questions or concerns after today, please don’t hesitate to pick up the phone.”

  Dread slithered up the back of Jordan’s neck. If ever a stamp of finality to their parents’ lives existed, the reading of the will would be it. He wasn’t sure he was ready. Not because of the content, but because it truly verified the end. The enormity of the loss. The slap of reality that he’d never see his loving and supportive parents again.

  The attorney read through the opening formalities in the document and then he adjusted his glasses and got down to the specifics. “Until she turns the age of eighteen, custody of Nicole Eloise Kincade is to be divided equally among her brothers. The vineyards, bed-­and-­breakfast, main house, and the complete property, which totals three hundred acres, are to be divided equally among Ryan Matthew, Jordan Daniel, Declan Paul, Parker Gregory, Ethan Alexander, Nicole Eloise, and Riley Elizabeth Kincade. A lump sum of twenty-­five thousand goes to your mother’s sister, Penelope Margaret Everhart.”

  Aunt Pippy closed her eyes and bowed her head. Jordan didn’t know if the emotion was from gratitude or a wave of overwhelming sadness.

  The attorney cleared his throat and continued. “Regarding Sunshine Creek Vineyards, your parents requested that the property and its contents not be sold or any part be relinquished by any one party. It was their personal desire that the vineyard, in its entirety, remain in the hands of the Kincade family and be handed down to newer generations.”

  Like a storm cloud, silence hovered over the room as Ryan looked up, expression grim. “As much as I hate to ask . . . anyone want out?”

  Across the room eyes met and darkened. Expressions remained solemn and unreadable.

  Jordan swallowed hard.

  As young kids, it had been all for one and one for all. Jordan had been the first to break that chain when he’d been drafted at the age of eighteen by the NHL and selfishly never looked back. His parents had always been encouraging, even when his visits home had become less and less frequent. Holidays had even become difficult. He hadn’t made it home last Christmas because he’d had a game the following night. He remembered sitting in a hotel room, looking out the window at a snow-­filled sky, thinking of his family gathered together around the tree, and feeling lonely.

  The last time he’d actually seen his entire family had been before the season began last fall. Hockey game schedules were fast and frenetic. The season was long and grueling, with lots of travel involved. Still, he could have made the time and effort to come home. He hadn’t and now questioned why. Had he just seen it as an inconvenience to fly coast to coast for a mere day or two? Or had he actually let the bonds with his family become less important than slapping a puck around the ice? It certainly wasn’t a matter of finances. So deep down, what had really built that wall?

  Family first.

  Inside his head he heard his father’s motto. The two simple words gripped his heart and wouldn’t let go. Jordan believed he’d had perfect parents who had created a perfect marriage and a perfect family. Yet he’d let them all go, and now he felt like the stranger among them.

  He glanced around the room to the clusters of framed images that told the story of who the Kincades were as a family. There were group photos of his parents, brothers, and sister at picnics among the grapevines or some other type of outdoor event. There were candid shots of his brothers grinning with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders. There was a photo of his brothers playing tug-­of-­war with his laughing sister. And even more of Ryan with his daughter, Riley.

  In each photo there were pairings or groupings of those Jordan should feel closest to. The only photo of him on display was from last year’s team roster. The photo showed him sneering at the camera like he didn’t need anyone or anything in his life except the next game, the next big win. It was the only photo in the room with a single person in it. He blinked when he realized how loudly it defined his life.

  All the photos placed around the room showed his family living life and having fun.

  Without him.

  His fault, not theirs.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  In that moment he realized what he’d missed and he wanted it back.

  “I’m in.” He shot a glare around the room before they scoffed. “It’s what Mom and Dad would have wanted. All of us together. Working to save what they labored so hard to build. It’s not fair for Ryan to try and do this all on his own. He’s a single dad with a little girl to raise.”

  Yes, he’d been the worst about putting family first. Hell, he’d never put anyone but himself in that top position.

  Right now his team was headed toward the playoffs without him. He’d never let his team down before. He’d worked his ass off for years to win the Cup. But he was thirty-­three years old and for most of his life, it had been all about him. All about hockey. All about what he wanted, he needed, and he desired. He didn’t even know the other side of the coin. He didn’t know how to give unless there were skates on his feet and a stick in his hand. He had a contract, and the team owner and Coach Reiner expected him to return any day. The team expected him back with his head in game-­winning condition. But right now all he wanted was to gri
eve his parents and reconnect with the people in this room.

  “I’m in a hundred percent,” he confirmed.

  “We appreciate the sentiment, Jordy. And no offense, but your team is racking up the wins and it looks like they’re headed to the playoffs.” Ryan shrugged. “How can you be in with a schedule like that?”

  Declan, Ethan, and Parker all shot him looks of doubt. Aunt Pippy sighed. Nicole glared. The attorney suddenly found the papers in his hand fascinating.

  “I’ll work it out.”

  Getting back in his family’s good graces was all that mattered. Right now he couldn’t pinpoint the moment or exact reason he’d backed off. Hopefully he’d have plenty of time to figure it out and correct the error of his ways.

  He clasped his hands together, dropped them between his knees, and looked his wary family in the eye. “All I need is a chance.”

  When the drizzling rain stopped, Jordan stepped outside onto the large stone deck lined with potted plants and trailing flowers that overlooked the acres of sprouting grapevines. Once the fruit ripened they’d create the flavorful white and rich red wines his father had designed.

  As a young man, Jordan hadn’t been the least bit interested in how the wines were made. Yet his father had insisted that Jordan see and understand the things his grandfather had created. To know the hard work that had been put into the beginnings of something meant for generations of their family to appreciate.

  Jordan realized now what his father had been trying to tell him. To teach him. And he’d let the importance slip away.

  Never again.

  Around him the vibrant green rolling hills merged with the meandering creek in a tranquil scene that brought a calm to his soul. When this place had belonged to his grandfather it had been modest. Nothing fancy. More like hippieville than a real business.

  Jordan breathed in the fresh, rain-­scented air, surprised when memories sprang up and a sting of misplaced jealousy stabbed through him.

  Before he could dwell on it, the French doors opened and Ryan stepped out onto the patio carrying two glasses of wine. He set them on a nearby table and grabbed Jordan in a bear hug.

  “Damn, it’s good to have you home.”

  Immense pleasure from his brother’s powerful embrace surrounded Jordan like a warm security blanket.

  “It’s good to be home.”

  “Those brothers of ours can’t play hoops worth a shit. At least while you’re here tell me we’ll play a game or two and wipe the court with them.”

  “Done.”

  The backslapping ended and Ryan picked up the glasses. “Try this.” He handed Jordan a glass of deep red wine.

  “What is it?”

  “Euphoria. The Cabernet Syrah Dad’s been working on perfecting over the last couple of years.”

  Jordan’s throat tightened as he held the glass up to the light. Swirled, sniffed, then sipped. “Nice notes of vanilla and chocolate.”

  “Yeah. It’s almost there.” Ryan drank from his own glass. “Still had too much of a peppery taste for Dad’s liking.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get it figured out.” Jordan looked out over the property again and that sting of misplaced jealousy struck again. “Do you remember when we used to spend summer vacations here?”

  “Yeah.” Ryan chuckled. “I figure we climbed about half of these trees.”

  “At least.” Jordan sipped the wine. “I remember hiking through the forest, wading through the creek, and pretending we were worldly explorers.”

  “Bunch of dumb kids is what we were.” Ryan turned and leaned back against the stone fence. “You remember that rickety wire net we begged Grandpa to nail up to the side of the old barn so we could play hoops?”

  “I remember being the only one tall enough to get anywhere near making a basket.” Jordan squinted against the sunshine that suddenly peeked out from behind a fat gray cloud. “And I remember the campfires we built on the banks of the creek so we could toast marshmallows.”

  “Damn near burned down the forest a time or two.”

  “Remember when Grandma came out swinging her rolling pin at us, then made Grandpa finally teach us how to build a safe fire?”

  They both laughed at the vision of their grandmother in her calico dress, apron, and sneakers.

  “The thing I remember most about Grandma was her waffles and blackberry syrup,” Ryan said. “And the linen closet she’d clear out so we could build tents with her sheets and sleep out beneath the stars.”

  Jordan smiled and nodded. “And the ghost stories.”

  “Ah, damn.” Ryan grinned. “I forgot about those. ’Bout scared the hell out of Ethan a time or two.”

  “It was a great way to spend a summer.”

  Until for Jordan, one day the fun had stopped and the work began.

  While his brothers continued to spend weeks away from the suffocating Philly heat and humidity, he’d stayed behind to attend hockey camps. From the moment he’d turned thirteen, his summers had meant waking up at the crack of dawn and hitting the ice to accomplish his dream. Back then he’d never given a second thought to the fact that his brothers all remained together those summers, bonding, while he became a solitary and detached man.

  Caught up in the day-­to-­day survival of the NHL, he’d never given much thought to the consequences of his dream or his actions. Hell, for fifteen years he’d never considered what he’d do after hockey. He’d never given a thought to where he’d live or what he’d do with so much time on his hands. God knew, thanks to the hefty paycheck he brought in and his financial whiz brother, he had plenty of money to do whatever he wanted and never work another day again in his life. But then what?

  If he wasn’t a hockey player, what was he?

  If he wasn’t a brother, who was he?

  “I miss those days,” he said.

  “Yeah.” Ryan drained his glass. “Good times. Is that what you were out here contemplating?”

  “Naw. Mostly I was thinking about the multiple ways I’ve fucked up,” Jordan answered honestly.

  “How’s that?”

  “I walked away from all this.” He waved his empty glass at their surroundings. “From all of you. Guess I’ve had my head up my ass for a long time.”

  Though Jordan was an inch taller and a foot wider than his big brother, Ryan smacked the back of his head.

  “Ow!”

  “You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself.”

  “I’m not. I’m just sorry that I missed out on so much. Hell, I barely even know our sister. She looks at me like I’ve got two fire-­breathing heads. I don’t know what kind of music she likes. Or if she has a boyfriend. Or even if she gets good grades.”

  “Currently she doesn’t.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah. I can’t imagine losing Mom and Dad are going to help her any,” Ryan said. “She was pretty much Mom’s little princess. Got everything she ever wanted except . . .”

  “Except . . . ?”

  “Dad’s attention.”

  “You’re kidding, right? After five boys you’d think Dad would have finally gotten what he wanted.”

  “I think Mom got what she wanted.”

  Jordan’s head snapped up and he studied the grim look on his brother’s face. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  “I don’t want to get into this right now. We just buried our parents. It’s not the right time or place.” Ryan shook his head, then leaned his forearms on the railing and looked out over the vineyard. “Might never be.”

  “Not fair, Ryan. If you know something, you should share.”

  “I don’t know anything. Just going by my gut.”

  “Well if your gut is grumbling about something other than Parker’s appetizers, then you should definitely spill.”

  Ryan turned his head and
looked Jordan in the eye. “Are you serious about being in to this whole thing a hundred percent?”

  “I’m many things, but never a liar,” Jordan said, knowing he couldn’t get pissed about his brother asking such a question or doubting him.

  “What about your career?”

  Jordan shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Good to know. Because Nicki’s going to need some guidance. Not that I don’t love her and not that she isn’t important, but I’ve got my hands full with business and dealing with Riley. She’s devastated about losing her grandparents and she needs all my focus and attention right now.”

  “I can imagine.” Jordan figured after being abandoned by her mother, little Riley didn’t take losing people lightly.

  “If you’re truly going to stick around for a while . . .” Ryan reached into his back pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to Jordan. “How about you be a good brother and handle this.”

  “What is it?”

  “A good time guaranteed.” Ryan touched two fingers to his forehead in a salute. “If you need me, I’ll be at the office.”

  Jordan set his empty wineglass down on the patio railing, unfolded the note, and began to read.

  “No. Fucking. Way.”

  Chapter 3

  For the second time in a matter of minutes, Lucy Diamond nudged the pencil holder on her desk a micro millimeter to the left. The movement was so infinitesimal no one except her would ever notice. She swept her hands across the ink blotter that covered the battered desktop, then settled a thick file folder in the middle. With a sigh, she flipped open the binder and reread the entry on the top page.

  Most students took Lucy’s creative writing class in their senior year because they thought it would be an easy A grade. A fun class where you didn’t have to work hard or study things like frog guts or whether two circles both of radii 6 had exactly one point in common. No homework. Easy assignments.

  And they were right.