A Better Man

by Candis Terry

  “Is that all you can do to help my sister, Ms. Diamond?” He leaned back in the chair and casually folded his hands together.

  Lucy hated when someone pushed her to her limit. Jordan had pushed beyond and blasted into Holy Shitville. Though the circumstances with the death of his parents never left her mind, she had to call it like she saw it.

  “Let me ask you this, Mr. Kincade. What are you willing to do to help your sister?”

  “What?”

  Yeah. Gotcha, buster.

  “You question my intentions and accuse me of making a play for your brother—­or you—­but let’s be honest,” she said in an amazingly cool tone. “Maybe you’re not really the right person to deal with Nicole’s problems.”

  His eyes narrowed just enough to let Lucy know she’d hit a nerve. Lucy folded her arms, steeling herself against the possibility of an explosion. “In fact, do you really even know her?”

  “Of course I know her.” His jaw clenched. “She’s my sister.”

  “Is that so? Then who’s her best friend?” Lucy asked.

  “Her—­”

  “What’s her favorite color?”

  “She’s—­”

  “What does she like on her pizza?”

  “For—­”

  “Who’s her latest crush?”

  His hands curled into fists. “Are you going to let me answer?”

  “Be my guest.” Lucy leaned back in her chair and waited. Due to the current circumstances she hated to point out the obvious, but her main concern had to remain with Nicole. If he genuinely wanted to help, Lucy was prepared to do what needed to be done. But if his only plan was to march in here, make demands and accusations, and then go back to his life status quo, that wouldn’t fly. She wouldn’t bail on a young girl in need. Teenagers dealing with depression often took drastic measures, and Lucy had to do whatever she could to save this girl.

  Seconds ticked by without Jordan’s response. She could see him mentally grasping at straws.

  She’d made him sweat.

  Made him think.

  Now it was time to throw out the life preserver.

  “I understand you probably have a very busy life,” she said in her most understanding tone. “One that hasn’t allowed much time for getting to know all of Nicole’s likes and dislikes. But I really am very concerned for her. This problem didn’t just begin. It’s been brewing for a while. I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help find out the cause and do my best to get her back on track. I will stand by her and I will let her know she can trust me and feel free to discuss any matter with me.”

  This time his smile came with a sigh of relief.

  After all these years and all she’d been through, Lucy really thought she’d be immune to someone like him. She’d learned her lesson, right? But something inside told her Jordan Kincade might very well be swimming in the same deep waters as his sister. And that concerned Lucy even more.

  “You’re a very generous woman.”

  “Thank you.”

  He stood as if to leave.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said. “And since you probably need to get back to your job, have your brother contact me next week and I’ll give him an update.”

  “I’m in town for a few more days, so I’ll have a talk with my sister.” He settled his big hand right next to where her arm rested on the desktop. When he leaned that six-­foot-­plus body down so they were nearly face-­to-­face, a spiral of heat shot right through her core.

  Get it together, Lucy.

  A flicker of something flashed in his eyes.

  “As for you and me, Lucinda?” One dark slash of brow lifted. “I don’t think we’re done at all. So you can stop acting like we’ve never met.”

  The acknowledgment hit her with a jolt, and a gasp snuck from her throat before she could stop it.

  “But we’ll leave that conversation for another day. Because, as you said, today is about my sister.” His deep blue eyes scanned her face one more time before he walked out the door.

  Fifteen years ago, Lucy believed she’d washed the man out of her thoughts. Out of her fantasies. Out of her life.

  Clearly she’d been wrong.

  Chapter 4

  Life definitely had a way of biting you in the ass. In that department, Jordan had been batting a thousand.

  Not that treading deep water was new to him. Hell no. For the most part he had a tendency to put himself right in the middle of the shit storm. Anyone who questioned his talent in that direction could reference the 220 penalty minutes he’d already racked up this season. But those were game stats, and though those minutes gave the opposition power play advantages, he’d always found a way to come back in the game and score.

  Making amends in real life wasn’t so easy.

  Lucinda Nutter.

  Holy shit.

  He didn’t know what the whole “Diamond” thing was about, but hopefully he’d have plenty of time to find out. He hadn’t been around much in his teen years because he’d spent a great portion of his time on the East Coast playing for minor league teams. Somehow during his senior year he’d been around long enough to make friends and play other sports. With the NHL on his radar, he hadn’t been the best student. Which was why he’d taken it upon himself to hire someone to tutor him in the classes where he struggled.

  And that was when he’d met Lucinda Nutter.

  Today, sitting across the desk from Ms. Diamond, he’d tried to place the face that looked so familiar. Initially he couldn’t recall anyone with that last name. Her refusal to acknowledge their acquaintance had piqued his interest enough for him to study her as he would an opponent.

  There’d been something familiar in the flash of gold that lit up her dark brown eyes behind those glasses. Something in the tone of her voice. It hadn’t been until she’d snagged her full bottom lip between her teeth and a dimple appeared in her right cheek that recognition dawned.

  Ms. Diamond wasn’t just a pretty package hiding behind a staid white blouse, black skirt, white sneakers, and dark-­framed glasses. She wasn’t just his little sister’s creative writing teacher. She was Lucinda Nutter—­the girl he’d stood up the night of their high school graduation.

  No wonder she’d refused to acknowledge him.

  Not that he’d been any prize back in those days, but she must have been crushed that night when he didn’t show. Especially since he’d had to ask her several times before she’d agree to go out with him. The following day he’d tried to contact her to explain and apologize. Not surprisingly, she’d refused his calls.

  He could hardly blame her.

  He’d felt bad because he’d genuinely liked her. Lucinda had been able to hold her own in a conversation. She’d been smart, sweet, and honest. He always got the sense that she believed she didn’t belong, and maybe that, more than anything, had been what connected him to her. With all the traveling he did and being away from his family so much, he didn’t feel like he belonged either. To his surprise he’d found he’d rather hang out with her in the library on a Friday night than with a bunch of buddies looking for trouble.

  But then he’d thrown it all away.

  After several unsuccessful tries to apologize to her, he’d given up. At the time he’d been a selfish bastard solely focused on the NHL. Hell. He still was. But he’d been worse back then. He’d been trying to prove himself to those he thought mattered—­the team owners and coaches. The moment he’d been drafted by the Chicago Blackhawks at eighteen years old, he’d forgotten all about her. He’d moved on to scoring goals, making money, and bedding hot women.

  The sudden and horrific loss of his parents had shifted the order of everything. He hadn’t been blowing smoke when he’d told his family he was all in. For the first time in his life he needed something more than the glory of slapping the puck between the pipe
s and the roar of the crowd. For the first time he felt the need to be more than part of a team that went their separate ways after the arena lights shut down.

  He needed to be a part of his family.

  Running into Lucinda solidified the necessity of righting his wrongs. Unfamiliar territory, to be sure, but one he was willing to make happen. He believed in second chances. Hell, he’d been given more than that during his career. Now he had to make the most of the opportunity he’d been given, no matter in what ugly manner it had come. It was too late to make it up to his mom and dad, but there were still five siblings he could beg for mercy.

  And there was Lucinda, who no doubt might be his toughest critic.

  As he drove out of the high school parking lot and turned the rented Lincoln Navigator onto Main Street, he noticed there were still no big box stores in Sunshine. No one-­stop shopping conveniences. Instead, time had pretty much stood still. As it had been when he’d been a kid, mom-­and-­pop businesses and cozy boutiques ruled both sides of the tree-­lined road. A great majority of those shops were food-­related, which didn’t help the rumbling in his empty stomach.

  Back in the day his parents hadn’t been able to afford much in the way of dining in fancy restaurants. Which worked fine for the town of Sunshine, because at the time the most extravagant had been Ben’s Burger Barn, a red-­striped operation that touted twofer Tuesdays and all-­you-­can-­eat fried clams on Fridays.

  These days a place called Cranky Hank’s Smokehouse sat in the old Burger Barn location, and the red striped exterior had given over to a rustic wood siding. Next to that sat Grandma Daisy’s Pie Company, where a sandwich board on the sidewalk announced the specialty of the day was cranberry-­pear tarts. From his left, the mouthwatering aroma of warm cinnamon rolls drifted from Sugarbuns Bakery.

  Jordan remembered the birthday cakes his mother had brought home from the pastel pink building and the sugary rewards he and his brothers had received when they’d bring home a good report card. Straight ahead, the Milky Way Moose professed to have the smoothest chocolate in the Pacific Northwest. Jordan thought if he actually strolled down this street he’d probably gain ten pounds.

  A little farther down Main Street, the Back Door Bookstore took up the small space at the corner of Main and Burgundy and sat next door to the local newspaper, Talk of the Town, while Sunshine Gifts and Treasures took up residence in the old Laundromat building. Above the store there was still the vintage Maytag Laundry sign with the figure of a washerwoman scrubbing clothes on an old washboard. Divine Wine and Beyond the Vineyards had tasting rooms located directly across the street from each other, like gunslingers ready to draw on the first patron to cross the sidewalk.

  The building designs were a crazy mix of Cape Cod and Old West, with a little New Age thrown in to keep things really interesting.

  If he continued farther he knew he’d come to the city park that ran along the shoreline of the Columbia River—­a perfect place for wind sailing. And across the iron bridge was a new eighteen-­hole golf course.

  Surrounded by rugged mountains and rolling hills, the town was pretty and welcoming. Still, as a teenager there hadn’t been much to do in a place with the population of roughly eight thousand souls. In those days Sunshine had been just a speck on the map on the way to Vancouver or Portland. Now the town operated as a tourist destination with a few first-­class restaurants and elegant spas for couples to come for a weekend, relax, and get away from the grind of the big city.

  The last of the shops on Main Street was Kid’s Station School Supplies, which brought back one single thought.

  Lucinda Nutter.

  Holy shit.

  As a precaution, Jordan headed to the baby dragon’s lair armed with a bag of sweets from Sugarbuns. He knocked on Nicole’s door and got no response.

  Big surprise.

  As much as everything inside him just wanted to shake some sense into her, he wanted this discussion to go well. Wanted to handle it right. Wanted his sister to know she could count on him and that he had her best interest at heart. Then again, he’d never done anything of this magnitude before, so who the hell knew how it would really go.

  Hoping to keep his temper in check, he knocked again and waited for the delayed, grumbled acknowledgment before he turned the knob and entered Nicole’s girly haven. Walls of deep purple could have been depressing were it not for the white iron bed covered with a black and white print comforter. A crystal chandelier hung above the bed, and prisms of colored light sparkled on the white ceiling. All accents in the room were either lace, feathered, or sparkly.

  On the white Provincial dresser were perfume bottles labeled “Pink” and “Juicy.” Two words a brother never wanted to put together when it came to his baby sister.

  Everything in Nicole’s room indicated that as the only daughter and the youngest in the family, she was probably a bit on the spoiled side. Still, she was a young girl who’d just lost both her parents. And as much as the son of those parents wanted to hide away to grieve, life still needed to be reckoned with.

  “What do you want?”

  Well, that was hardly the greeting he’d hoped for.

  Stretched out on her bed with her feet on the wall above her headboard, Nicole tapped frantically on her glittery pink smartphone. No doubt she was looking for a rescue from having to talk with the dreaded big brother.

  “I brought you cookies.” He held up the bag, not that she was looking to notice.

  “Seriously?” She huffed, still not looking at him. “You think I’ll fit into my skinny jeans if I eat that garbage?”

  “I think you look fine. And a cookie now and then isn’t going to kill you.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a lemon-­frosted sugar cookie, hoping to entice her. “Look, they’re not very big. Try one.”

  “I’m not touching that after you’ve had your fingers all over it.” She finally sat up. Unfortunately it was to turn her back on him and keep texting.

  “Nicki. Could you please turn around so we can talk?”

  “Nothing to say.”

  Accustomed to handling loud, obnoxious hockey players but highly unused to dealing with teenage girls in a snit, he wanted to groan.

  Loudly.

  “There’s plenty to say.” He bit into the cookie. “And these are really good. You’re missing out.”

  She made a noise that fell somewhere between a scoff and a sniff.

  Late afternoon sun beamed through the lace-­covered window and danced across her long dark chocolate curls. The stiffness in her shoulders might have frightened weaker men, but Jordan faced two-­hundred-­pound sneering opponents on a daily basis. One little bit of a girl wasn’t going to scare him away.

  “I’m trying to be nice here.”

  “Why?” She spun around; narrowed those dark blue eyes that snapped with anger, hurt, and confusion; and aimed her daggers in his direction. “Everyone knows you’re leaving, so why bother?”

  Whoa.

  Tempted to take a step back from the force of her anger, he did just the opposite and stepped forward. “In case you didn’t hear me, I said I was all in.”

  “For as long as it gets you what you want. Then you’re gone. You’re always gone.” Her eyes narrowed again. “You don’t belong here. So why don’t you just get the hell out now?”

  Instead of turning her back on him as he’d expected, she glared so hard it burned a hole right through the center of his heart.

  He had no experience at this kind of thing. This was something his mom and dad excelled at. They’d had six kids to practice on. They’d put their hearts and souls into always doing the right thing, making good points, and practicing what they preached. Jordan had none of the above. And unless angels came down from heaven to help him out, he was flying blind on this one.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” He pulled out the chair tucked beneat
h her vanity, spun it around, and straddled it backward. He folded his arms across the back and tried to soften the hard features he used to intimidate an adversary on the ice. “I understand you’re hurt right now and probably a little scared too. Losing Mom and Dad has knocked the wind out of all of us. But I’m not the enemy, Nicki. I’m your brother and I care about you.”

  “Bullshit.”

  How was it that one little slip of a girl could hit so hard with only words?

  “It’s true. I’m sorry I haven’t been around. That’s all on me. And I know I’m the one who has to make changes. But you’ve got to give me the opportunity to make them.”

  “I don’t have to do anything. You already proved yourself the last seventeen years of my life.” She folded her arms and glared at him as though daring him to prove her wrong.

  He couldn’t.

  “You’re right.”

  She blinked.

  Yeah, that one took her back a step.

  “I’ve been a bad brother.” He shrugged. “I figured you had Mom and Dad and plenty of other brothers and you wouldn’t miss me.”

  “You don’t know jack about what goes on around here.” Dark, arched brows pulled together over her red-­rimmed eyes. “And by the way, if you’re trying to convince me you’re suddenly a good guy, that’s not saying much for yourself.”

  “I’m not trying to convince you of anything. But one thing you’ll learn about me is that I don’t lie. It’s a complete waste of time. When I’ve screwed up, I’ll be the first one to admit it.”

  He didn’t take her silence for submission. More than likely she was just loading up on more ammo to shoot in his direction.

  “I talked to your teacher today.”

  “Which one. I’ve got seven. But then you wouldn’t know that, would you. Because you haven’t been home for almost a year.”

  “I get it, Nicole.” His hands tightened on the back of the chair. “I’ve been a bad brother. I haven’t been home for almost a year and you hate me. The problem is, none of that negative energy is going to help your grades or help you graduate with the rest of your class. So how about we save the I-­hate-­my-­brother venom for later and move the discussion to why it is you don’t do your assignments? Or better yet, let’s talk about why you choose to put the effort into whatever the hell you want to write about instead of what everyone else is doing?”