A Better Man

by Candis Terry

  Stepping inside the old brick building, Jordan once again thought of the summers he’d spent right here in this house. His grandfather had been full of life and always game to try something new. His grandmother had been a patient woman who put up with his grandfather’s practical jokes. Together they made quite a team and Jordan didn’t need to guess where his father had learned the phrase family first.

  He tossed the keys on a table near the door and walked through the living room, which had a dated yet comfortable feel, with a suite of leather furniture and a whitewashed brick fireplace. He continued into the kitchen and dining area, where he set the grocery bags down on the counter and began pulling out the contents. After fifteen years of basically eating and sleeping alone, he wasn’t looking forward to adding one more night of solitude. Not when the memories of his parents and the cause of their deaths continued to haunt him.

  And not when he knew his team would be playing without him.

  With the groceries put away, he popped the top off a Naked Blonde microbrew and grabbed the Styrofoam container of take-­out brisket from Cranky Hank’s Smokehouse. Instead of sitting out back on the deck that overlooked the creek, he turned on the TV to watch his team go against Pittsburgh—­the first game in three years in which he had not played.

  Come rain or shine, broken bones, or mild concussion, he’d been ready to score goals and make the crowd cheer. The only thing that had prevented him from hitting the ice three years ago was a spilt above his eye that caused so much swelling he couldn’t see to play.

  Tonight he sat on a worn leather sofa all the way across the country from where his teammates were gearing up in the locker room. While the announcers gave a rundown on what they believed would happen in tonight’s game, Jordan thought about his conversation with his sister, and once more he felt the guilt twist around his windpipe. He tried to loosen its grip with another slug of brew, then he dug into the brisket and let the sweet, hot flavor roll over his taste buds.

  The TV showed his boys skating onto the ice to the roar of the home crowd. The announcers wondered how the game strategy would fare without him—­their hard-­hitting power forward. He wondered too as he shoved a forkful of coleslaw into his mouth while the camera zoomed in for a close-­up of goalie Jack Riley stretching out in front of the net. Then the shot widened to show the Penguins skating onto the ice.

  Jordan’s last forkful of the brisket disappeared as the teams lined up for the National Anthem. Tonight a class of third-­graders were doing the honors. Jordan couldn’t help smiling at their serious faces and squeaky voices as their teacher led them into the song. Closing the lid on the Styrofoam container, he grabbed the Naked Blonde and leaned back to watch the game.

  A knock on the door interrupted him before the bottle reached his mouth. When he got up to answer he found his twin on the porch, dressed more casual than Jordan had seen him in years. Not that he saw him that often. But for Dec, it was Hugo Boss suits all day, every day. Jeans and a blue Henley went much better with his Southern California tan.

  “Hey, dirtbag.” Declan grinned. “What’s up?”

  Jordan laughed. “Good to know it only took you a couple of days before you started calling me names again.” When he stepped back to let his brother in, he noticed the paper bag in Declan’s hand. “What have you got in there?”

  Dec opened the bag and pulled out a six-­pack of Hair of the Dog microbrew.

  “So I guess you’re planning on staying more than five minutes?” Jordan asked.

  “Brilliant guesswork.”

  No sooner had Dec put his brews in the refrigerator and sat down before another knock came on the door. Jordan opened it to find Parker standing on the porch holding a paper bag.

  “Let me guess . . .” Jordan eyed his younger brother. “You’ve got microbrews in that bag.”

  “And they say hockey players are stupid.”

  Jordan stepped back and waved him in. Dec lifted his bottle in a hello salute. Parker put his beer in the fridge, then came out of the kitchen holding a bottle of Rock Bottom Red Ale. No sooner had Jordan closed the door than another knock came. This time it was Ethan holding up a pack of Foggy Noggin’ Scotch Ale. Behind him, Ryan trailed in with a pack of HeadKnocker Amber Ale.

  While his brothers drifted around the small room, talking, joking, and shoving each other over on the sofa to make room, Jordan’s chest tightened. “Not that I don’t appreciate the company, but what are you guys doing here?”

  Declan gave him a duh look. “Came to watch the game.”

  “You didn’t think we’d let you watch your team play all alone, did you?” Ryan asked.

  “Yeah.” Parker grinned. “Just in case you need a shoulder to cry on.”

  Jordan knew his brother was joking, but he wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t have done exactly that had he been alone.

  “We’ve got your back, brother.” Ethan held up his brew and they all clinked bottles.

  Jordan looked at the four men cramped together in the small living room and was overwhelmed by their love and support.

  They knew he’d have a hard time watching his team play without him. They knew he’d made a promise he planned to work like hell to keep. They were being good brothers even when he hadn’t bothered to be the same.

  Things were different now.

  They might be willing to freely give him their trust, but Jordan knew it had to be earned.

  And he intended to do just that.

  “Hey guys,” he said over the thundering volume of the game. All his brothers looked up. He raised his bottle and choked back the emotion jammed in his throat. “Thanks.”

  Chapter 6

  His team hadn’t just lost; they’d had their asses handed to them in a 4–1 battle on the ice caused by too many reckless Viper penalties and too many opportunities for the Penguins. Guilt tightened another notch around his neck as Jordan walked into The Muddy Cup Café the following afternoon. He couldn’t imagine how he’d ever get a cup of coffee past the regret tangled up in his chest.

  As soon as he opened the door of the brightly lit café, he zeroed in on Lucy sitting with her back to him in a booth at the rear of the room. Head down, she studied the headline of the newest edition of Talk of the Town.

  HOLLYWOOD’S BEATERS, CHEATERS,

  AND DIRTY DIVORCE SECRETS

  Looked like the local newspaper was on top of important things in the news.

  Today Lucy’s hair was pulled up off her long graceful neck in one of those messy buns Jordan always thought gave a woman that sexy just-­out-­of-­bed look. Lucy unwittingly had that look about her. Anyone could tell she wasn’t the type who spent hours primping in front of the mirror. But with a thick, dark sweep of lashes accenting her dark chocolate eyes, a smooth and lightly tanned complexion, and full lips with a natural blush, she had a whole lot of sexy going on. Even if she didn’t realize it.

  He slid into the booth opposite her.

  “You’re late.” She looked up, pressed the bridge of her glasses up with one finger.

  “Only by five minutes.”

  “Well, now we only have fifty-­five minutes to talk.”

  “I didn’t know we’d be on a timer.”

  “I think I mentioned I have a prior commitment at five-­thirty.” She lifted her cup, took a sip of what he guessed was tea, not coffee, then set it back down in the saucer. “So the clock is ticking.”

  Leaning in, he smiled. “If I buy you a cookie, will you forgive me?”

  One pretty arched brown lifted. “Make it two and I’ll consider it.”

  “Done.”

  “On second thought . . .” The corners of her luscious lips quirked. “Make them white chocolate chunk with macadamia nuts and I’ll even consider being late for my next appointment.”

  “In that case I’m buying all they have.” He settled back in the seat and
winked. “I’ll be happy to give you anything you want.”

  Humor clicked in her brown eyes. “Are you flirting with me again?”

  “I’m trying. But apparently I’m out of practice.”

  Her expression said it all. Men didn’t flirt with her.

  But he did.

  And he would keep on flirting with her until she told him to stop.

  “I . . . don’t know how to respond to that,” she admitted.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.” He flagged down the server. After the young woman rattled off about fifty types of coffee flavors, he ordered a plain black coffee for himself, a refill on whatever Lucy was drinking, and the entire tray of white chocolate chunk with macadamia nuts cookies.

  “You want those to go?” the waitress named Tammy asked with a laugh. “Or do you plan on eating them all here?”

  “Two for now, the rest you can box up.”

  As soon as the server walked away Lucy said, “I was kidding about the cookies.”

  “But I wasn’t kidding about giving you anything you wanted.”

  She sighed, but the smile on her face said she might be open to a little flirtatiousness.

  “Can we please get down to business?” she asked.

  “It’s what I do best.”

  “And now we’ve moved on to innuendos?”

  “Sorry, teacher.” He flashed her a guilty-­as-­sin smile. “I’ll try to behave myself.”

  “I’m sure it would be a first. So . . . you spoke with your sister?”

  He nodded and leaned his forearms on the table. The muscles in his neck tensed. “I went to her with all the intentions of discussing the class assignments and finding out why she wasn’t doing them. But I hit a wall. I understand she—­as we all—­have suffered the sudden loss of our parents. But what I saw in her wasn’t grief.”

  Lucy’s head slightly tilted and concern darkened her eyes. “What then?”

  “Anger.”

  At that moment the server appeared with their drinks and the huge box of cookies. Jordan paused until she was out of earshot.

  “It was as if she was a balloon ready to explode.” He sipped his coffee and found it too hot to drink. Then he looked up at Lucy. “Why would Nicki be so angry? Does she have social problems at school that you know of? Any major issues other than not turning in her work?”

  “I asked the school counselor that very question today. She told me Nicole hasn’t been in her office all year.” Lucy folded her hands together on the table. “I do know your sister has become much quieter over the past month or so. I used to have to reprimand her and a few of her girlfriends when I’d catch them chatting or texting during class. I haven’t had to do that in a while. Maybe the problem has something to do with them.”

  “Is there any way we can find out?”

  “I’ll talk to the counselor again and see if she wants me to ask or if she wants to call the friends into her office.”

  “That would be great. At least it’s a starting point. And I’ll talk to my brothers again. Ryan’s around her the most. He’d probably be a good one to ask although he hasn’t been very helpful this far.”

  “He probably has a lot on his mind.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  “Life does hold some interesting challenges.”

  “Agreed,” he said. “Some days more than others.”

  “I guess it keeps us on our toes.”

  “I’d be happy with a lot less drama.”

  “Me too.” She chuckled. “Some days I wish I could just stay in bed.”

  He wouldn’t mind staying there with her.

  “I get what you mean,” he said. “At least a short break from the chaos would be nice.”

  “I’d gladly join you on that deserted tropical island.”

  He smiled. “Before I start imagining all the possibilities of that in my head, maybe we should stick to the problem.”

  “Good idea.”

  “So, before this problem with Nicki, did she seem to like the class? Or has she always been a challenge?”

  “There’s a huge difference between then and now.” Back to business, Lucy pushed the small stack of papers toward him. “You’ve seen the work—­or lack of—­she’s handing in now. But take a look at this assignment from the first week of class.”

  She waited patiently while he looked past the hearts and flowers doodled on the corners in pink pen to digest the words his sister had written.

  The assignment had been to describe a well-­loved object. Nicki had composed a humorous and entertaining short story about Taffy Tickles, the orange ragtag bear she’d had since birth. The lightheartedness in her storytelling touched him deeply. He couldn’t connect the person who’d written this story with the enraged and snide young girl he’d tried to talk to yesterday.

  “Seems like two different people.”

  “I agree.” Lucy took the paper back and added it to the others. “So maybe we’re dealing with something on a grander scale here. Something more than just a rebellious nature, a fight with friends, or a broken heart.”

  “Drugs?”

  Lucy shook her head. “I’ve had plenty of students go down that path. Nicole doesn’t show any signs of drug use. She’s just very withdrawn.”

  “This is way out of my league.” He leaned back in the seat and stretched his legs as far as they could go. “I’ve never dealt with anything like this before. And she’s made it apparent that I’m not her favorite person.”

  “Then who is?” She considered him through the dark framed glasses with a bug-­under-­the-­microscope intensity that did a number on his conscience. “Maybe they could help.”

  “I’m ashamed to say I have no idea. I haven’t been around much but I’ve made a vow to change that. Still, a promise for the future doesn’t change the past or what needs to be done today.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  Jordan rarely, if ever, asked for help. He’d always been a do-­it-­yourself kind of guy. In this case he needed someone objective to show him the way. He didn’t mind learning new things or letting someone else take the lead. In fact, when it came to furthering his knowledge he was always game. Rebuilding a relationship with his sister—­his entire family, for that matter—­meant everything.

  “I do want to see Nicole succeed,” she said. “Helping children become independent, successful adults is why I became a teacher.”

  “So you’ll help me?”

  “I’ll help her.”

  She had a right to be hesitant about him after what he’d done to her on graduation night. “I appreciate it.”

  “That remains to be seen, Mr. Kincade.”

  At one time in his life he’d spent hours and hours with this woman. Formality should be a thing of the past.

  “Since we’ve known each other for a long time and we’re going to be working together, shouldn’t you call me Jordan?”

  The hesitation in her response kept him on edge, much like those times a teammate worked the puck down the ice and he had to wait to see if it would sail in his direction or not.

  “It might be best for everyone concerned—­especially Nicole—­if we keep this on a completely professional level.”

  “Then how about around my sister you call me Mr. Kincade. And in private you call me Jordan.”

  “There won’t be any private moments.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Something flashed in her eyes before she glanced at her watch and stuffed the papers back into her bag. “I have to go.”

  “So soon?”

  “Why don’t you try to speak with your sister again? In depth. Get to know her as much as possible.” She scooted out of the booth. “Try to find out what’s bothering her. Next week is spring break, but before then I’ll discuss the sit
uation further with the school counselor and try to find a way to keep her interested in her schoolwork.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” He hated to let her go, but trying to get her to stay might make him look weak and whiny. And in his mind, that just didn’t compute.

  “I’ll be in touch.” She slung the bag over her shoulder and headed toward the door.

  For a moment he watched her walk away, if only to get a good look at the way her straight black skirt hugged all those nice curves he’d noticed last night. On anyone else, the white Keds tennis shoes she wore would be far from sexy. But he couldn’t deny the woman’s veiled sensuality.

  As soon as she reached the café door he tossed money to cover their bill on the table, grabbed the box of cookies, and followed her outside.

  “Hold up.” He caught her at the curb. “You forgot the cookies.”

  “You really don’t expect me to eat all those, do you?”

  He grinned. “I can come over and help you make them disappear.”

  “Flirting again, Mr. . . . Jordan?”

  “Always, Lucy.”

  “Have a nice night.” She opened the door of a white Honda and set the cookie box on the passenger seat, giving him a nice view of her behind. “Feel free to contact me through the school with any relevant information on the situation and I’ll do likewise.”

  Wait.

  That’s not how he’d planned for this to go.

  He wanted a chance to talk to her now and again. He liked her. Or at least he’d liked the girl she’d been. He wanted a chance to get to know the woman better.

  “I have another idea.”

  She straightened and curled her hand over the top of the car door. “Oh goody.”

  Despite her sarcastic tone, he moved up beside her. “How about we get together a couple of times a week to compare notes?”

  “A couple of times a week?”