Jordan Reclaimed

by Scarlett Cole

  Lexi pulled her head away from his grip. She didn’t want to admit her innermost thoughts to him. Not when he wouldn’t understand.

  “You want to know why I tried to kill myself, Lex?” he asked calmly, as if he were asking her what movie she wanted to watch.

  She rolled to face him, placed her palm on his cheek. “You don’t need to tell—”

  “I want to, Lex. No. I need to. I tried to kill myself because I couldn’t stand to be left alone. Again,” he said gruffly.

  Lexi rubbed her thumb against his cheek. “Oh, Jordan.”

  “They were the only family I had, Lex. And I had to watch them move out of our group home, one after the other, after being left alone once before. I was only fifteen or sixteen when Nikan left first, and I thought I could deal. I had the odd nightmare, had to call Nikan in the middle of the night to make sure he was okay. Then when Dred left, it started to feel real. I’ve always walked through the house at night, making sure everyone is where I need them to be. Home. Once the two of them were both out, they didn’t come over quite so often.”

  His pain cut through her, and Lexi wrapped her arm over him, bringing her body up close to his. “So what happened then?”

  “It was Elliott leaving that really hit home. It was just me and Lennon left. Lennon was younger, and in fairness to the kid, his issues are worse than mine. And the pressure started to build in my chest, Lex. I didn’t know where they were. If they were safe. If they were ever going to come back to me. I felt alone again. And I hated feeling that way. We still had curfew, and they were out living their lives. And suddenly, I couldn’t stand it. I felt like I wasn’t worth shit. So I was in the shower, and before I knew it, I had the plug in the bathtub and a blade in my hand.”

  He’d been through so much, it made her problems feel small by comparison. “I’m so sorry, Jordan.”

  “I’m not telling you all that for sympathy, Lex. I’m telling you because I know what it’s like to feel like something is true, even when it’s not. I thought I was going to be left alone, when I now realize they were never going to do that. And worse, I’ve stopped them from moving on with their lives because they didn’t want me to pull that shit again. I’m the reason we all live in that house. I’m the reason this apartment we’re lying in exists. Nobody can move on until I do. And it’s taken me years to figure that out.”

  “I’m not sure I can figure it out on my own, Jordan,” she admitted quietly.

  He pulled her tight against him. “But don’t you see, Lex? You don’t need to. I’m here. The guys are right here. Pixie is right here, and I am sure there are people at the ballet company or psychologists who can help. It’s taken me all this time to realize I’m not alone. And neither are you. You’ll never have to do any of this on your own because I’m right here. And I am too fucking stubborn to move because I love you.”

  Hearing the words, but more than that, feeling them as they burned their way into her heart, brought everything into focus. Life was going to change in so many different ways from this morning on, but they’d stand by each other’s side, be the constant in each other’s lives as it changed.

  “I love you too, Jordan.”

  EPILOGUE

  “Tell me again why we’re doing this?” Lennon asked, fidgeting in the tiny seat in the very front row. “Because we look ridiculous.”

  Jordan slapped him on the back of the head. “Because it’s Lexi’s opening night.”

  “Yeah, but I’m still at the fucking ballet.”

  A matronly woman in the row behind them tutted.

  Lennon turned and winked. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  Jordan shook his head. Lennon was right, though. The usher hadn’t known which way was up when five big guys dressed in black, leather, and metal, followed by a tiny woman with bright purple hair and sporting more tulle than was likely necessary, and two older women dressed conservatively, had handed her their tickets.

  And yes, the people behind them had huffed when they sat down, as they were likely blocking their view. But he wanted to be right at the very front where Lexi would see him.

  “You don’t think this will put her off, do you?” Pixie said. “You know. Us. Well, do you?” She gestured up and down the row.

  Fuck. He should have thought of that when he’d stalked the box office for days in advance, making sure every possible teller knew he wanted front-row opening night. Lexi’d never asked him if he intended to go, never offered him tickets. It had hurt at first until he realized she’d never had anybody to ask, and that there was every possibility she didn’t want to put him in an awkward spot by asking. So he’d planned to surprise her by bringing all the family he had to watch her.

  There was every possibility he was going to barf. Never in his life had he suffered from stage fright, but here he was having a huge bout of it by proxy. He’d seen how hard Lexi had worked over the last two weeks. Eating was still an issue for her, but she was fighting her way back.

  At first she’d refused to put any weight back on, using the costume department as an excuse, saying that she didn’t want them to have to go through all the extra work to let her costumes out. But when she’d taken Penny into her confidence, the costume maker had worked miracles, which was why a massive bouquet of flowers and a five-hundred-dollar gift card for Holt’s had been delivered to her that morning.

  He looked up at the roof of the Four Seasons Centre and wondered what it would take to play there. It sat only two thousand people, less than their usual venues, but the acoustics were incredible. He wondered how the rest of the band would feel about it.

  Nikan sat at the end of the row, his long legs reaching into the aisle, and Elliott was chatting with Maisey and Ellen, who were seated alongside him. Dred was whispering something to Pixie, their heads bowed close together, and he bit back a smile when he saw Dred discreetly kiss her sweetly.

  After all the turn-off-your-phone and don’t-be-a-prick shit was over, the lights dimmed and music started to reverberate through the space. Classical wasn’t really his thing, but then again, neither was ballet until a tiny dancer had twirled her way into his life.

  Holy shit. There was a real orchestra. Jordan looked at Lennon, who’d just sat forward in his chair, and stifled a laugh. They were at the fucking ballet. Front row center. Five men from miserable backgrounds and a group home.

  He began to get impatient when Lexi didn’t appear straightaway. Lots of people were on the stage, showing off a pretend baby, when he realized he didn’t really know the story of Sleeping Beauty at all, except the whole falling-asleep shit. Then Lexi appeared on stage, lifted into the air by two men. Jordan’s heart dropped in his chest. Fuckers better not drop her because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to control the urge to jump up there and beat them senseless.

  Lexi was wearing one of those weird tufty-dress things, but she looked beautiful in it. Elegant. And she stood there on those pointe shoes like it was the easiest fucking thing in the world before contorting herself into positions he wasn’t sure were anatomically possible. If he hadn’t seen her bloodied and raw feet, he’d assume, from the smile on her face, that it was painless, effortless.

  She was precision and composure until the moment she made eye contact with the front row and did a double take. A grin broke out across her face, but she quickly returned to what he thought of as her performance face. The story was a bit beyond him—he couldn’t figure out what all those other dancers were doing running around the edges of the stage. But he couldn’t take his eyes off Lexi anyway, so who the fuck cared? She was grace personified, and she was his.

  His. All his. He knew it and felt it with every fiber of his body. Knew it when she signed her name next to his on a house four doors down from Dred’s that had been on the market a while. It was going to take a shit-ton of work to gut the place. But there was a guesthouse on the property and they’d decided to live there while the interior of the main house was being ripped out and put back together. Burnt orange and brown w
allpaper adorned the living room, and the bathroom was the color of overripe avocados. Lexi had persuaded him that they should treat it as their first home and decorate it while living in it like normal people did. So when he wasn’t taking driving lessons, he was steaming paper off walls.

  At the end of the performance he waved good-bye to the others and went around to the dancers’ entrance to wait for Lex, who came bounding out about forty minutes later. Her face was scrubbed clean, but her hair was still up in her tight performance bun.

  She threw herself into his arms and smothered his face in kisses. “I can’t believe you all came,” she exclaimed excitedly.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said before kissing her softly. “You looked incredible up there. I mean, I’ve seen you dance for me, but seeing you dance for all those people. It was spectacular.”

  Lexi sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. “My friends were all wondering who the hot men in the front row were.”

  “We can have a meet and greet at our new place. You invite your ballerinas; I’ll invite my musicians.”

  “It’ll turn into an orgy,” Lexi laughed.

  “Likely,” he agreed, putting her down. He led her over to the road and flagged a cab. “As long as they are all consenting adults, it’ll be entertaining viewing.”

  A bright orange taxi pulled over and they climbed inside. He gave their address to the cabbie.

  Lexi threaded her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder as she let out a big yawn.

  “Tired, sweetheart?”

  “I am. Take me home, Jordan.”

  Home. He kissed her forehead.

  And for the first time in his life, with her by his side, he knew exactly what the word meant.

  Acknowledgments

  To Lizzie Poteet, thank you for loving the men of Preload as much as I do. This is our fifth book together, and your feedback and assistance is as valuable as ever. The stories are always better for your magic.

  To Beth Phelan, it’s priceless to know you have my back! Thank you for being such a kickass agent.

  To the lovely peeps at St. Martin’s Press, including Titi Oluwo, Marissa Sangiacomo, John Simko, and the wonderful team who create covers that are totally lickable!

  To Brett and Heather Dawson. A thousand thank-yous for answering my endless questions, and for your ongoing care for those in your charge. The world needs more people like you. If I have misrepresented anything in this story, the error is mine, not yours.

  To Sophie Letendre, Scheduling Coordinator for the National Ballet of Canada. The young girl in me who used to dance loved the opportunity to step inside your world for a little while. For someone who usually gets to enjoy the ballet from the other side of the curtain, it was incredible to understand what it takes to keep the National Ballet going. I hope I got all the details right, if I didn’t I apologize.

  To Toronto. I love you and miss you in equal measure. Riding the red rocket, running along Lake Shore, shopping in St. Lawrence Market. I miss traffic on the 401, and the stupid roundabout in Baby Point that everyone ignores. Thank you for giving me a husband and a home.

  To Tanya Egan-Gibson, for being a wonderful thought partner and for challenging me to be a better writer.

  To Sidney Halston. For being a total rock star and talking me off a cliff when my characters lose their way.

  To Tanya Baikie, for making me such wonderful teasers to go with this story, but more importantly for becoming an invaluable friend.

  To my Stars. You ladies are my rock. And special mention to Cole Robitaille (who stuck her book-boyfriend claws into Jordan from the very beginning), and Stacey Spence (because Cole without Stacey is a bit like Lucy without Ethel, Cagney without Lacey, or Laverne without Shirley) for beta-reading this story.

  To Dani Barclay, for being such a wonderful publicist and friend.

  To Tamara Paton. My goal is to write a character in a field that is incredibly obscure, just to test the theory that you actually do know at least one expert in everything!

  To Amanda and Michelle . . . for the wine. And the laughs.

  To T, F, & L . . . for being my everything.

  Read on for a sneak peek of Scarlett Cole’s next book

  ELLIOTT REDEEMED

  Available from St. Martin’s Press in July 2017!

  Elliott Dawson sat up quickly, fighting off his invisible opponent. His hair hung in long brown waves, clinging to his damp skin. He scanned the room, taking in a collection of guitars and two framed photographs, one of him and his best childhood friend, Adam, who had committed suicide at sixteen, and next to it, one of his band, Preload, at their very first gig at a pub on the Danforth.

  Thank fuck he was home.

  In his own bed. Another night of waking up in a strange room, of eating strange food, and not being understood half the time would have pushed him right over the edge. He flopped back on his bed and rubbed his face. A two-month tour of Europe was something he and his bandmates could only dream about when they’d been practicing in their Toronto group home, but the reality was it was fucking hard work, made worse by the fact both Dred and Jordan, now happily settled down, just wanted to be home. Both Pixie, with Dred’s daughter Petal, and Lexi, Jordan’s girlfriend, had made trips to see them several times, but things were shifting in the band.

  Elliott looked around the room again. They’d bought the house shortly after they’d made it big. Those who didn’t know them assumed the decision to live together was a combination of habit and convenience, but only a handful of people knew that Jordan had tried to kill himself when they had all turned eighteen and started to move out of the group home without him. None of them had wanted that to happen again. But somehow Lexi had changed all that. The tiny ballerina had danced her way into Jordan’s heart so forcefully that she’d pushed and shoved his demons out. Although happy-fucking-Jordan was taking some getting used to.

  With bones and muscles that ached from thirty-five concerts, he reached for his phone and checked the time. Noon. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled in acknowledgment. They’d gotten home at one, and he’d fallen straight into bed. Now, he couldn’t figure out what time zone his body was in, or when he’d last eaten.

  He climbed out of bed and grabbed a pair of shorts. The air-conditioning was cold enough to freeze his balls off, but then outside, the hot muggy August air of downtown Toronto was more than likely to melt them. Elliott jogged down the stairs and wandered to the kitchen. Nikan was seated on one of the stools of the breakfast bar, eating a stack of pancakes covered in maple syrup.

  “There is a shit ton more of these in a dish in there,” Nikan said, tipping his chin in the direction of the oven. “Pixie brought them over about twenty minutes ago. Said she made way too many, and that we might’ve missed some real Canadian food.”

  Elliott laughed. “Sounds just like her. I wonder if Dred got to sleep in this morning, or whether Petal had him awake first thing.” He grabbed a plate and helped himself to a stack way higher than he needed, and put an equally obscene amount of maple syrup on them.

  Nikan shook his head. “Dude, that’s some serious sugar crash you’re going to have later. And given that Pixie had Petal with her when she swung by, I’m guessing he’s still passed out, too.”

  Elliott took a huge forkful of pancake, and groaned. “God bless Pixie,” he mumbled through a mouthful of sugar, butter, and syrup. “I might have to work out for three hours this afternoon to wear this off, but Goddamn it’s worth it.”

  “I wonder how Lennon did in his new place last night,” Nikan said.

  It had seemed like odd timing, having all his things moved while he was away. Elliott could only imagine the mess he’d arrived home to. “Given his insomniac tendencies, he probably got most of it unpacked before getting into bed, and was likely up at seven finishing it off.”

  “Are you thinking of moving out anytime soon?” Nikan said, pushing his empty plate away.

  It was something Elliott
had thought about a lot on the trip and he’d come up with a solution. “Unless you want this place, in which case we can play a round of rock, paper, scissors, I was thinking of offering to buy you guys out of it. No pressure to leave or anything, I mean I’m totally happy with the setup we have.” He didn’t want Nikan to feel like he had to move out anytime soon. “What about you?”

  “Figured I’d think about it once this tour is over. There didn’t seem to be much sense to me to buy a place and have to worry about it while I’m away. Maybe after we’ve finished the U.S. and Canadian legs I’ll start looking.”

  Elliott poured some more maple syrup on his pancakes and Nikan rolled his eyes. “Well, don’t feel like you have to rush that for me. Plus, I’m thinking of heading up to the cottage for some R&R and to burn off a little energy.”

  Nikan studied him, knowing full well what he meant. “Are you cool?” he asked.

  He wasn’t. He was anxious. Negative thoughts were on a constant loop, running through his head night and day, putting the chaos he felt to dialogue. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  The phone rang, and Elliot answered it. “Yo.”

  “Elliott, glad I caught you,” Ryan, Preload’s manager, said, sounding way too fucking chipper.

  “Given I’ve been home less than twelve hours since the last thing you signed me up for, can I assume this is a social call?”

  Nikan laughed at the comment.

  “You’d make a shit standup comedian,” Ryan said. “Look, I hate to hit you up on your first day back, but we got a request a couple weeks ago that I was gonna deal with once you got home, but the urgency increased. There is a sixteen-year-old kid in Sick Kids Children’s Hospital who is a massive fan and suffers from cancer.”

  Elliott’s stomach turned. He knew where this was going, and knew what Ryan was going to ask. He hated going. He hated doctors and hated patients more. “So what do you need? Some signed merch and shit?” It wasn’t going to be enough, it never was, and he knew it.