Emotionally, however, the thought of touching someone else and having another man’s lips on his made him want to curl up into the fetal position. The sudden brutality of Keith’s murder and the fact that he never had the chance to say good-bye crippled Jordan. But he couldn’t go on like this any longer. Only the knowledge that it would kill his parents stopped Jordan from swallowing a whole bottle of his pills before he went to bed at night. To think he was the one who used to make fun of overly emotional people, calling them weak and failures. Keith had always called him out on his cavalier snobbery and coldness, telling him people fought battles he couldn’t understand because he’d been lucky to live a life untouched by hardship or pain.
I didn’t know what you meant until now. I’ve been a selfish fuck. If Drew and Rachel could make it, I can too.
“I’m going to try. I went to the financial adviser today, and we discussed the foundation Keith set up.” He pulled away from his friends and straightened his tie. “Have either of you ever met him?” Once again the recollection of Lucas Conover’s sad eyes gave him pause for thought. What battles had he fought to hide his pain? Jordan made a mental note to pay more attention the next time they met.
Mike shook his head. “Not me. What about you, Drew?”
“Nope. Don’t see why we would’ve, either.” Drew stretched, groaning as he reached upward. “God, I think I need a massage. I had early morning rounds at the hospital, then came here and had a bunch of girls walk in with lacerations on their faces and chests.” He grimaced. “A goddamn fistfight because one poor girl talked back to someone who called her fat. I’ve been stitching all morning.”
Jordan pushed the disturbing thoughts of Luke Conover out of his head and turned his attention to the files on his desk. The center had two young orthopedists who’d been hired in the past six months, and Jordan was impressed with their work as he viewed the X-rays. “These two are good. The breaks they’ve set are healing nicely.”
Drew cracked a smile. “High praise coming from you, who never thinks anyone’s work is good enough.”
Jordan twirled a pencil around and around his fingers to keep his friends from noticing how they shook. “Things change, right?” His smile stretched thinly across his lips. He wanted a drink. He needed two. Anything to settle his nerves. Christ, he could feel his heart slamming so hard it was ready to explode through the bones in his chest. Before he forgot, he needed to refill his Xanax prescription.
“I have to call Dr. Meyers, and then I’ll look at whoever is here.”
Drew shot him an unreadable look. “Are you still seeing him?”
“Yeah. Once or twice a month now.” Better than the three times a week right after Keith had died.
“Are you”—Drew took a step forward, then seemed to think better of it and stopped in front of the desk—“are you dealing with it better now at all?”
Jordan watched Drew gnaw at his lower lip, and his hostility escaped for a moment. “Sure I am. I’m learning to deal with how senseless his death was, why I have to move past my anger.”
“Who are you angry at?” Drew’s pale green eyes stared unflinchingly back at him.
Another reason he’d been unable to move forward with his life was his unresolved resentment toward Drew over Keith’s death. Up until now, Jordan hadn’t thought Drew understood his fury and pain. But the way Drew looked at Jordan right now? The time for that talk was fast approaching. He couldn’t do it. No matter that he wanted to verbally flay Drew until he broke, Jordan didn’t have it in him to hurt Drew like that. One day, there’d be time enough for the two of them to sit down and have that talk, but until they did, Jordan knew he’d never be able to resolve the divide in their friendship. It was his problem.
“Myself.” True as well, and a much safer answer. Besides, he really needed to call Dr. Meyers and get another bottle of pills. He picked up the phone and, with a raised brow, waited until Drew took the hint.
Red patches streaked Drew’s pale face. “Talk to you later.” He turned on his heel and left with Mike.
Jordan got through to the doctor right away. “Hey, Wes, I need a refill for the Xanax.”
A heavy sigh filled his ear. “No can do, my friend. The time has come for you to wean off the pills and stand on your own. I told you last month it was time, and I meant it.”
The pencil he’d been holding snapped in his hands. Jordan welcomed the pain of its jagged edges digging into his fingers. “Come on, Wes,” he pleaded. “I’ve gone back to work and I need—”
“No, you don’t need them, Jordan. That’s what I’m telling you. You’re using the pills as a crutch to keep from dealing with your emotions and anger over Keith’s death.” Wes’s voice gentled. “Talk to Drew. Tell him how you feel, and I promise you the anxiety will diminish.”
He huffed out a dry laugh. “Sure. No problem. Talk to you soon.” Ending the call, he tossed the broken pieces of the pencil across his desk in disgust. Shit. What was he going to do now? He only had enough left until the end of the week. An idea formed in his mind, one that never would’ve occurred to him a year earlier.
With precise, even steps, giving no indication of the tumult inside him, Jordan approached the supply room. It was also where they kept their locked inventory of prescription drugs. Impatient at his failure to find what he needed, his gaze traveled over the glass shelves until finally, on the bottom shelf, he saw them. Several bottles of medication Mike, and even he, prescribed to some of their patients when they needed to ease the pain from their broken bones or dental work.
He curled his hand around one of the bottles when a noise from behind startled him. When he turned around, he came face-to-face with Drew’s sister, Rachel.
“Jordan? What’re you doing?”
With an ease he didn’t know he possessed, Jordan placed the bottle back on the shelf. His stiff, cold fingers shook only slightly. “Hey, sweetheart, I didn’t know you were here. It’s great to see you.” He smiled and gave her a hug and a kiss.
“Yeah. I came to pick up Mike.” Her suspicious, knowing eyes glanced at the drug cabinet, then back at his hands. “What are you doing in here?”
“I was checking inventory.”
“We have people to do that. And you’ve never cared before. Is there a problem?” She squeezed his arm.
Her sympathetic tone grated on his nerves, but he tried not to let it show. “No, of course not. I have to get back; I have patients waiting.”
Rachel opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, then snapped it shut. She pushed back the dark, wispy strands of hair that had escaped from her sleek ponytail, and grabbed his hand in hers. “Promise me if you need to talk, you’ll call me.” Her wide green eyes searched his. “Please, Jordan.”
“Sure.” The lie tripped off his tongue so easily he almost believed it himself. But he knew he wouldn’t. “I gotta go.” He pecked a light kiss to her cheek and, with a casualness that surprised even him, walked out of the supply room and into the waiting area.
Two people sat in the chairs, a teenage girl with her mother. “I’m Dr. Peterson. How can I help you?”
The girl bit her lip. “After the fight, they pushed me down and my wrist hurts so much I think maybe it’s broken.”
“Let’s see,” he said. She followed him into the examining room, where he sat her down and chatted with her for a few minutes as he assessed her wrist. While her daughter was being x-rayed, he talked with her mother, trying to ease her nerves.
The X-rays read negative, and he diagnosed it as a very bad sprain. He wrapped her wrist up, accepted the thanks of her mother, and collapsed in the chair of the examining room after they left. Thank God they were the only ones waiting for him this afternoon. Seeing patients again was harder than he’d expected. Baby steps, Wes had told him in his therapy session last week. Every small step would lead to something bigger. He filled out her chart and went through some of the other charts of patients the new orthopedists had seen, remaining impressed wit
h the quality of their work. The clinic was lucky to have these doctors.
He splayed his fingers against his chest, the rapid beat of his heart playing against his fingers. He needed something, anything to calm him down. Maybe a drink before he went home. Not like anyone was waiting for him there. He said good night to Marly at the front desk and walked out into the early twilight. The setting sun painted a peacock’s tail of color across the lavender-gray sky. Charcoal snuffs of clouds drifted above the buildings in lower Manhattan. Wandering aimlessly down Van Brunt Street, he decided to head over to the Fairway supermarket, where he could catch a quick bite on their outside deck, then go home and have a drink. Or two.
After purchasing his sandwich and bottle of water from the café, he sauntered out onto the deck, looking over the twinkling lights of the city. He drank his water and stood, enjoying the cool, early-evening breeze playing against his face. A young man, probably no older than seventeen or eighteen, stood next to him, shoulders hunched, fingers drumming a beat. He eyed him curiously.
“I ain’t lookin’ to rob you. You want anything? I got Xannies, Molly, X, and Oxy.”
Fascinated, Jordan watched as the kid’s hand slid into his jacket pocket and pulled out several plastic baggies filled with different colored pills. His nerves escalated at the sight of the familiar yellow pills.
“Whaddya say, man?” The kid nervously licked his lips.
Jordan smiled slightly.
Chapter Four
Inexplicably nervous about meeting Lucas Conover again, Jordan scowled at his reflection in the mirror. The youth center, he needed to remind himself, wasn’t Lucas’s to control. Keith had intended him to be in charge and Jordan vowed to follow through on Keith’s dream. Considering how he was failing miserably in every other aspect of his life lately, the least he could do was not let Keith down.
The idea sounded brave and strong but the mirror told another story. No wonder everyone who knew him looked askance when they first laid eyes on him. The pallor of his skin and slightly red-rimmed eyes didn’t paint a picture of a man anyone would willingly put their faith in. They should only know he hadn’t much faith in himself. Not anymore. One more pill to settle his nerves—he didn’t want to take a drink and risk Conover coming down hard on him again like the first time they met. Jordan straightened his tie and threw back his shoulders. Time to buoy up the confidence and take charge. Let Conover see he wasn’t a man to be pitied.
They’d agreed to meet at a restaurant in the Meatpacking District to begin ironing out the structure of the Center. Unused to going out to clubs or the party scene in general the past four years, Jordan wondered as he got into the cab if Conover picked the restaurant to make it easy for him to go out with his friends afterward. He knew the man was gay from discussions with Keith, but he didn’t get the sense he had a steady partner.
The area had changed since he’d last been here. Gazing around at the swarms of well-dressed people, trendy restaurants and art galleries, once again it hit Jordan how life continued its ruthless merry trek despite a person’s inner hell. People were born, died, and fought wars in distant countries, yet here the search for the perfect martini to go with their hundred-dollar steak went on as if that were the norm and the most important thing in life. Had he also been as shallow as these people? Dismay rolled through him, leaving him deep in thought.
A car door slammed, jolting him back to the job at hand, and Jordan promised himself not to become mired down in blackness and misery. Time enough for that when he lay awake at night with regret his only bedtime companion. Keith’s legacy, his dream, had been to help kids stay off the street and, Jordan swore as he walked into the restaurant, the Center would be the only thing on his mind tonight.
“Good evening, sir. We’re fully booked for reservations tonight.” The tall woman, hair in a severe chignon, greeted him with a brief, assessing glance Jordan knew all too well, one that debated whether you belonged. Knowing he didn’t measure up to his best, anger simmered inside him at the hostess’s snobbish behavior basing his net worth solely on his appearance. He recognized that look, as it was one he used himself occasionally only to have Keith scold him on it.
Who was there to stop him from falling down, now?
You know better, babe. You can do it. Keith might not be at his side, but his spirit rested within Jordan.
Defiantly, he glared at the woman. “I’m sure you are and yes I do. The name is Conover and no need to check. I see him at the table now.” With long, purposeful strides, Jordan walked to the back of the restaurant where he’d spotted Lucas. In his dark suit, stark white shirt and bright blue tie—was that Bugs Bunny on there?—Jordan found Lucas a hard man to ignore even in a sea of equally well-dressed men. A look of something wild and dark—untamable was the word Jordan fumbled for—came to mind when he assessed Lucas Conover. Without being told, Jordan knew the man had a past with a story.
“I hope you weren’t waiting too long.” Jordan sat in the comfortable chair directly across the marble-topped table. The restaurant was lauded for a casual, home-style cuisine, but Jordan had spent enough time in Italy in his youth to long for the truly traditional places where he could sit with a simple glass of house wine and an enormous plate of pasta.
“Not at all. Only long enough to get my beer. Do you want a drink?”
Luke’s assessing eyes met his across the table and over the flickering candles.
“I’m fine with sparkling water with lime, please. Thank you,” Jordan said to the waiter who’d appeared silently at their tableside. “So,” he said, directing his attention back to Luke, “what have you come up with in terms of space?”
“We’ve already leased the space; that was done prior to you joining us. We have a real estate developer on the board, and he was able to secure a location not far from the precinct but more important, close to several schools.”
“Perfect.”
The waiter returned and Luke ordered stuffed clams and chicken parmigiana while Jordan ordered grilled artichokes and chicken marsala. He figured whatever he didn’t eat, he’d take home for tomorrow. That had become his life; where once he’d loved to come home and cook for Keith, himself and their friends, he now subsisted on takeout food and coffee. And his pills. A brief throb of despair rose within him. He needed someone to scream at him and tell him he not only hurt himself, he also hurt the kid he bought his pills from and assisted the people who’d contributed to Keith’s death. He didn’t have the strength to do this alone anymore, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to ask for help.
They sipped their drinks in silence and Jordan could appreciate Lucas’s reticence. Handling vast wealth must require discretion and the ability to listen more than talk.
“I bet you do this a lot; take people out to high-priced restaurants and woo them to invest with your firm.” Jordan broke a breadstick in half and clutched it to keep his hands from trembling. “I imagine it must be nice to eat at all the trendy places.” He personally never liked that shit; nothing satisfied him more than coming home, stripping off his clothes, and relaxing. Lucas was different. A single, good-looking guy could have the city at his feet if he wanted. With a pang, Jordan remembered he too was single, and the thought of going to a club or a bar made him break out in a cold sweat.
Looking up from the piece of bread he’d buttered, Lucas’s lip curled in a faint sneer. “I have no time for that. I don’t like crowds and never saw the appeal of the clubs. And as for the food?” He tossed the piece of bread onto his little plate and picked up his glass of beer. “I’d rather be home on my sofa watching the Yankees, drinking my own beer than be here paying twelve dollars for something with a cute name.” His lips curved in a teasing grin. “No offense.”
Hit by Lucas’s unexpectedly charming smile, Jordan returned one of his own. “None taken. I was thinking the same thing. These kinds of places aren’t my thing. Never have been.”
Their appetizers came, and in between bites, Lucas sketched out the pla
n for the next few weeks. “We have a board meeting next week to decide if we want to accept sponsorships or not. I’m all for getting companies to donate as much as they want.”
Pushing his artichoke around the plate, Jordan chewed his bottom lip in thought. “I understand, but I don’t want this to become something they crow about and take credit for. It isn’t about them or us. It’s about what Keith wanted and helping the kids of the community so they have a safe place to come to every day if they choose. We have to make them want to come. So for sure we’ll try and get the computer companies to donate their computers and the libraries to donate children’s books. But this is always going to be The Keith Hart Center for Youth. Not XYZ Corp Center. I’m doing this to help Keith’s dream become a reality.”
Noting Lucas’s silence, Jordan quirked a brow. “Did I surprise you? You’re awfully quiet.”
The chatter from the cavernous dining room filled the silence, while he awaited Lucas’s response.
“I agree. For the record, I never intended to acknowledge the corporate sponsors any more than having maybe a plaque in, say the computer area, stating, Computers Generously Donated by…whomever we choose. As you put it so very well, it isn’t about them.” Once again, he flashed that charming grin that lit up his normally austere face.
A tug of desire hit Jordan low in his belly and the breadstick crumbled in his hand. For almost a year he’d barely thought about sex. In the cold hours of the dark, he’d awaken from dreams where he’d been making love with Keith, and his body’s natural urge had led him to finish off with his hand. But not until this moment had he felt a pull toward another man. Disturbed, Jordan studied Lucas from beneath lowered lashes, pretending to concentrate on his food.
For God’s sake, what was he even thinking? Shaking his head, angry with himself for having those traitorous urges, Jordan drank down half his sparkling water, his hands shaking so badly he feared Lucas might comment. Lucky for him, the waiter approached to take away their dishes, engaging Lucas in conversation so he saw nothing.
After the Fire Page 4
