My stomach knotted so tightly I placed a hand over my gut to soothe it.
Jordan just shrugged, wiping the sweat from his glass before he took a sip. “So, on the ride home, I asked Mom why I looked so different from her and Dad and Noah. And I’ll never forget that look they shared, the one that told me I’d missed something, that there was something being hidden from me.”
Jordan paused for a moment, and I took a sip of my old fashioned, waiting.
“They told me everything that night, and from that moment on, I understood. And it didn’t make me feel like any less a part of the family,” he clarified, but then his eyes found mine, the gray-ish blue that surrounded his brown iris glowing in the low light of my kitchen. “But, it did open a new door in my mind, one I didn’t even know existed. I realized I was theirs, but not really theirs. They were my mom and dad, but I had another mom and dad, too.”
I nodded in understanding.
“So, yeah. It opened a new door. And I’ve walked through that door frequently ever since that day, looking for answers that I know will never come.”
My heart ached with the desire to hug him.
It hit me so fiercely and unexpectedly that I nearly followed it. I uncrossed my legs and made to stand before I realized what I was doing and stopped myself, taking a deep breath, instead. There were no words to say in that moment — none that would be anything other than hot air to fill the space. So, I didn’t say a word. I just sat there with him and let him know he wasn’t alone.
“It’s strange, because I had a similar awakening when we camped when I was a teenager, too. Only that time, I had been hanging out with a brother and sister who were black. But, they treated me differently, like I didn’t actually belong with them.” His eyes found mine. “It’s like you were saying with Paige, and I’m sure you’ve been there, too. It’s like I’m stuck in this strange in-between of not being black enough, but not being white enough, either.”
I nodded, a grim understanding. “I know that feeling well.”
“I couldn’t have asked for a better family, though,” he said after a moment with a small smile. “I’m proud to be a Becker.”
I laughed softly. “You boys are as thick as thieves. Always have been. I think I’d heard of every single one of you before I even started my first day of school here.”
“Hey, to be fair, I’m usually the one wrangling those trouble-makers — especially Noah. Lord knows Ruby Grace couldn’t have come a moment sooner to settle that hothead down.”
The mood lightened with the mention of his brothers, and we chatted about each of them. A big part of me was curious about the fire that had taken his father’s life, but after having one already-heavy conversation, I skirted around my curiosity and stayed firmly in the friendly territory.
“Speaking of siblings, how’s Gabby doing?” Jordan asked after a while.
I smiled at the mention of my sister, who I knew would likely lose her mind if she knew Jordan was in my kitchen at this hour of the night. “She’s really good, loving the nursing life — though I’ll never understand it. She works all night, long hours, dealing with people who usually treat her like she’s a problem rather than a help.” I shook my head. “Makes me appreciate people who work in healthcare more.”
“Where’s she at now?”
“She and my parents are all in Austin,” I said, frowning as my finger traced the top of my glass. “Mom got a civilian job there working as an analyst, and I guess since we were all moving around together growing up, Sis just wanted to go with them.”
“You didn’t?”
I shrugged in lieu of an answer, my heart screaming I did.
Jordan was quiet for a while before he asked, “Was it hard, moving around like that when you were younger?”
I tilted my head, considering. “Yes, and no,” I said honestly. “It was hard not staying in one place long enough to have real friends, but… my sister and I were so close, you know? And it always felt like an adventure, moving from place to place, always having something new to discover.”
“I can’t even imagine,” Jordan said. “I’ve been in this town my whole life.”
“There are worse places to be.”
Jordan leaned back on a nod, watching me with a tired smile.
Conversation flowed easily between us after that, and so did the whiskey. As we talked, we went through two more old fashioneds, and the more we sipped, the easier it was to open up. I told him more about my upbringing, about the trouble I would get into with Gabby, a little about my parents. He knew about my mom’s military job, but had no idea that my father built and sold custom furniture made of solid wood wherever we were stationed. So, we talked for nearly an hour about the places I had lived and traveled to growing up, about Mom’s deployments and various job duties, and I even showed him pictures of my father’s favorite projects.
I’d just finished sharing a story about me and my sister getting in trouble for swimming in an old quarry in Alabama when I glanced at the clock and realized it was almost midnight.
I sighed, opening my mouth to tell Jordan it was probably time we both get some sleep, but then the song changed, and he closed his eyes and smiled, letting out an appreciative noise through his nose.
“Wow,” he said, shaking his head before he opened his eyes. They found mine instantly, and he stood, reaching one hand down to where I sat.
I stared at his hand, quirking a brow before I glanced back up at him like I had no idea what I was supposed to do with it. But he curled his fingers with a smile, nodding behind him to the living room like it was a dance floor.
“What?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“Dance with me.”
I laughed.
“Seriously,” he said before I could call him crazy. “There’s a great story that goes along with this song, and I want to tell it to you.”
Well, shit.
That got my attention, and I took one last sip of my drink before I slipped my hand in his, ignoring the way it covered mine easily with warmth as he tugged me to the living room. When we were in the space between my couch and love seat, he twirled me, pulling me into him with ease before I had the chance to stumble or fall.
Jordan Becker.
A good dancer.
Who the hell would have guessed that?
For a moment, we just swayed — one of his hands on my waist and the other covering my hand where it rested on his chest. I held my other on his shoulder, listening to the song. It was one I didn’t really know. I recognized it, and vaguely recalled my parents listening to it when I was younger, but past that, I had no idea why this song had made Jordan Becker pull me into my living room to dance.
“Do you know who this is?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Eric Clapton,” Jordan said with another smile. He was like a completely different man in that moment, one I’d never met before. The coach with the clipboard didn’t exist, not in that living room. He was somewhere else, sleeping or planning plays, and the man who swayed with me was the real Jordan Becker. It was like spotting a Siberian tiger in the wild.
I wondered how many people had ever seen him with their own two eyes.
“Wonderful Tonight,” Jordan said, just as the chorus began to play. “This was my mom and dad’s wedding song.”
I smiled, my heart squeezing as he twirled me out and back in. “It’s beautiful.”
Jordan nodded. “It is. And they didn’t just dance to it at their wedding. Every night after dinner, Dad would help Mom clean up in the kitchen, and then he’d pull her into the living room, put on this song or sometimes another one that they loved, and dance with her.”
I stopped swaying, gaping at him. “You’re kidding.”
Jordan didn’t miss a beat, sweeping me back up in the rhythm with him. “Dad was a smooth cat.”
“I can see that,” I said, chuckling. “So, every night after dinner?”
“Every night,” he repeated, and his s
mile slipped, ghosts dancing in his eyes just as much as we danced in that room. “When he died, I think that was the hardest part for her.” He had a far-off look as a moment passed between us. “I mean, my brothers and I, we were dealing with our own shit, you know? Noah was on this kick about who would be the man of the house. Logan was going crazy trying to figure out where he should step up and take Dad’s place in running the house, paying the bills, cleaning, caring for the lawn, doing taxes, all that. Mikey was so young… he was just trying to hold on, to understand that he’d lost his father.”
I squeezed his shoulder where I held him.
“And then one night, after dinner, Mom was in the kitchen cleaning up, and she had these big tears in her eyes that she was trying so hard not to let fall. My brothers and I sat at that table feeling helpless and run down. It was the first time I think we’d ever really felt off-kilter as a family.”
I nodded in understanding.
“And then, Logan got up from his chair, went into the living room, and put on this song.” He smiled. “I’ll never forget the way Mom froze in the kitchen, her eyes widening at the sound of it. And Logan went in there and reached for her hand, and took her back to the living room, and he danced with her.”
Tears welled in my own eyes, and I rolled my lips together to keep them from falling.
“And I swear, it was that dance that brought us back together as a family,” Jordan said, his voice softening to a whisper. “Every time we have family dinner at her house now, we take turns dancing with her after. And it’s like Dad is still alive, like he’s there with us, like he was the one who pulled us all together that night, as if to remind us that we always have each other, and he’s never really gone. And you know what?” He chuckled. “This song never gets old.”
My heart broke at the same time it surged with emotion. I didn’t know how to react to Jordan opening up to me. I didn’t know how to feel with his hand on my waist, with his other hand holding mine over his chest, with his stormy eyes searching mine as the music played between us.
But I leaned into him.
I leaned into his life, into his story, into everything and every person who made him who he was today. I leaned my body into his, leaned my heart into this soft man with the hardened edges. And when we both stopped swaying, when the music seemed to grow so loud it permeated our skin, when his fingers trailed their way up my ribs, over my arm, and framed my chin before tilting it up toward him, I leaned up on my toes.
His exhale was shaky when it touched my lips, but then my eyes closed, and his mouth found mine, and my living room exploded into a universe of stars.
The kiss was timid at first, our lips barely touching, sticking together in a hesitant embrace before we pulled away again. It was like we were each testing the other, giving them the chance to back out. My heart tripled its pace in my chest when our eyes met, and then, he kissed me again.
This time, his mouth was harder when it found mine, and more sure, his arms wrapping around me as he pulled me into him and kissed me like he was always destined to do so.
We both inhaled — the kiss, the night, each other — and his hands framed my face, holding me to him as if he was afraid I wasn’t real, that I’d fade in an instant if he didn’t hold onto me for dear life. He kissed me long and tender, and yet feverishly, too. We were lips and breaths and moans and then our mouths opened at the same time, and his tongue found mine, and an electrifying heat I hadn’t felt in years zipped violently from where we touched through every nerve in my body, ending at one point of contact between my legs.
It was that rush of heat that kicked my brain into gear, and I realized with freezing cold awareness what I was doing.
I was kissing Jordan Becker.
I was kissing Jordan Becker — my boss.
I was kissing someone.
Period.
I broke away as if his kiss was a knife in the gut rather than the sweetest ecstasy. Before he could even frown, I was already out of his grasp, backing away with my hands over my mouth, eyes wide.
When he registered what he was seeing, his eyes went wide, too.
“Shit,” he muttered, holding up his hands and taking a step toward me. I backed away just as much. “Sydney, I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s late,” I interrupted, turning away from him and bolting toward my dining room table as I cleared my throat. I immediately picked up our glasses, dumping what was left inside them into my sink and tossing the garnishes in the trash. I kept my eyes on my hands as I washed the glasses, as if I couldn’t have tossed them into the dishwasher, instead.
“Sydney,” Jordan tried from behind me.
“Thank you for today,” I said, heart racing, mind blurring. I didn’t know why it was happening, and I hated it, but in that moment?
All I thought of was Randy.
All I thought of was that Jordan and I couldn’t happen, that Randy would never let it happen, and that perhaps more than anything, I wasn’t ready for it to happen.
“I’m pretty tired,” I continued, still washing. “I think we both better get some sleep.”
The water was scalding hot on my hands but I didn’t move to change it. I just scrubbed and scrubbed until the soap was a frothy foam of bubbles on the sponge and the glass in my hand was clean enough for the Queen herself to drink from.
I could still sense Jordan in my home, hear his breaths, feel the mixture of longing and regret swirling inside him the same way they moved in me. But slowly, without another attempt to speak to me, he gathered his belongings, and with one last look in my direction that I didn’t return, he let himself out my front door.
And I fell to the floor, the water still running as I backed myself into the cabinet and squeezed my eyes shut, running my hands through my hair.
What have we done?
Jordan
Was it possible for a hangover to last forty-eight hours?
If anyone would have asked me on Monday afternoon thirty minutes before football practice, I would have responded with a resounding yes.
My head still pounded, gut churning like I was in danger of forfeiting what little I’d been able to eat at any given moment. I knew there were bags under my eyes and that I was in rough shape as I ran over my plans for the day’s practice.
And I also knew that none of it had anything to do with the alcohol I’d consumed.
I hadn’t been drunk — not at Sydney’s, not in the car on my way home, and not the next morning. If anything, I’d nursed those drinks to make them — and the conversation with Sydney — last.
I wasn’t hungover from the whiskey.
I was hungover from her kiss.
I’d been in that state of absolute worthlessness since I left Sydney’s house on Saturday night, spending the rest of the weekend ruminating on my actions, and even more on her reaction.
I’d kissed her.
Like a damn fool, I’d kissed her.
And she’d torn away from me like I was the devil himself.
Here I’d been chastising my team the past few weeks, telling them to be respectful of Sydney, and it had been me who had crossed the very line I’d put in place. She’d trusted me — not just here on the field and at the school, but in her home, too. I was there to work with Paige, to reassure Sydney that it was all going to be okay, and instead, I’d put her in the worst-possible situation.
I felt like a predator, and even more, like a joker.
Because the worst part of it all was that I really did think she wanted to kiss me, too.
I’d thought I’d read the signs right, that she’d leaned into me and looked up at me with eyes that silently pleaded for me to break the rules and lower my mouth to hers. I thought she’d opened up to me, and that I’d opened up to her, in return, and that we’d crossed into a new territory that could no longer be defined by our roles on the Stratford High School football team.
I’d thought we’d shared something that night — hell, that entire day.
What
. An. Idiot.
I’d run over my mistake in my head for the rest of the weekend, and nothing could save me from my thoughts. Not even taking the Bronco out mudding or dinner with my family on Sunday night brought me relief. Mom commented on how I was even quieter than usual, but I couldn’t even open up to her about what had happened — that was how stupid I felt.
More than that, I felt irresponsible.
I decided long ago that relationships were not for me. I knew too well how they could fail, how one partner could be left behind, how the pain that came with love almost always outweighed the pleasure. I never wanted to be in that line of fire, and more than that, I never wanted to be responsible for someone else’s demise, either.
Football was the love of my life, and I was happy with that.
So, when I’d crossed that line with Sydney, I’d done so not with the intention to hook up with her, to have a one-night stand, to have something casual.
I’d done it with the knowledge that I didn’t do anything half-assed.
I wanted her. I wanted to court her and date her and take things slow and worship her and eventually call her mine.
I wanted all those things knowing that she’d already been through hell once, judging by the ugly breakup with her and Randy, and that I would likely put her through it again, because that was just the way love worked.
Round and round and round these thoughts went in my head, all weekend long, like a carousel of torture that ran on its victims screams — of which there were plenty. Even working through more of Dad’s journal entries hadn’t distracted me from what I’d done and what it would mean.
And all along, I’d been dreading this very moment — when we’d have to be at work together, and it wouldn’t be the same as it was when we worked together just three days ago.
Another heavy sigh racked my chest as I tried to soothe my anxiety with a deep breath, and at that very moment, my office door swung open and slammed shut again before Sydney plopped her ass down in the chair on the opposite side of my desk.
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