Jordan got through to the doctor right away. “Hey, Julian, 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, Jules,” 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.” Julian’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, Jules. 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. His gaze traveled over the glass shelves with impatience as he failed to find what he needed. 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 the hell are 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, Jordy?” 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 and see the 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, sweetie.” 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.
There were two people waiting, 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 the X-rays were being taken, he talked with her mother, trying to ease her nerves.
The X-rays were negative, and he diagnosed it as a very bad sprain. He wrapped it up for her, 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, Jules 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, and remained impressed with the quality of their work. The clinic was lucky to have these doctors.
He splayed his fingers against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. 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 swallowed 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.
“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
Luke returned home late Friday night, completely drained. It had been a hellish week, full of conference calls and long meetings that sometimes extended well into the evening. In addition, because he dealt with international clients, he had to hold meetings in the middle of the night to accommodate their schedules. He never complained, as he was banking the majority of his salary, his only expenses being his apartment and the gym. No wonder so few people in his firm had long-term relationships. What spouse could put up with hours like these?
He’d had a brief conversation with Jordan Peterson whereby they’d agreed to meet the following week to start the hiring process for the foundation. Luke had an idea to use many of the people within the shelter he volunteered at who had themselves suffered from drugs and gun violence. They’d be able to relate to what the foundation hoped to accomplish and could help speak to the terrible consequences that illegal guns and drugs brought on inner city communities.
Jordan had seemed in a much more lighthearted mood over the phone than when they’d met in person. Hopefully it wasn’t the result of any alcoholic beverage, but Luke wasn’t the man’s keeper or babysitter. Everyone had, at some point in their lives, lost people precious to them. The man had to learn to deal with the shit life threw at him.
Though Luke had never known his parents, growing up in foster care had given him two brothers, Ash and Brandon. Neither he nor Ash had overtly displayed their sexuality, yet they were often the targets for homophobic bullies, and on more than one occasion, Ash had been suspended for getting involved in bloody fights with members of the football team.
