“Do you think Jordan would want to look at the stars with us?”
Ah. My gaze flicks down to the guesthouse, with the lights on. I think about her crying in the closet today and want to put Gary’s head on a spike.
“I’m not sure. I think she’s busy.”
“Oh.” A shy, hopeful look grows on her face. “I want her to be my friend.”
Christ, this kid. She’s everything good in the world.
“Do you think she wants to be?” Bea presses.
I think about what Jordan said when I offered to connect herwith Grace, about only being around for three months. She took the cat in, though, and that’s not something an emotionally unavailable person would do.
“I’m not sure,” I answer honestly. “But I still think you should try.”
CHAPTER 26
TATE
“One last thing,”Ross says as we wrap up the morning meeting the next day.
Jordan lifts her gaze from his keychain, the little hockey stick with his name and number. He’s had it for as long as I’ve known him and when I finally asked about it a couple years ago, he admitted that Jordan made it for him as a child.
Jordan’s spent the entire morning meeting trying not to stare at it.
“There’s an event this Friday evening at the Fairmont Hotel, for disabled youth in hockey,” he tells her. “Tate and I will be there, along with a few players. I expect you there as well.”
She tears her gaze from the keychain. “I remember. I’ll be there.”
“Great. Thank you both.”
We say a quick goodbye and head to the elevator.
“Do you have everything you need for the event?” I ask as we wait. “A dress? Shoes?”
I think about the dress the stylist picked out for her, in the booklet of outfit ideas. The stylist sent a copy to my email in case Jordan loses the printout. I keep looking through it, wondering what she’ll wear the next day, wondering which dress she’ll wear to this weekend’s event.
That red dress is—yeah. Jordan Hathaway is going to have everystraight, unattached player on the team drooling after her. An ugly jab hits me in the gut.
“Yep. All set.”
What about hair and makeup,I want to add. These events have a lot of press. A lot of eyes on the attendees. Photos circulate online after, as my brother, Noah, loves to text me. I don’t want her to feel out of place.
I want her to feel like a million bucks.
“Do you know anything about this?” she asks, pulling a blue plastic snack package out of her bag. Dunkaroos. “It was on my car this morning before I left for work.”
A laugh slips out of me, followed by a sharp, sweet twist in my heart. “Bea,” I say simply.
It never ceases to blow my mind that my child is a real person, with her own thoughts and motives and actions.
“She gave you her lunch treat.” I can’t help but smile at Jordan. “Congratulations. She likes you.”
A guarded but pleased look crosses her face. “Am I supposed to eat it?”
“If you want. Just don’t give it back to her,” I add. “Please. It’ll make her feel bad.”
“I wouldn’t,” she says quickly, meeting my eyes with a hurt look in hers. “I don’t want to make her feel bad.”
