Chapter 48: Damn You, Nicholas Devon
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Jordan refused to allow Megan on the ice for a full week and instead kept her occupied listening to music for her next program, coming up with costume ideas and started her on the basics of choreography. Jordan felt if she kept Megan's mind busy, she'd forget about being off the ice for a short time. It didn't work. In the span of three hours on her first day off, she'd decided on her music, already had a costume in mind and she and Jordan were already arguing over the choreography, it was a loud exchange of opinions interspersed with laughter.
It was music to George's ears and despite the fact Jordan had banished him from the office whenever Megan was present, their voices raised in playful bantering and vigorous bouts of making their opinions known brought a smile to his face. Megan could hold her own when it came to making her feelings known and he had the feeling that Jordan was on occasion creating excuses to get Megan to argue with her and give her the chance to express herself. Something Megan's mother had never done with her daughter. Megan's mother made all the decisions - period. Fortunately, these days Megan's mother rarely made an appearance, unconcerned with her daughter's injury despite Jordan's call and explanation about the fall. Megan's mother had full confidence Jordan would do all that was necessary to see to her daughter's safety. And if it was okay, did Jordan mind watching her until she got back from her quick get-away? It shouldn't be more than four or five weeks. Jordan couldn't believe the gall of the woman and was more than ready to blast her about her non-mothering attitude when she caught the look of relief on Megan's face and her eyes lighting up in excitement at the prospect of spending all that time with her coach. All thoughts of the forth coming argument dissolved and she agreed, shaking her head in disbelief as Megan's mother jotted down the number where Jordan, or her daughter, could leave a message if she was really needed. But stressing, time and again, her necessity for a complete get-away - the world was just too much for her right now - so to call only if it was a dire emergency. Thanks so much. Good-bye. With nothing more than a kiss blown in Megan's direction and a quick, brief wave, Megan's mother had departed without a backward glance. Jordan had felt like crying herself at the woman's coldness but upon seeing Megan's resigned expression, simply pulled the young girl into her arms and held her, absorbing the tears Megan silently shed as her small form shook in Jordan's arms.
And now, a week later, Megan was driving Jordan crazy with the same one question. "Why can't I skate? My knee feels fine. I've been off the ice for a week - just like you said - so when can I skate?
Jordan was beginning to believe that was the only sentence Megan remembered. "Can't you manage just one more day off the ice? Would it really kill you to give your knee one more day?" Jordan asked with more patience than she felt.
Jordan's day had started out badly and was quickly moving towards miserable. With only two weeks to go before the ice show, everyone's nerves were on edge. The last thing Jordan needed was Megan's relentless pleas to let her skate. But Megan continued her assault on Jordan's goodwill and finally exploding in frustration, Jordan had told her to get out of her face, take her skates and as far as she was concerned, skate her nagging little butt off.
Megan felt about two seconds of guilt at her behavior but happily grabbed her skates and ran from the office toward the rink, shrieking in joy.
Jordan listened to Megan's happy laughter echo from the high ceilings and gritted her teeth in frustration. It wasn't totally Megan's fault she was so on edge. Over the past week it seemed she was continually tripping over the new hockey coach and each time she saw him the urge to draw closer was harder to fight. She wondered if this is what it felt like to be a leaf in a windstorm, helpless to fight against the inevitable push and pull of something more powerful than herself. Worse still, it upset her that she had to work harder to bring Aleksei's face to her mind's eye. She was so sure she had loved him with all her soul and yet when she closed her eyes, his beloved face wasn't as clear and detailed as it once had been. Suddenly his eyes would look sky blue instead of ebony, his hair a tawny brown instead of dark and wavy. She often wondered if this was the path to madness and had been more than willing to sell her soul to the devil for the chance to spend one last day with Aleksei. Of course, she knew that was impossible and so she set her goals much lower. On days like this one, she wondered what she had worth bartering with for fifteen minutes of silence, peaceful, deafening, silence.
Instead, the phone rang, its sound obnoxiously loud and with a scowl she answered it. Immediately a woman's voice on the other end of the call starting jabbering excitedly, speaking so quickly she could scarcely understand the gibberish. George then entered the office, casting an apprehensive glance toward Jordan and smiling when she held the phone away from her ear and rolled her eyes in exasperation. George's smile widened when what sounded like the voice of Alvin the chipmunk clearly echoed from the phone. Shaking his head in amusement, he dropped his hockey bag beside the door and started for the cabinet that held the schedules for the next several hockey games. Just as he opened the door, the room vibrated with a deafening crash and the entire building shook.
"Oh, Christ. Dad," George offered in explanation, slamming the cabinet door and racing for the direction of the Zamboni's garage.
Jordan mumbled an I'll get back to you and dropped the phone into the cradle, dashing after George as he ran toward the double doors leading to the garage. Just as Jordan cleared the double doors, hot on the heels of George, she skidded to a stop, George's back taking the brunt of her slight weight as she crashed into him, grabbing his arms when she nearly fell.
The sight that greeted them made their mouths drop open in disbelief. Briefly put, there was a new opening in the far back wall of the garage. An opening more than large enough to easily fit the Zamboni through. As they stood staring at the gaping hole in the wall, floating dust mixed with the snow swirling through the opening, and settled on the pile of splintered timbers that had once been the back wall, but now littered the floor.
George's father coughed through the dust and debris surrounding him and stepped carefully from the battered Zamboni. As he scratched his head in bewilderment, he looked from the machine to the new opening, then back to the machine, his expression clearly stating he just couldn't figure out what had happened this time. All he'd wanted to do was move the stupid machine from one side of the garage to the other. Should it really have been that difficult a task? Were all Zamboni machines so miserable to operate? Apparently so.
"Dad?" George asked, concern for his father's well being out weighing his frustration at the newest disaster instigated by his unlucky father.
"Your mother's going to shit when she sees this!" George senior stated knowingly, nodding his head up and down.
"I'd say that's a safe bet, Dad. You okay?"
"Only until your mother sees this - after that, I can make no promises,"
"What on earth happened?" Jordan made the mistake of verbalizing the question on everyone's mind.
"I just wanted that damn thing out of the way. I couldn't get to the tools I needed - don't you look at me that way, junior - your mother hasn't taken away my right to use every tool around here. She's still kind enough to let me use a power drill."
"The battery operated one," George, Jr. reminded him.
"Yes, the battery operated one," George, Sr. scoffed, scowling that he was restricted to using such low powered tools. It really wasn't his fault he'd drilled a hole in his hand with the electric drill, accidents happened all the time; they just seemed to happen to him a little more frequently than the average person. "All I wanted to do was reinforce some of the scenery with a couple extra screws."
"Dad, the scenery's fine."
Jordan held up her hand, worrying her lower lip at George's father's words. "Actually, George, I asked him to do that for me. There were a couple of pieces of scenery that were a little rocky."
"See?" George, Sr. demanded, pointing his finger at Jordan and nodding vigorously. "I was just doing what I'd been asked to do."
"Okay, fine, Dad," George Junior held up his hands as if surrendering. "Still, why'd you move the Zamboni?" he asked, running his hands through his hair in frustration, his mother's shocked expression clear in his mind.
"I told you, Junior, I needed my battery operated drill," his father explained patiently, enunciating slowly and clearly as if speaking to someone a bit dimwitted.
"Dad..." George Junior sighed, rubbing his temples where his headache was building mightily. "Why, didn't you ask for help?"
"I didn't want to bother anyone. Everyone's running around here as if it's their last day on earth. It shouldn't have been a big deal to move that monster from one side of the garage to the other."
"You're right Dad, it shouldn't have been a big deal. But as usual, it's turned into a big deal and now we all have to deal with the fall-out," George Junior explained in exasperation. Looking again at the gaping hole in the wall, he cringed when he thought of how his mother was going to react to his father's latest mishap.
"Junior, it's not that big a deal, really! It could have been a whole lot worse!" his father countered.
"What, the whole building could have fallen around our ears?"
George Senior hadn't even gotten that far in his thinking. "Well there is that. No, I was referring to the size of the hole - it could be much bigger."
"Dad, it's big enough. It's winter. Remember? It's snowing, it's cold, there's a hole in the damn wall you could run a tank through, the ice show is two weeks away, Megan's recovering from a knee injury, Nick's going weird over Jordan and Mom's running on black coffee, chocolate and Tums. It doesn't get much worse than that!" his son demanded, oblivious to Jordan's sudden paleness and in-drawn breath.
Nick's sudden appearance through the hole in the wall surprised them all and Jordan's tension increased as she worried about George's comment regarding Nick and her. But Nick's casual statement, "I know George complains about my shoulders being wide, but honestly, I still fit through the front door," broke the tension and the small gathering soon found themselves trying to control their laughter, for the most part, unsuccessfully.
Jordan tried her best to ignore Nick, but time and again she found her gaze wandering appreciatively over his tall, muscular form. George was right, his shoulders were enormous! Thankfully, Nick's down-filled parka covered those wide shoulders and muscular arms and fell to mid-thigh, also covering his tempting bottom and upper thighs.
Maybe there is a God in heaven, Jordan thought as she pulled her wistful gaze forcefully away from the impossibly handsome man. "George, I've got to go check on Megan," Jordan offered as a way of escape. Her heart picked up it's pace every time she was in the same room with Nick. Escape was her only chance of salvation.
"You let her on the ice?" George Junior asked in disbelief. "The toughest broad I know gave in? I don't believe it."
"She wore me down - kind of like Chinese Water Torture - I couldn't stand her whining anymore so I tossed her butt out and told her to knock herself out. Hopefully, she didn't take it literally," Jordan laughed, her eyes bright, her smile wide.
"Now I know your secret - you can't stand whiners," George countered.
Jordan stuck her tongue out, her cheeks flushing when she saw Nick had caught her childish gesture and stood gazing intently at her, his eyes holding hers captive.
"I'll be sure never to whine," Nick added, his tone deep and promising, his eyes darkening a deeper blue.
Jordan's heart started to pound wildly, her breath caught in her throat and she felt captured by the power he radiated. It took all her strength to close her eyes, breaking the magnetic pull Nick had over her and with a mumbled excuse about Megan, left the trashed room, her legs barely supporting her.
George watched her sudden retreat, baffled by her unusual behavior until he looked at Nick and saw the same dazed expression in his eyes as he continued to stare at the door Jordan had just exited through. "Nick...Nick..." George called before scooping up a small piece of Styrofoam insulation and bouncing it off Nick's shoulder with an accurate throw.
"What?" Nick growled, looking around in bewilderment, shaking his head to clear the strange sensation he felt every time he was anywhere near Jordan.
"Welcome back, buddy," George offered, bumping shoulders with him as he passed by.
"What?" Nick repeated, his hands spread as if asking what the devil George was insinuating this time.
"Just off in the ozone again, Nick. No problem," George explained, starting to pick up the larger pieces of wood that littered the floor.
"Bull." Nick argued.
George's expression said otherwise.
"Shit!" Nick growled deeply, running his large hands through his short hair.
He had to get a handle on what was going on. This was getting entirely too weird! Why was he so drawn to this slip of a girl - no woman - he'd met only a week ago? She wasn't anything like the typical women he'd dated. He'd always been drawn to women who laughed easily, flirted shamelessly, were loaded with curves and knew exactly what to do with them and kept the promises they'd made, even if the promise had come after tequila shooters. Nick was certain, Jordan had never even been in the presence of a tequila shooter. And figure wise, if she had one, she did her best to keep it covered. Although, he knew for a fact she had one fine ass and even the long sweatshirts she wore constantly refused to stay in place and rode up over her hips, leaving that lovely bottom free to view. And since every time she saw him, she reversed her direction, more often than not, he had a fine view of her retreating southern exposure. A view he had come to appreciate more and more each time he saw it.
"Nick, you're slipping again," George suggested, bumping past him again, his arms filled with remnants of what had once been the back wall. "You going to help or are you going to stand there mooning over Jordan all afternoon?""
"Screw you, Washington." Nick growled, slipping his parka off and tossing it on to the workbench, his flannel shirt followed, landing on the mountainous jacket. "So, what's the plan?" Nick asked, standing with his feet slightly spread, his arms spread across his massive chest, the muscles of his arms bulging.
George looked at his friend, a towering mass of muscle and good looks and shook his head in amazement. "You know, Nick, there ought to be laws to protect you pretty boys. No wonder you get girls so easy. They all think you're gay and they'll be the one to convert you. What a racket!"
Nick suggested George attempt a physically impossible act upon himself, threw back his head and laughed. The sound deep and husky, echoed through the building, reaching Jordan in the ice rink where she watched Megan skate happily over the ice and suddenly her heart began to race.
"Damn you, Nicholas Devon," Jordan whispered, her arms crossing her chest as her blood began to boil. With an effort, she pushed the image of sky blue eyes and a sexy smile from her mind and returned her attention to Megan as she sped across the ice.
"So tell me, Washington. How long do we have to get this hole in the wall fixed before the boss gets here?" Nick asked, grabbing another armful of splintered and broken wooden beams.
"Not long enough."
"Time to think positive, Georgie. Are we putting a door in or just putting the wall back together?"
"I think it would be best if it looked like it used to. I'd just as soon she not find out about this little incident."
"Whatever." Nick shrugged. "I'll get the list of materials together, we'll send your father down to get the stuff and be back together by..." Nick looked at his watch - eleven-thirty. "late tonight."
"Other than the 'we'll send dad to get the stuff' I can live with the rest of it," George agreed, sending his father a look that stopped the protest his father had been about to make.
"Tell you what, Mr. W., we'll go get the stuff together," Nick offered, grabbing up a clipboard and tape measure and sticking a pencil behind his ear. "In the mean time, give me a hand with measuring this hole and then we'll figure what all we need to make it disappear."
George Senior positively glowed at Nick's offer and jumped to his feet, eager to be part of the process to put the wall back together. Maybe today wasn't such a bad day after all. And if all went as planned, his wife would never know about this little accident.
Text Copyright © 2000 by Constance E. Moynihan
