While she would’ve liked to argue with him, the truth was, her stomach could use a refill and the next few days were going to be hell. So, why not let him take care of her for a little while? What harm could it do?
The devastating news hit her anew. Bertie was gone. And, despite Jordan’s current position beside her, eventually, he’d return to... wherever and whomever he had in his orbit. But her life had irrevocably changed. For the first time since that devastating night nearly thirty years ago when her dad died, she was alone again.
“Let’s get you home, Cam.”
SHE PASSED ON THE CHOCOLATE cake, which had always been her favorite dessert.
“Try a bite,” he cajoled, waving a small portion of the treat speared on his fork.
With a shake of her head, she refused his offer, then gestured at the dirty takeout dishes from their meal scattered across the tabletop. “Thanks for the dinner, but I think I need to be by myself for a while.”
It didn’t take a brain surgeon to see she was fragile right now. At the same time, though, Jordan probably wasn’t high on the list of people she’d turn to for comfort and solace. Unfortunately, the man she most needed was the one who’d died. And Jordan knew without being told, he was a poor substitute for Bertie.
“Will you be all right?” he asked. “Is there somebody I can call to stay with you?”
She pushed away from the bistro table and got to her unsteady feet. A major yawn widened her mouth. “I just want a hot bath and some sleep.”
He gave her a hard stare, and she clucked her tongue. “What? Don’t look at me like that. I’ll be okay. Honest. I’m broken but not beaten. I’ll survive.”
“Glad to hear it.” He stared out the window at the Manhattan skyline, where darkness began to drop and lights clicked on in odd patterns in the other buildings. Clearing his facial expression of any obvious concern took some time—particularly since that last phrase was pure Bertie, and he wondered if she realized she used it.
His gaze traveled back to her in time to see her hands twisting in front of her stomach. “Can I ask a favor though?”
“Sure.”
“Will you ride with me to the memorial service? I know it might not be comfortable for you, that there might be some bad blood between you and some of your former teammates, but...” Her voice cracked, and she looked at him through red-rimmed, wet eyes. “I can’t do this alone.”
He nodded. “If you want me there, I’ll be there. No matter what anyone else says.” Not that his former teammates had any grudge against him anyway. They’d understood his reason for leaving. Everyone had—everyone but Cam.
“No one will say anything. I’ll make sure of it. Well, except my mom.” She picked up a remote control from the glass-topped end table and pointed it at the window. On a low hum, horizontal shades slid downward, dimming the light in the living room and covering the view. “Her, I have no control over. She’s a damn tornado in an outhouse.”
Another Bertie phrase. He had no idea if she was channeling the dead man or if Bertie’s spirit had refused to leave its earthly bonds and had taken up residence in Cam. To hell with masking his concern. She needed someone here with her tonight.
“How about I spend the night?” he said, keeping his tone light.
Her eyes bugged out and a grimace twisted her lips. She toed off her shoes before replying on a huff of air, “Get real.”
“On the couch,” he added. “You won’t even know I’m here.”
He’d be up all night, since there was no way he could sleep anywhere but his own custom bed these days, but she didn’t need to know that. What she needed was to have a sounding board nearby, someone to watch over her, to be ready to catch her when she crumbled tonight. Because she would crumble.
She bent to pick up her shoes, saying nothing, and he pressed his advantage. “Why don’t you go change and I’ll make coffee?”
Taking a few steps toward the bedroom, she tossed over her shoulder, “Go home, Jordan. I’m fine. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Definitely not, but I don’t think Bertie would want you to be alone tonight, either.”
On a quick whirl, she speared him with a gaze blazing arrows of anger. “Who made you an expert on what Bertie would want? When was the last time you talked to him? Five years ago?”
“More like a few weeks ago, actually.”
Her posture sagged, and the fire dimmed in her eyes. “Oh, right. You guys talked football, didn’t you?”
“He talked football. I talked about you.”
“Why?” The single syllable came out a harsh whisper, roughened by doubt and grief. Her voice trembled on the edge of tears, but she didn’t let them fall. She never did—not if anyone else was around. She’d grow brittle, but she never let a crack appear in her strong veneer.
“Why did I talk about you?”
She dropped her shoes with a thud. Tossing her head to shake out her hair, she fisted her hands at her sides. Jordan knew the signs and braced for impact. Here it comes. The breakdown.
He might not have seen one from her in a few years, but he never forgot how they started—or how they usually ended—with the two of them snuggled in bed. Well, that part wasn’t about to happen. Not tonight. Not ever again. No way he’d let her get that close to him ever again.
He would help her through the next few days, seal the deal on the Loughlin site, and then get the hell away from her before his heart could become engaged. Not for her. He wasn’t that
