Page 66 of Offside Attraction

Claire let out a breath. "It’s helping. The Reviact."

He took this in while simultaneously scouring the sounds in the background for any hint of where Claire could be at the moment. There was another voice, but it didn’t sound like she was in a public place. "That’s great."

Her voice was soft. "I’m two weeks sober. I kind of don’t want to say it out loud. Don’t want to jinx it."

Jordan straightened and started to pace. “Yeah, I get that.”

“It feels easier this time.”

That tiny ball of glowing hope he’d tried so hard to stamp out flared to life. He drew a deep breath, wishing he could extinguish it. Force it into dormancy until she had at least a year under her belt. Last year at this time, Claire had ended up in the ER. The week before Christmas.

“What do you need?” Jordan stalked to his bedroom, looking for the keys to his truck he’d stashed on his nightstand.

“Oh, nothing. I was just calling,” she said. Jordan froze mid-step. “Anyway, I have to go, but—” she paused and sucked in a breath. “I can’t really make plans, I don’t want to . . . you know. Cancel or anything. But I thought I could call closer to Christmas. Maybe we could do brunch or something. If I’m still feeling better.”

Jordan blinked. His ears were ringing.

“Jord?”

“Yeah. No, that would be great.”

“Okay. Talk soon. Oh, and I applied for a job. It’s nothing big, just working at the new Target. But I should know by next week.”

Jordan was speechless. The call ended, and he hadn’t even said goodbye.

He dropped to the bed and set his phone next to him. Was this some practical joke? He waited for someone to jump out of his bathroom and tell him he was on Punk’d.

Rhonda dropped off food. Claire called just totalk.

He didn’t know what to do with it. Jordan ran his hands through his hair and threw on a baseball cap. He had to go to the rink. He grabbed his hockey bag and stick and then grabbed one of the brownies on his way through the kitchen.

He was going to be early to the rink for once.

Chapter

Twenty-One

Rhonda

Rhonda parkedat the curb in front of Tina's house. It was an older split-level, but someone along the way had brought it into the 21st century with a modern, minimalist facelift.

Her hands shook as she fumbled with her keys. She'd been a mess all afternoon, and seeing Darcy and then Jordan took her scrambled insides and threw them in the blender. She rarelyneededto talk to someone. But if she didn’t get this out of her system, she was going to word vomit all over the next solicitor that stopped at her door selling Christmas light installation.

Desperate times.

Darcy, even if he didn’t do it intentionally, was going to give this away to the Snowballs. She’d heard them shit talking before games in the past, and the Snowballs were set to play Pucks Deep that week. It was too good. If Darcy could fuel the fire before a rivalry game, he sure as hell would.

And this would fuel the fire.

Rhonda strode up the sidewalk and knocked before she could second guess herself.

Tina opened the door, and her eyes lit up. "Girl!" She jumped forward and wrapped Rhonda in her arms, getting her bare feet wet on the snow-soaked welcome mat. She stepped back and waved her in, leaving dirty footprints on the wood floor in the entry.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she followed Tina into the kitchen. She gripped her purse strap tighter.

“Anne! The prodigal has returned!” Tina shouted.

Rhonda laughed, but it came out sounding more like a dying seal. She rubbed her hands together, and only then noticed they were shaking. She shoved them in her coat pockets.

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