"But in order to pass the class you have to do what's expected of you."
"And in order to be a part of the family . . . ditto."
God, he needed a drink. Preferably something ninety proof with an extra kick in the afterburn. For whatever reason, Nicole was looking for attention. He didn't know from whom, but she was sending a message loud and clear.
"Didn't we just have this conversation?" he asked. "I get it. You hate me. Can we just talk about you for a minute?"
"Why did you come back?" she asked, arms folded again, chin jutted. "For the money?"
"Money?" Was she serious? "Sorry to disappoint you, sis, but I don't need any of Mom and Dad's money. I've made more on my own than I'll ever be able to spend."
"Must be nice." Her lips curled in a sneer. Since he figured she wasn't about to burst into an Elvis impersonation, he took it for what it was-­another wallop of attitude. "Hope it was a good replacement for your family."
This was going nowhere. Until she chose to cut him some slack he had to dish out the brotherly advice in small amounts. He stood and pushed the vanity chair back in place.
"Leaving so soon?" The bitterness in her tone scratched through his heart like a rusty nail.
"Just giving you a chance to pull yourself together so we can talk in a more civil manner." He took the few steps that brought him right beside her bed, where she glared up at him, sneer firmly in place. "So don't get your hopes up. I'm not going any farther than downstairs. And I'll be back soon to make sure you start doing your school assignments so you can graduate."
"Good luck with that." She dismissed him by turning her back.
"Luck has always been on my side, little sister." Jordan closed the door behind him, and his shoulders dropped on a long sigh. He felt like he'd just been slammed into the boards by Andre the Giant. When he finally shook off the acid she'd spewed, he headed down the stairs and met Declan at the halfway point.
His twin looked him over. "I see you've still got your hide attached."
"Barely. She hates me, that's for sure."
"You tell her to get in line?"
The smile on his twin's face told Jordan the comment was in good humor, but at the moment not a damn thing seemed funny.
"I know everyone grieves in different ways," he said, "but Nicki sure seems a lot more angry than sad."
Dec's broad shoulders came up in a shrug. "Maybe she's having boyfriend problems."
"I think it's more likely she's having brother problems."
His brother glanced up the stairs. "I know you haven't been around much to know all her idiosyncrasies, but if you ask me she's needed a personality adjustment for a while."
"You have any idea why?"
Dec shrugged. "Guess I haven't been around as much as I should have either."
The answer gave Jordan no new insight, but the burn in the pit of his stomach led him to believe that something bad was lurking beneath the surface. His curiosity and concern deepened. He stuck his hands in his pockets and curled his fingers around the keys to his rented SUV. Before now the desire to run would have been too great to pass up. Instead he let go of the keys.
"How long are you sticking around?" Jordan asked.
"Ryan asked me to look over the accounts," Dec said. "So I'll be here about a week. You?"
His team was playing their first game without him tonight. The coach had given him only a week off and he'd already surpassed that. But he'd given his word to the family that he'd be all in and he tried to never break a promise. Although he was sure if you asked Lucinda Nutter, aka Ms. Diamond, she'd probably have a different opinion.
And why the hell had she popped into his head at a time like this?
"I told you," Jordan said, "I'm all in."
"Your team is heading toward the playoffs. How are you going to manage that?"
Jordan shrugged. "Like I said, I'll figure it out."
And he hoped to God he could.
Chapter 5
In his younger years as a hockey player, Jordan had burned off excessive energy with partying, women, or both. He'd put in his time hanging with his teammates, playing darts, and tilting a longneck until the wee hours-­even if they had a game the next day. He'd gone into more than one battle on the ice with a hangover pounding through his skull and twisting through his stomach.
Age had a way of putting your brain cells back to better use.
He entered Sunshine's twenty-­four-­hour gym prepared to burn off the frustration from his disastrous talk with Nicole. From his perspective their chat had been an epic fail. If Ryan weren't such a standup guy, Jordan would wonder if he'd been intentionally set up for the ass kicking his little sister had delivered. But revenge had never been Ryan's style.