Tonight it didn't matter if you were the captain, a veteran, or the newest kid on the ice. Tonight they were a team and tonight they'd celebrate as one. Come tomorrow they'd all be back to kicking ass in practice and preparing for the biggest games of the season.
Near the lockers, Boucher tangled rookie Colton Dahl up in a headlock, and Jordan laughed. Damn, he was happy. Just out-­of-­his-­mind fucking happier than he'd been in a long time. Things had been going great for a while now. If he were a superstitious man, he'd be worried that his string of good luck was about to break. But he wasn't even the type to grow a good-­luck beard during the playoffs like the other guys. He didn't hesitate to walk under ladders, and he didn't flinch when a black cat crossed his path. The vibe he had going was pretty sweet, and he planned to do everything in his power to keep it on fast track.
Grabbing the back of his jersey with one hand, he pulled the number eighteen shirt over his head. A flash of purple and black briefly covered his eyes before he tossed the stinking material into the hamper and hung his pads in the locker. Before he could sit down to remove his skates, his cell phone rang.
He debated answering it.
Somehow the bleached blond princess he'd tangled legs with last week had gotten his number. Not that he didn't appreciate her willingness to go above and beyond between the sheets, but Jordan didn't have a want or a need to tie himself down to any woman. Especially one who had dollar signs in her eyes and envisioned his ring on her finger. Still, there were others who could be calling. And with five siblings it could be any one of them.
Grabbing the black case, he glanced down at the caller ID.
Ryan.
His big brother rarely picked up the phone. Usually the man was too busy helping their parents run the family vineyards back in Washington State and being a single dad to his nine-­year-­old daughter. Then again, maybe Ryan had seen the game on TV tonight and was calling to offer his congratulations.
Jordan poked the ANSWER button. "Hey, big brother. Did you see the game?"
"I caught the first period."
"Only the first? What's the matter?" Jordan laughed. "You couldn't stand seeing me waste another five locked up for rearranging Pavel's big nose?"
"Jordy." Ryan's tone twisted through the pit of Jordan's gut. "I'm sorry. I didn't call about your game. I've got some bad news."
The knot tightened. "How bad?"
Ryan's silence on the other end of the phone sent a chill up Jordan's back. Behind him the locker room celebration continued to blast at full volume. "Hang on a second. Let me go out into the hall. I can barely hear you."
Jordan shoved open the swinging doors and stepped into the much quieter passageway between the locker room and the coach's office. "What's going on?" With five siblings it could be anything. In the past, it often had been. There had been Ethan's close call with a wildfire, the burns Parker received when a skillet of grease blew up, Declan's near fatal crash on a California freeway, and Ryan's bone-­breaking fall from the roof of the winery. Nicole, their baby sister, seemed to be the only one in the family who didn't break body parts on a regular basis.
Ryan cleared his throat. "There's been an accident."
"What kind of accident? Is Riley okay?" Jordan asked, immediately feeling the familiar guilt that he didn't get to see his niece often enough.
"She's fine. It's . . . Mom and Dad."
His heart skipped a beat. "Are they okay?"
"They hired one of those tour helicopters to fly them over Molokai." Ryan's voice hitched. "It crashed."
"What?" Disbelief sent Jordan's fingers jamming through his hair. Their parents had gone to Hawaii a few days ago to celebrate their thirty-­fifth wedding anniversary. They'd been looking forward to warm sunshine and tropical drinks. "Did they . . ."
"They're gone, Jordy. There were no survivors."
Jordan's throat closed like an iron fist had wrapped around his windpipe. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't move. For a second he had to bend over and brace his hands on his knees to keep them from buckling. To keep his stomach from rolling like he was fighting titanic ocean waves. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd spoken to either his mom or his dad at length. And now . . .
In a distant echo he heard his brother calling his name.
Agony pounded the breath from his lungs as he returned the phone to his ear. "I'll be on the next flight home," he told Ryan.