"Let me get things figured out here a little more. Someone needs to go to Hawaii to claim the bodies and arrange to have them flown home," Ryan said in an unbelievably calm tone.
Ryan had always been the strong one, the one with a spine of steel in most any situation. Didn't matter if Jordan was known to be a tough son of a bitch on the ice, Ryan was the one who managed to stay composed in the most stressful situations. Hell, even when his wife had left him high and dry with a little girl to take care of, Ryan's steadiness never cracked. Jordan admired the hell out of him.
"I'll be on the next flight home," Jordan repeated.
"What about your game schedule?"
"Fuck the game schedule. I'll see you tomorrow." Hands shaking, Jordan disconnected the call and swallowed the nausea pooled in his throat. No doubt his brothers could take care of everything so he could focus on winning the Cup. But that silver trophy wouldn't mean shit if he abandoned them right now. He'd put his family in second place too many times in the past.
He didn't know if they really needed him, but he sure as hell needed them.
Beyond the swinging metal doors to the locker room the celebration commotion continued. But for Jordan, life as he knew it had vanished.
Chapter 2
Whoever said you can't go home again hit the nail dead nuts. In a house that had never quite felt like home, Jordan sat on the leather sofa in his parents' living room surrounded by those who shared his last name. The siblings he'd once lived and laughed with now seemed like distant relatives amid the suffocating grief and grave silence.
Their parents had been the glue that held the foundation of their family together, even if their footing had gotten a little shaky over the years. They'd been a loving, united front and always managed to put a shine on something that might seem a little tarnished. Knowing those who'd given him life would never be around again to share a moment or ask advice was unfathomable and created an ache so deep Jordan could barely breathe.
Tears burned his eyes as he lifted his gaze away from his clenched fists. Across the room, Declan, his fraternal twin-­a multimillionaire workaholic-­sat in a tufted leather chair poking away at his smartphone. As though Jordan had called his name, Dec looked up. Their eyes met briefly before Dec's brows pulled together and he returned his focus to the phone in his hand.
A hard knock rattled Jordan's rib cage.
Fraternal twins or not, they used to be as close as two brothers could ever be. Not that they possessed that weird twin thing where one instinctively sensed the other's emotions from miles away. But they'd been connected. Even back in the day when, late at night, they'd whisper their dreams and plan their lives, their differences became starkly apparent.
Declan had been the more cerebral, whereas Jordan had been the more physical. Not that Dec couldn't hold his own in a punching match. He could. And Jordan had often sported the black eye to prove it. Dec had always been a planner and he'd been determined to become successful at whatever he chose to do. He'd never been afraid to work hard for it either. Jordan admired his brother's success in the financial world. He gave great monetary advice and had always made Jordan a profitable return on his investments. But that personal link-­that brotherly connection they'd shared-­had long ago disappeared.
Jordan had only ever had one dream-­playing hockey and winning the Stanley Cup. As a kid he'd had no idea of the sacrifices his parents would make for him to achieve that dream. He'd been too busy haunting the Philadelphia ice rinks where they'd lived and talking up the players to find out everything he could about the game. As soon as he'd learned to lace up his own skates, hockey became his life. That single-­minded focus had pulled him further and further away from the brother with whom he'd shared the womb.
Slumped beside him on the sofa, with his dark hair in need of a decent cut and wearing a beard that hadn't seen a razor in months, sat Ethan, youngest of the five brothers. As a wildland firefighter, Ethan probably didn't need to look GQ on the job, but Jordan couldn't help teasing him anyway. That's what baby brothers were for.
"Forget where you put your razor?"
Ethan flashed a smile that never reached his eyes. "Don't own one."
"No shit? Aren't they afraid your face will catch fire when you're out battling those blazes?"
"Guess they're more worried about the destruction to the forests." Ethan shrugged. "Go figure."
Point taken.
So much for humor.
Ethan had a serious job that took him away from home for most of the year. Still, he exerted a hell of a lot more effort in staying in touch than Jordan.