Read Jordan (Season Two: The Ninth Inning #5) Online
Authors: Lindsay Paige,Mary Smith
Jordan (Season Two: The Ninth Inning #5)
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Jordan
Season 2 of
The Ninth Inning Series
Copyright © 2015 by Lindsay Paige and Mary Smith
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
License Notes
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Table of Contents
IT’S TIME. MY fingers shake as I type the words
Memphis divorce lawyers
in Google. I can’t keep letting Jordan think there’s a chance for us because there is no possible chance. Our marriage, our life together, is all over, but he still calls and thinks one day I’ll come running into his arms as if nothing happened.
Page after page, I click through names and addresses, but I have no clue what I’m looking for. Finally, I just click over to the next page and pick the name at the top. I shake my head at the name: Love and Attorneys, Divorce Specialist. That’s an oxymoron if I’ve ever seen one. I write down the name and number before I lock up the salon and head to my apartment.
It’s dark out, and I hold my pepper spray tightly in my hand. Jordan has sent me one every month since Trent’s wife was murdered. It’s the one thing I’ve kept from the numerous gifts he sends. I make sure the car doors are locked before I drive off.
My apartment isn’t far from the salon and I like it that way. Owning a hair and nail salon isn’t something I ever dreamed of doing. I’m not one to take risks or wake up one day and open a business. However, the Memphis air has made me do all sorts of different things. I left Jordan. I want a divorce. I own a salon. I’m a boss and have employees. I’m on my own. If someone told me I would be doing these things ten years ago, I wouldn’t have believed them.
My apartment is a simple studio. I didn’t need anything big because it’s just me. Jordan still lives in the house on the west side, but it never felt like home to me. I feel at home here, though. I’ve never lived on my own. After high school, I moved in with some friends. I didn’t know if I wanted to go to a big university or not, and in the end, I didn’t go. I always had a love for hair, nails, and crazy haircuts. I ended up at cosmetology school and got my license.
It’s how I met Jordan. He was playing minor baseball in South Carolina and would get his haircut from me. At first, he was a cocky twenty-something thinking he was going to be a big shot in the MLB. My first impression was he was just an ass who liked to brag on himself, but one night, after a very long day, I ran into him at a bar. One thing led to another and a year later, we were married and he was brought up from the minors.
It began a long journey of trades, injuries, and more baseball drama than I care to think about. However, I stood by his side time-and-time again. Until...
My phone rings as I pour myself a glass of wine. “Hi, Mom.”
“Heidi, how would I look with purple hair?”
“Like a fifty year old who is going through a midlife crisis. Why are you asking me?” I laugh.
“Actually, I was just seeing if you would tell me the truth. Your father isn’t listening to me and if he keeps it up, I’m going to start cooking him no-salt, low-fat dinners and see if he’ll listen then.” She’s threatening him, but I know she’ll do nothing of the sort.
“Mom, I’m sure Dad is just watching TV. You know how he is.”
“The old fart,” Mom mumbles.
I laugh harder. I long to find someone who I could have a relationship like my parents have. They nag at each other, but they love each other more than their own life. I thought I had it with Jordan, but it disappeared a few years into our marriage.
“How’s your day, Heidi?” Mom asks after I stop laughing.
“It was good and the salon is really starting to pick up business.”
“Have you talked to Jordan?”
My parents love Jordan. They think of him as their son, and I sometimes wonder if they’re on his side in this whole matter, but they don’t say anything to me.
“Well, he sent me flowers again. My desktop is beginning to look like a greenhouse.”
“He’s sorry and he loves you.”
“I’m contacting a divorce lawyer tomorrow. I’ve been putting it off because I wanted to get the salon up and going and make sure I was making the right choice and I am. So, it’s time.”
The silence on the other end worries me for a moment. “If you think that’s best for you, then okay.” Mom’s tone tells me how sad she really is.
“It’s going to be fine. I’m going to be fine. Jordan is going to be fine.” I keep saying it again and again. The word ‘fine’ is my favorite word here lately.
“Keep telling yourself that, dear.”
HEIDI AND I bought a house when we moved here. Three weeks later, she left me. I knew she was struggling, and while I didn’t want to give her space, I’ve given her as much as I can. I send her flowers weekly. I call her every two weeks, though she doesn’t always answer. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen her in who knows how long.
I miss my wife. I miss her so much. It’s been too long. The thought of giving up on her, our love, and our marriage has never crossed my mind. She needed time and space, which I’ve given her, but as each day passes, I wonder when she’ll finally come home. When she’s healed enough that she can face our life and me again.
Our practice is a little later today, so I’m only in gym shorts as I start a load of laundry. This house is too big for me. I’m reminded of it every day and especially on those when I’m cleaning it. I wish I could share this house with Heidi like I’m supposed to be. Someday, I will.
A chime rings throughout the house, so I quickly drop in the detergent, close the lid, and head to the front door to see who has rang the doorbell. My jaw drops when I see my wife, looking anxious as she gives me a once-over. I trail my gaze over her, soaking in the curves I haven’t seen in too long, her new hairstyle, and simply how beautiful she looks.
“Heidi,” I smile. Is she here to come home? I step aside so she can come in, but she shakes her head. That’s not a good sign. My stomach twists into knots as I swallow hard.
“I won’t be here long, Jordan. I had to do this in person though.” She clasps her hands in front of her, squeezing her fingers. “Is there a day this week you’re free in the morning?”
I’m confused at what she wants, but I answer. “Wednesday. Why? Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”
“I’m making an appointment with an arbitrator for a divorce,” she blurts.
“What?” My heart begins to hammer in my chest fast and hard; my chest aches. She can’t be serious. “Heidi,” I begin.
“This is what I want.”
I shake my head. “No. I’ve given you everything you want; I’m not giving you this too. You were supposed to come back to me. You said you needed time, and I gave you that. You said you needed space, so I gave you that. I’ve done all that you’ve asked, Heidi. How can you want this?” I’m completely baffled and heartbroken. This can’t be happening.
“I’m not in love with you anymore,” she whispers.
Right then, I feel my heart explode and crumble into tiny pieces. “Not once have I given up on you, on us, and you want a divorce?”
“I’m sorry—”
“Save it, Heidi. I don’t want to hear it. I’m living in this house that
we
bought. I haven’t been with anyone else.” And then it slams into me so hard, I lean against the door for support. “Is there someone else?” Is that why she wants to leave me? Because she’s fallen in love with another person?
“No. I’m really sorry, Jordan, but I wanted to tell you in person. I’ll let you know what time the appointment is.” She turns and walks down the stone path to her car.
I slam the door closed, leaning against it. What the hell? I’ve done everything right. I’ve done everything she wanted of me. Why does she want this? Why doesn’t she want to come home? Maybe she’s been away so long she forgot how good we were together. The time and space she needed might have been for the worse and not for the better. I’m starting to think so, especially now that she’s wants a divorce.