Page 9 of Xander

Officer Thomas fumbled with his phone and crouched beside my window for a selfie. Flustered, he rambled about his son, Brad, who had followed my career from when I was first drafted by the NHL to winning Rookie of the Year and then my transfer to Nova Scotia’s newest hockey team.

Over the next two minutes, Officer Thomas shared his entire life story while snapping away photos of us from various angles. He was divorced and split custody of Brad with a bitter ex-wife. Their interactions had been rare since Brad blamed him for the breakup and rarely came over.

“This is going to make me very popular,” the tangent continued. “The divorce has been hard on Brad. Once he sees these pictures… he’ll definitely come over for dinner to hear the whole story.” Hope radiated in his voice.

I said nothing, intentionally letting my eyes rest on the license and registration he was still holding. Officer Thomas followed my gaze. “Tell you what,” he said kindly. “I’ll let you off the hook with a warning. Just drive more carefully from now on.”

I gave him my practiced and perfected million-dollar smile. “You have my word, Officer. Thank you.”

As I shifted to drive, I noticed he was already sending the photos. His copious excitement at bonding with his son stank of desperation, yet the effort was palpable.

“Hold on a second.” I reached for the back seat and grabbed the jersey I had worn earlier and a Sharpie from my duffel bag. I signed my name on the jersey. He caught the shirt on reflex when I tossed it to him through the window. “That’s for Brad.”

It was unlikely an officer of the law would accept gifts since they could be misconstrued as bribes. So, I drove off without letting him respond and glanced at the rearview mirror. Officer Thomas appeared awestruck. I had no idea what compelled me to do it, except a desperate father was better than one with no vested interest in their kids.

I gunned the engine of the Bentley Flying Spur, zooming through traffic until reaching my childhood home. I hadn’t learned my lesson nor kept my promise to the officer. The day had gone on longer than expected, and I was wound too tight to drive like a sane person.

I’d skillfully avoided my father and her for years, which fueled speculation in the press surrounding the Halifax Trojans and their center’s estranged father. Wary of the bad publicity, Henry had asked me to visit numerous times over the years. This was the first time I accepted his invitation. This visit was Henry’s publicity stunt so the paparazzi could photograph us together.

Wind whipped against my face on the chilly night as I shut the car door. Swinging the duffel bag over my shoulder, I stepped onto the estate I hadn’t visited in years. I had managed to remain busy between practice and away games, but I knew this day would come.

My stomach churned with anticipation, and I mentally prepared myself before knocking on the heavy door. Once, twice, nothing. The house was dead silent. After a few more moments, my knock grew heavy-handed. I lifted my knuckles for a third time when the door flew open… and she was finally in front of me after three long years.

Chapter

Three

XANDER

“Xander,” a soft voice murmured, the gentle melody stirring the depths of my soul. “It’s so good to see you.”

I forgot how to speak for several moments and stared at Jordan, worried she might be a mirage. An apparition of the memory I bade goodbye to three years ago.

The years had left invisible scars on my spirit. I spent that time taking care of my sick mother, keeping my unpredictable brother in check, nurturing my career, and building my wealth. But mostly, I spent that time thinking of her.

How many times had I reached the edge of despair, not wanting to go another day without seeing her? Some days, she was all I could see, her image haunting my every waking moment. Still, I never called or visited her. The discipline instilled in me as a professional athlete—and the intervals of violence in hockey—served as a shield against my obsession.

My days were meticulously planned, from what I ate to when I slept. Maintaining order was the only thing that kept me sane enough to face my opponents and deal with my fixation.

Or so I believed.

As I stood before Jordan’s captivating presence, it became clear that she was still every bit the siren I remembered. Everything about her lured me like a trap, lulling me into a false sense of security. Once upon a time, I thought she returned my feelings. That was until she rejected me under the watchful eyes of strangers. I wanted to confront her right then and there, but the humiliation and betrayal cut too deep to stick around.

As the years passed, I turned resentful and attempted to justify my emotions. I convinced myself that my infatuation with Jordan stemmed from a fleeting teenage crush. Youths tended to romanticize things. I was mesmerized by Jordan’s sophistication because I had yet to encounter many refined women.

But things had changed.

Last year, I was named NHL’s Rookie of the Year and led my team to the playoffs. My promising career secured me a fat bank balance, profitable investments, and plenty of attention from sophisticated females. They flocked to me with little effort on my part. Though many of the women had been accomplished and mature, I found no allure in their company, nor had I formed substantial attachments.

Therefore, I thought this time would be different. I was sure she wouldn’t have the same effect on me, and I’d be the one pulling the wool over her eyes. She’d be impressed by my accomplishments and lust after me, and her desire would be my reparation for withstanding years of dejected loneliness.

Regardless of my intonations, I openly ogled Jordan, and when I was unable to tear my gaze away, I knew nothing had changed. The magnetic pull she exerted on me was stronger than free will.

She was mostly the same with one distinct, noticeable change. Her natural bubbly personality was muted. Before I could dwell on it, my attention was pulled by her erotic body, clad in a blue knee-length chiffon dress. Smooth skin akin to polished ceramic stretched from her décolleté to her fingertips. Her golden hair melded with her ocean-blue eyes. The arresting combination resembled the sun meeting the sea on the horizon. She radiated like warm sunshine, heating my skin.

Fuck, she was pretty.

The unwelcome thoughts about my stepmother should’ve shamed me into snapping out of it. Only shame proved futile when faced with this type of temptation. Jordan was a walking wet dream, one you couldn’t conjure even in your wildest fantasies. No man could resist succumbing to her.