Chapter Five
If Woody had been a betting man, he'd wager Jordan Cavanaugh had never been clingy. Not once. Ever. Not even the first day of kindergarten, when her mother took her to class and dropped her off. While the other kids were crying after their parents, he'd bet any amount of money she was scoping out the room, trying to figure out where the best toys were.
Only now she was clinging to him as if her life depended on it.
The robber had truly scared her. He agreed to stay with her for the rest of the night, settling in behind her and gently spooning her body next to his carefully, so as not to hurt her head. The moment his arms went around her, he felt her whole body tremble slightly, and then relax against him. And she had slept…at least for a little while…until bad dreams kept waking her up throughout the night…to the point where he had rolled her over and urged her head on his chest, holding her snugly against him, rubbing her back. "I'm sorry," she had whispered. "I guess…."
"It's playing over in your mind…but he can't hurt you. I'm here, and I've got you…" He felt her nod and could have sworn he heard her whisper under her breath that she was glad he was there.
She had slept then….finally dozing off and not waking until much later when the pain killers wore off and her head began hurting again. He had eased out of bed and gotten her some more, along with a glass of water. Handing them to her, he flipped on her bedside light. "Wow. That's a beaut," he said, gently tracing one of the bruises on the side of her face that extended along the cheek bone and upwards around her eye.
"Oh, gee, thanks. I don't think I want to look in the mirror tomorrow."
"I wouldn't. It looks like you've gone one too many rounds with a heavy weight."
"That bad?"
"Let's just say I'd plan on using lots of ice on my face tomorrow." He took the glass from her and flipped off the light, settling her back against him to sleep.
She looked awful…bruised…in pain. Scared half to death. Woody's arms tightened around her protectively as he thought about just what she had been through. She couldn't keep this up. Not the pace of working such long hours….always being gone….never having time for herself. Not placing herself in danger just to keep a smoky, old bar open for a man that no longer called Boston home, a man who perhaps never would return to the city or his daughter.
Jordan had to see there was more to life than this…
And platonic relationship or not, he had to make her realize it.
The deal with platonic friendships is that they rarely pan out to either thing they're supposed to be….platonic or friendships. Either they quit being platonic somewhere along the way and change to a romance….or the friendship goes up in smoke because one of the partners realizes that, well….he or she wants more than just friendship. Either way you're screwed, and either way, someone loses and ends up hurt. At least that was the way Woody saw it, as time passed and Jordan slowly recovered from her injuries.
Remembering the paramedic's words, he had watched Jordan closely the next few days, making sure she was okay…making sure she was overcoming her fears. Helping her close up the bar at nights. "You don't have to do this, Woody," she had protested. "I mean, chances are that guy won't ever come back…it won't happen again." But the fear that was still in her eyes told him she thought otherwise.
"I don't mind. Honestly," he told her out loud, adding under his breath, "I'll rest easier if I do this."
"You'll what?" She had overheard.
It was time. He may as well have it out with her.
"Rest easier. I worry about you Jordan Cavanaugh."
Her heart thudded. He worries about me. But he said after the last kiss, his curiosity was satisfied… "There's no need to, Woody."
"What makes you say that?"
"Patrols around the bar has been stepped up…he won't come back."
Woody stopped stacking the chairs on the tables and came over to where she was counting the night's receipts. Placing his hand over the money to get her attention, he said, "I don't care. I worry about you. Here. At night. Closing by yourself. You can't tell me not to worry about someone who ….I care about. Someone who is a close friend."
Friend. He said it again. But it's my own fault for starting this platonic roommate thing, Jordan thought.
"Can't you get someone to stay here with you to close up….or better yet close up for you?" he continued.
Jordan sighed. She wished she could…that she didn't have to work quite so hard or so long. Shaking her head, she replied, "No. No, I can't. Not right now."
"Why?"
"I just can't, Woody. It's a long story…"
He noticed the catch in her voice….and the worried look on her face. Taking her hands in his, he said, "Tell me."
Two hours later, he had the whole story. Jordan had pulled him back into the office and showed him the Pogue's books. "It's leaking like a sieve," she said. "I've done everything I know to do…We're just not making money. There's too much competition. And I'll be honest, a lot of dad's customers came in here to see him. When he left, nearly half my customers left, too."
Woody was no accountant, but he had dealt enough with money issues during his life to know when something was in the red. The Pogue was bleeding profusely. "So this is why you moved out of your apartment?" he asked quietly. He had often wondered what sparked her to give up her Pearl Street home….the place that had been uniquely hers.
She nodded. "I've used that money for advertising, improving the menu…that hasn't worked. I've laid off everyone I can and haven't hired replacements for anyone that quits. I can't work here 24/7…but I don't know what else to do."
"You're working too much as it is. The doctor said one of the reasons it took you so long to get over your head injuries was that you were exhausted. Exhausted, Jordan. A doctor said that. When that happens, it's time to let go of a few things."
"But I can't…"
"Yes, you can. Sell this place."
"Woody, I can't. Dad would be so upset with me….and I've disappointed him enough in a lifetime….I won't do that again." She looked down at her hands….and to her surprise, she was nearly wringing them with anxiety. Then she felt his two larger, stronger hands fit around hers and gently squeeze them…causing her to look up in his face.
"You've never disappointed Max. Irritated him, yes. Disappointed him, no. He 's very proud of you."
"I can't sell his bar..."
"Whose name did he leave on the deed?"
"Mine, but I know when he gets back, he expects it to be up and running…."
"And his daughter well and healthy. Of which she is neither right now. And if it's draining you dry financially, he won't hold it against you if you sell it. He'd do the same thing." He sat down on the edge of the desk and pulled her to him. "You know he would."
"I'll have to think about it…"
"I know. It's a big step. But you can't keep doing this to yourself, Jordan. Not just placing yourself in jeopardy by closing up so late at night by yourself, but also working all the time. You're wearing yourself out. How much longer do you think you can keep this up? No one knows when Max will be back…not even you. I don't think he knows himself."
"I…..I…know."
"Then give it some serious thought, okay?" He pulled her to him and gently hugged her…as much as Nigel or any other friend would do.
Or so she told herself, as she relished the feel of his arms around her again. He had stayed with her the night she had asked him to…but there had been little physical contact with each other since then. She stifled a sigh as she felt him pull away.
"I'll pull the car around to the front. Are you ready to go?" he asked, gently tucking a curl behind her ear.
"Yeah," she replied, still sniffling a little and reaching for tissue on her desk. She was a mess. Emotionally and every other way. He didn't need this in his life….not her…not like this.
However, her heart didn't get the memo. It jumped every time she saw him…he may not need her…his ability to adhere to her platonic roommate rules proved that.
Yet she needed Woody more than he could ever imagine.
