Chapter Eleven

Anger and Ruin

Jordan didn't know what bothered her most after her confrontation with Woody, his flippant attitude when he saw her enter the homicide department or his lack of communication with her after she told him he was going to be a father.

He didn't call her or come by her office the rest of the day. She wasn't sure what she had expected from him – denial, anger, possible excitement over the prospect of becoming a father – but not silence. She had anticipated some kind of reaction immediately. When quitting time finally came, and she hadn't heard a word from him, she slung her gym bag over her shoulder and went to work out her frustration, coming home to her apartment building some hours later.

That was when she saw him, sitting outside on the stoop in the dusk. "I need to talk to you," he said, getting up from the step.

Jordan glanced at her watch. It was nearly nine. "It's a little late for that, don't you think? Considering what all we need to discuss?"

"It wasn't two hours ago." Woody had been waiting for her since seven, calling her cell phone, grinding his teeth when she didn't answer But now wasn't the time to make her the subject of his temper. He held the door open for her, thinking it should be against some law somewhere for a woman like her to wear those lycra yoga pants in pubic. She sure doesn't look pregnant, he thought, noting her figure, but then again, she's only two months along. He waited for her to open her apartment door.

"Want a beer?" she asked, calling out over her shoulder as she went into her kitchen.

"Yeah. That would be nice. But you're not…" his voice trailed off. Was it his business if she drank now? He guessed it was. It was his child, too.

"No, I'm not," she replied in a sarcastic voice, coming over to hand him his beer where he was sitting on one end of her couch. She held up a bottle of water, then sat down on the other end of the couch, curling her feet up under her.

"So, how are you feeling?" Woody asked, breaking the silence.

"Other than some slight morning sickness, just fine."

"And the doctor thinks everything is going okay?"

"I just went for an initial pregnancy test. My first appointment is in three more weeks."

Woody nodded. He really had no clue when she needed to see the doctor. This was virgin territory for him. He thought he knew the answer to the next question he had to ask, but he needed to hear it from her. "And you're sure the baby's mine?"

Jordan looked at him with shock her eyes. "What kind of question is that?"

"A good one. I mean, from what I've seen between you and Haley, are you sure it's not his? Or someone else's?"

She shot off the couch in anger, walking across the room to the window, folding her arms defensively across her chest. Whatever Woody thought about Drew, their relationship was not like that. If anything, Drew was beginning to play the protective older brother…and given their past with Digger, she could understand why. It was because of that very background that they did share a common bond. She had risked it all to help him catch a serial killer and Drew had saved her life. If that sort of activity doesn't cement a relationship, nothing would. "This is not Drew's baby," she spat out. "Didn't you read the report that I had in the file – about the conception date? And if I wasn't sure it was your baby, I wouldn't have mentioned it to you until after the child was born and I had DNA tests run. That, coupled with the fact that you're the only man I've had sex with in the past six months…well, you do the math." She bit her lip. The truth was, she hadn't been in a man's bed in a long time, more than a year…she had kept waiting for the time to be right for her and Woody…before he was shot… but time never seemed to be on their side. Then afterwards…anyway, she never thought it would be like this. A quick one night stand and him leaving her cold and alone afterwards. Tears sprang to her eyes. It wasn't fair. She loved him and he was treating her like some kind of….tramp.

"I think you need to go now. You've said quite enough. Forget I said anything. I thought, given how you are – or at least how you used to be – you may want to know about your child, and that you might, just by some off chance, be happy that you're going to be a father. But I can see I was wrong.

"You've changed Woody. Too much. Your not the same man I used to know and lo—" She choked that word back. "I don't know what happened to you…if was the sniper, or me, or Cal, or what, but you're not yourself anymore. You've got a horrible temper, and you take it out on whoever is in your path. And I won't be that person you vent on. Neither will I let it by my child. I don't need your help to have this baby. I don't need your money for child support. I do need you to leave," she finished, her eyes shining with anger.

Woody got up off the couch, barely containing his rage. It took all he had in him not to slam his beer bottle back down on the table as he got ready to leave. "Jordan, we need to talk about the baby…what you're – we're -- going to do when it gets here." His voice was quiet, but Jordan would see the muscles working in his jaw and lines around his mouth forming. He was very angry with her, but didn't know what to do with his frustration.

Well, she would help him. She walked over to her door and opened it. "Please leave."

Wordlessly, he walked over to her and stopped before exiting. "It's not over, Jordan."

She shook her head. Echoing the very words he had spoken to her in the hospital months before, she said, "Get out. Now."

Woody went back to his vehicle in a blur, his head still reeling from her dismissal. The fury in him raged as he got in his car to drive back towards his apartment. How dare she? was the only thought running through his head.

But it was playing over and over in his mind like one of those elevator-muzak songs you couldn't exorcise from your brain. Get out. Now. Get out. Now. Get out. Now…

How dare she dismiss him from her apartment like some misbehaving twelve-year old when all he was concerned about was his child? Our child, he corrected himself.

He was far too angry to go home right now and coop himself up in his tiny one-bedroom home. He pointed his car towards the park where he and Jordan had gone running together the day that he had gotten shot by the sniper…only a short year ago…but it seemed like a lifetime. Sighing, he climbed out of his car and began to re-trace their steps, walking this time. A year ago…Jordan was right. I was a different person then. He put his hand over the scar the bullet made.

He was now so dissimilar to that happy-go-lucky-Wisconsin Boy Scout that he wouldn't even know that Woody anymore. The sniper had done more than shoot out his spleen….in many ways, the man had taken his heart, too.

He had never felt more helpless in his life…laying there in that dingy, old apartment, waiting for his back up to come. He knew the men arrived within seconds of hearing the gunfire, but it seemed like an eternity. His fingers had groped the front of his Kevlar and he pulled them away when they were covered with his own blood. He had tried to get up and stumble to the doorway, but found out the signals his brain was sending to his legs were being short circuited. He couldn't move. For less than five seconds he was at the complete mercy of another man that could have easily killed him. And then his father's history would have become his as well…murdered by a no-good punk, dying in the line of duty.

And he didn't like that feeling. For years he had been everyone's rock. The person they could lean on…depend on…bet their life on…place complete trust in….even Jordan Cavanaugh, as untrusting as she was.

Then it was all taken away from him in less than a second, and he had to be dependent, needy...

Vulnerable.

His self-confidence, career, ego, and manhood went in the toilet in a split second. Then someone flushed it. It took months of painful rehab and several surgeries to replace them as well as the use of his legs…and during that time Woody built up an abiding fury at the man who had done this to him.

Frustration and rage he had taken out on whatever or whomever was in his path…including the mother of his child.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, leaning against a fence that bordered one of the running trails. He had to get over this…whatever it was…a bad temper, a foul mood…post-traumatic stress syndrome….whatever.

However twisted and convoluted their past was, no matter how often he had told himself and her to move on, despite the fact he kept reminding himself that he either hated her or felt nothing at all for her…Jordan had given him another chance to start over…redeem himself – as a father.

It was just up to him if he would take advantage of the opportunity or continue to let his anger ruin his life and those he loved…including her.