AN: W00t! Another chapter in less than a week, I'm on fiiiiire! Lol thanks to all 30 reviews! I've never had so many on a story before! Yay –excited-- special thanks to Orlando-crazy and KittyDoggyLover for commenting on chapter 10! I hope you like this one!
It's Better off this Way
The next morning, as Max prepared to leave his house on a visit to Jordan's, his phone rang. He dropped his boots by the door and went to answer it.
"Hello?"
"Max, I'm glad I caught you."
"Macy, what's up?" He asked shortly. Max was still slightly bitter about the fact that Garret had forced his daughter to drive under extreme exhaustion.
Garret sighed deeply, "It's about Jordan."
Max shifted his weight against the kitchen counter, "What about her? I was just about to leave to go see how she's doing."
"Good, I hope that you can talk some sense into her. She was here, at the morgue, yesterday. Let's just say she's eager to get back to work and I had to send her home."
"What?" Max exclaimed, "Well, thank you for calling, Garret."
He returned the phone to its cradle without saying goodbye and before any further interruptions; he slipped his boots on and left the house. He hoped he could convince her to accept his help; it was not the first time that he felt it was her life hung in the balance.
--- --- ---
He rang the buzzer and waited a few minutes for her to answer the door. He waited longer than he deemed necessary because it should not take five minutes for her to get out of bed or off the couch and slip on a robe to hobble to the door in.
He pounded upon the door calling her name, "Let me in Jordan."
When plan B failed, his heart began to race and he fumbled with his keys. He feared the worse; she was hurt, unable to help herself or, dare he think it, dead before he was able to offer his aid. He opened the heavy door. "Jordan?"
Her apartment was in shambles. As if a mini, natural disaster had swept through the place wreaking havoc upon all of Jordan's things. Piles of pizza boxes were everywhere, overturned, on the couch. Soda cans littered the counters, table and floor. Clothes hung from lampshades, table corners and doorknobs. For the second time in the past weeks, the thought of Jordan returning to her teenaged years formed in his mind.
"Jordan where are you?" He called timidly, closing the door behind him. There was no sign of life in the living room, but a soft sound coming from the bedroom, which was in similar condition to the living room. The bedspread was falling off the bed, her closet doors swung open and clothes pouring out everywhere. The alarm clock's digital numbers flashed 10:06 and a radio DJ smoothly delivered the day's weather. The bathroom door closed.
"Jordan?" He ventured, knocking on the door.
"What?" She snapped.
"It's your father," he said.
"I know who you are. I heard the buzzer ringing, there's a reason I didn't answer it," she exclaimed.
"I came to talk to you."
"Just like everybody else. I'm fine, you can go now."
He grew frustrated. In all the years he was a cop, he felt he had never dealt with a perpetrator as difficult as his daughter was. "Jordan, I'm not leaving until we can talk, and not through the door."
"Fine, I'll be out in ten. Go sit on the couch, but move the pizza boxes first," she said, her voice echoing off the bathroom tiles. She wet her purple sponge again and pressed it against her broken arm, trying not to get her cast wet. This is far more difficult than the nurses make it out to be, she thought, sticking her head in the shower and wetting her face. She gently went over the burn on her right leg. She toweled off and shivered. She quickly dressed in her flannel pajamas, the only clothes she had worn since she got home. The pajama pants and a pair of baggy khaki's were the only pants she owned that fit over her leg cast.
She went out to meet her father.
"It looks like hurricane Jordan passed through here," he commented.
She did not reply at first. She sat gently onto the couch before saying, "I was a little angry last night."
Max would suspect that it was an understatement. It would have taken her hours to make this mess. Patiently waited for her to continue but she did not. "Would it have anything to do with Garret sending you home from work yesterday?"
Her eyes flashed with furious pain, which she tried to cover up.
"Jordan, you need help."
"I am not an invalid. I can do this by myself," she stated forcefully.
"Then I dare you to clean up this mess," he paused, "Woody came over last night and told me what happened with you the other night, and then Garret called me this morning and—"
"So now you're all against me, treating me like I'm helpless."
His voice began to rise as he retorted, but he stopped when she had shaken her head and scoffed. He continued gently, "I only want what is best for you, Jordan. I do not want to make you feel less than what you are. I understand that you can take care of yourself but going to work in the condition you're in, how is that being productive? Come to the house, let me help you."
Her face softened with acceptance. Max knew that she only needed to see how much more difficult she was making her situation by being stubborn.
"Only until those casts come off," he promised, "I don't think I could stand you any longer."
A soft laugh emitted from her, "I know what you mean."