Chapter 9: One Apology Too Many
He stirred beside her. Jordan felt him swear silently. "I'm sorry."
The regret in his voice was real. "Don't," she said, her voice thick. "Don't apologize."
"Why not? I was like some kind of freaking Joh..." He bit back another curse. "I've never...acted that way before."
"You tried to stop it. But I...I was the one who..." She couldn't say it. Embarrassed, she rolled on her back and threw her arm over her eyes. "I'm the one who should be apologizing."
He said nothing. One moment turned into a handful. She didn't dare look at him knowing she'd see herself looking less than human in his eyes. "I'm sorry Jordan...really sorry," he said, finally.
She moved her arm, her cheeks burning. "You already apologized. Accepted. Okay? Let's just stop...now."
She made a move to get up. He caught her arm, but gently this time. "You're misunderstanding what I'm trying to say. The first apology; that was for...the act. This one's for before. For the things I said. I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of them."
She smiled sadly. Yes he did, he meant every word he said. Just like she did. Jordan looked away quickly. "Forget about it."
"No." The statement was pure and simple. It was also soft. There was no anger, no condemnation...or regret in his voice. And the way he looked at her. It was like he used to. When they were friends.
"Earlier, you said I could never understand. I want to Jordan..."
He touched her, absently, trailing his fingers, lightly, back and forth along the outside of her thigh. She suspected he didn't even realize he was doing it. She should point it out. Jordan swore when she left her life as Brandy behind a man would have to ask permission to even shake her hand.
She really should say something. But then he'd stop.
"...Tell me why you it was so important for you to finish what Pollack started instead of letting Gordon's lies catch up with him."
Jordan didn't know if she even understood herself. She couldn't help but think...What If I loved JD more? Then maybe the first time he heard the name "Clarence Gordon" it would have been in someone else's by-line. Jordan would always remember that it was because of her that he was here. He came to Washington to get away from her.
I'm the reason he's dead.
"Simple. I owed him at least that much." She looked him in the eye. "You should be able to understand that?"
Jordan watched him struggle to accept what she was saying. He gave her a bittersweet smile and removed his hand from her.
She had her answer.
Jordan had a feeling they were both going to end up paying a terrible, awful price...she for living behind her walls so long and Woody for his inflexibility.
"I guess I know where you still stand." she said sharply.
"If you are trying to pick another fight with me, think again." He propped himself up on an elbow and leaned his face over hers "Don't try take your regrets on me Jordan. Trust me; I have enough of my own to deal with right now."
Jordan sat up, forcing him to move aside. "I need to take a shower," she said with more than a touch of bitterness.
"By all means," he said, his jaw set. "Take what you want. ...You always do."
Jordan rolled to her feet. She walked to the bathroom door ignoring the sharp tenderness between her legs.
She stopped and turned. He hadn't moved a muscle. Woody was still sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by the scattered debris of their fight. The words just slipped out, her voice was low and full melancholy. "I think I hate you."
Woody just stared blindly at the ceiling. She wondered if he heard her...hoping that he didn't.
But he did. He couldn't argue with her. At that moment he didn't like himself very much either. The bathroom door quietly clicked shut. For a moment he still said nothing. Then he blinked, hard, and whispered, "...God help me, but I still love you."
Two Weeks Later--
Jordan looked at herself in the rearview mirror. It had been a long day and her eyeliner had smeared giving her a gaunt look that had nothing to do with her weight. She had used a heavy hand with it that morning. A left-over from her days as Brandy.
Even after a trip to the hairdresser's to get back her dark hair, she couldn't quite shake the habits her life on run had created. She used to think women like Brandy wore heavy makeup because the men they entertained liked them to look cheap. It was all part of the thrill. It didn't take her long to see that most of the woman liked to wear it, but not for the same reason. It was like a security blanket, a mask to hide behind when they didn't have the option to hide in their clothes. Jordan felt like she needed more than her clothes to hide behind when they got back to Boston.
She rolled down the window of her El Camino and edged the speedometer up to keep up with the traffic on the Mass-Turnpike. Her old Camino wasn't much the worst-for-wear after spending two months in a police impound lot. Four missing hubcaps and a cracked rear window was all it had to show for it. Woody insisted she file a claim. She assured him it wasn't necessary. In the end, he filled out the paperwork for her and she grudgingly signed it.
That was the way it had been since the morning they landed in Logan. Woody was physically by her side for every step of the chaos, running interference when she needed it. From the little side trip they took to The Globe, to deliver the final piece of JD's story, before going to see Renee...to that morning's meeting with Garret...and everything in between.
She was even there to witness the heated discussion he had with Lu Simmons about the status of her revoked bail and pending charges...not to mention his lies about his 'vacation' with Cal. Jordan felt a kick of guilt knowing she was a large part of the blame for the obvious undertones in the room.
He was there by her side when the story broke about The Honorable Clarence Gordon dieing from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. He was just as disgusted as she was when it was reported that the death was ruled an accident, claiming Gordon was cleaning his weapon when it discharged.
...And he was there when she was reunited with her friends, reassuring her that absolutely no one needed to know about Brandy or her life at The Chambers.
They had established an unspoken truce from the second she came out of that bathroom, that night, and found Woody fully dressed and telling her he had them booked on the next flight out.
Two weeks passed and Jordan began bristled at his cool professionalism of his support.
He was hurt, she was hurt, and the specter of what took place in that hotel room hung over them. Yet, neither was willing to bring the subject up in fear of making the chasm between them worse than it already was. Lily saw it. She chalked it up to stress. Garret didn't know what was up, but he did know that Jordan would be next to worthless at work until she had time to decompress.
He offered her a leave of absence. He told her to concentrate on getting through Santos' trial and getting her life back. He recommended she see Howard as soon as possible. Jordan didn't have the heart to tell him she didn't know if she wanted her life back. She accepted his offer only to keep the peace...but had already made arrangements to end her apartment lease and find a place to store her belongings while she mulled over her options.
Right now, the only choice she cared about was whether to head north on I-91 or wait until she hit the state-line.
Woody turned down the radio as he pulled into the dark, rest area. At the early morning hour Jordan's El Camino wasn't hard to find. He saw the bed was loaded down with a few boxes and bags, and he knew his gut was right.
When Jordan's bail was set the department arranged to have lojack installed on her car. She had a reputation that made bounty hunters rub their hands together with greed. When she took off without it, the Camino was simply towed away. The paperwork to remove the electronics was "lost". When he didn't see her parked out in front of her building earlier, he made handy use of it.
He felt a split second of panic when he saw she slumped over on the bench seat, but quickly realized she was probably just catching a few minutes of sleep. Lucky him. With a little smirk, he put one hand on his hip and tapped on the window with the other.