Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(6)
And there it was again…
That sinking feeling in Jordan’s stomach like something global in her life was shifting.
She thought about Macy’s words, the fact that she was bringing all this up now, and tried to dismiss the significance: Following her parents’ death, Jordan had been raised by her aging grandmother, and growing up on a fixed income had not been easy—life had been one constant struggle after another, and Jordan had made herself several promises at a very early age. One, that she would never go hungry again. Two, that she would always be in a position to take care of herself, no matter what. And three, that she would be the captain of her own ship, even if she steered it into a veiled cluster of jagged rocks, and she had always done just that—captain her own ship, that is. So why did she feel like someone else…something else…was about to take over the helm?
She quickly dismissed the thought and sighed. “I’m trying to be independent, Macy, because I have to be. Besides, I still paint on the side.” It was a cursory but adequate explanation. Well, either way, it was all Macy was going to get.
Macy eyed her dubiously. “When was the last time you did a scenic? A mountain range, a meadow, a waterfall? Anything?”
Jordan frowned. “Fine. Point taken.” She searched for a playful way to change the subject. “Is there anything else you would like to say about my life before I go? Perhaps I should change my hair color, join a new religion, or take up yoga?”
Macy sneered in jest. “No, I guess not.” She immediately perked up. “Although I have heard that yoga really improves your flexibility.” She winked at her and sighed. “All I’m saying is that you need to take total care of yourself—emotionally, spiritually, that kind of thing.” She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. “Maybe even consider getting back together with Dan someday.”
Jordan bristled, and Macy immediately held up both hands, palms forward, in a placating gesture, before the prosecuting attorney could snap her head off.
The assistant district attorney of the 2nd Judicial District, Dan Summers, had been Jordan’s one true love: handsome, charismatic, and amazing at his job—the man had never lost a single case. And he had also been the one to break her heart in a thousand pieces by conveniently failing to mention that he was married when they first met. While he may have truly fallen in love with Jordan during their short, six-month affair—and while he had eventually left his wife after they broke up—the fact that he had lied to her, day in and day out, that he had taken the moral choice away from her, as if she didn’t have an opinion on the matter, had been utterly and irreconcilably devastating to the twenty-seven-year-old prosecutor. While Jordan did not consider herself the single most virtuous human on the planet—every now and then she struggled with a petty thought here or there, like anyone else—she had never been the type to date a married man. She would have never chosen to disrespect another woman so selfishly. And that’s what Dan never got: It was more than the lies and the deception; it was the lack of regard, his willingness to make Jordan’s choices for her. And ever since, he had been trying to find a way back into her heart—and back into her bed—but that door had been summarily closed.
Indefinitely.
Macy’s tenacious voice interrupted Jordan’s thoughts. “You’re way too young, way too smart, and way too beautiful to live your life all alone or in a job you don’t enjoy. That’s all I’m saying.”
Jordan blinked several times, and then she nodded crisply, not wanting to encourage the conversation any further. “Thank you, Macy,” she said softly. “And I do—I will—take better care of myself.” She plastered a congenial smile on her face. “Honestly. I promise.”
Macy seemed satisfied with that answer. Thank God. “All right then,” she said, sounding like someone’s mother. “Will you come see me on Monday at the hospital, before I go into surgery?”
Jordan nodded emphatically. “Of course. I’ll be there before you arrive. I can still take you if you want.”
Macy shook her head. “No. My mother is insisting on the honor. She wants to make sure I follow all the pre-op instructions to the letter, like I might suddenly lose my mind and drive through a Starbucks on the way, drink a gallon of coffee and choke under anesthesia.”
Jordan chuckled. That sounded just like Karen Wilson. She glanced down at her watch and gasped. “Oh my gosh: It’s already 10:15! I really do have to go.”
Macy followed her eyes to the watch and sulked, playfully extending her bottom lip. She stood up, gathered her purse, as well as the extra cinnamon bun she had ordered for later, and brushed a few crumbs off her blouse. “Are you parked in the font lot?” she asked, apparently hoping they could walk out together.
“No,” Jordan answered. “No spots when I got here. I’m parked right below the furniture gallery in the garage. I’ll just take the exterior stairs down—my car is close.” She gestured toward a pair of glass doors that led to an outside balcony and staircase, pushed back her seat, and stood to give her friend a hug. “I’ll see you later, then. Monday for sure.” Giving Macy an extra hard squeeze, she added, “Oh, and if you start to get nervous or worried before then, you know you can call me. Doesn’t matter how late it is.”
Macy’s voice softened with appreciation. “I know. And thanks.”