A Better Man (2 page)

Chapter 2

W
hoever said you can't go home again hit the nail dead nuts. In a house that had never quite felt like home, Jordan sat on the leather sofa in his parents' living room surrounded by those who shared his last name. The siblings he'd once lived and laughed with now seemed like distant relatives amid the suffocating grief and grave sil
ence.

Their parents had been the glue that held the foundation of their family together, even if their footing had gotten a little shaky over the years. They'd been a loving, united front and always managed to put a shine on something that might seem a little tarnished. Knowing those who'd given him life would never be around again to share a moment or ask advice was unfathomable and created an ache so deep Jordan could barely bre
athe.

Tears burned his eyes as he lifted his gaze away from his clenched fists. Across the room, Declan, his fraternal twin—­a multimillionaire workaholic—­sat in a tufted leather chair poking away at his smartphone. As though Jordan had called his name, Dec looked up. Their eyes met briefly before Dec's brows pulled together and he returned his focus to the phone in his
hand.

A hard knock rattled Jordan's rib
cage.

Fraternal twins or not, they used to be as close as two brothers could ever be. Not that they possessed that weird twin thing where one instinctively sensed the other's emotions from miles away. But they'd been connected. Even back in the day when, late at night, they'd whisper their dreams and plan their lives, their differences became starkly appa
rent.

Declan had been the more cerebral, whereas Jordan had been the more physical. Not that Dec couldn't hold his own in a punching match. He could. And Jordan had often sported the black eye to prove it. Dec had always been a planner and he'd been determined to become successful at whatever he chose to do. He'd never been afraid to work hard for it either. Jordan admired his brother's success in the financial world. He gave great monetary advice and had always made Jordan a profitable return on his investments. But that personal link—­that brotherly connection they'd shared—­had long ago disappe
ared.

Jordan had only ever had one dream—­playing hockey and winning the Stanley Cup. As a kid he'd had no idea of the sacrifices his parents would make for him to achieve that dream. He'd been too busy haunting the Philadelphia ice rinks where they'd lived and talking up the players to find out everything he could about the game. As soon as he'd learned to lace up his own skates, hockey became his life. That single-­minded focus had pulled him further and further away from the brother with whom he'd shared the
womb.

Slumped beside him on the sofa, with his dark hair in need of a decent cut and wearing a beard that hadn't seen a razor in months, sat Ethan, youngest of the five brothers. As a wildland firefighter, Ethan probably didn't need to look GQ on the job, but Jordan couldn't help teasing him anyway. That's what baby brothers were
for.

“Forget where you put your ra
zor?”

Ethan flashed a smile that never reached his eyes. “Don't own
one.”

“No shit? Aren't they afraid your face will catch fire when you're out battling those bla
zes?”

“Guess they're more worried about the destruction to the forests.” Ethan shrugged. “Go fig
ure.”

Point t
aken.

So much for h
umor.

Ethan had a serious job that took him away from home for most of the year. Still, he exerted a hell of a lot more effort in staying in touch than Jo
rdan.

Parker, fourth born in the crazy mix of testosterone that had rattled around under their roof, came into the room with a plate of snacks. Like Jordan himself, Parker had been a bit on the wild side. In his teens he'd been more trouble than their parents had been able to handle. Still, the folks hadn't given up on him. They knew he possessed the intelligence to accomplish whatever he wanted in life. But for many years he chose to throw it all away. He'd eventually been given a parental ultimatum—­a challenge that had turned him into a successful and talented chef who owned one of the most prosperous food truck businesses in the Portland, Oregon,
area.

While his younger brother held the plate in front of him, Jordan's mouth watered. The growl in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten since yeste
rday.

“How the hell did you whip these up so fast?” Jordan asked as he snagged a chunk of bacon-­wrapped pineapple and popped it into his m
outh.

“I won
Chopped
because I'm good and I'm fast,” Parker boa
sted.

“Yeah, and your last girlfriend complained about that whole
fast
thing.” Jordan couldn't resist giving his brother some shit. Truth was he was damn proud of what Parker had accomplished without asking for help from an
yone.

“Fuck you.” Parker's response came with a
grin.

“Boys. Langu
age.”

Jordan looked across the room where their aunt Pippy gave them both the stink-­eye. Quite an impressive feat when the woman wore more black eyeliner than Lady
Gaga.

For whatever reason, their aunt had never quite moved on from the 1960s. She wore gobs of makeup, psychedelic colors, and gigantic earrings that could knock you out if they swung too hard in your direction. Her neon orange hair had been dyed within an inch of its life and teased into a style Jordan had only seen on nostalgic TV shows like
Rowan and Martin's Laugh-­In
. She was the complete opposite of their conservative, serious-­minded mother—­Pippy's younger sister—­but no one could argue that she was entertaining as
hell.

Next to Pippy sat the only female brave enough to be born late into an all-­boy fa
mily.

Nicole was an ethereal beauty loaded down with a typical rebellious seventeen-­year-­old girl attitude. For what it was worth, Nicki scared the shit out of him. Jordan wasn't used to her outbursts and temper tantrums. Hell, he wasn't used to
her
at all. He'd been sixteen years old when she'd been born and he'd barely been around in those days. For the most part he'd bounced back and forth from the East Coast to the West Coast playing hockey and living part-­time with his uncle in Philly. Getting to know his infant sister hadn't been high on his to-­do
list.

Today, that rebellious teen was in tears and Jordan felt compelled to cross the room and offer comfort. His sister's blue-­eyed scowl had been the only thing to stop him. For whatever reason, she made it clear he didn't top her list of favorite pe
ople.

Paybacks were a b
itch.

When Aunt Pippy wrapped an arm around Nicki's shoulders, Jordan should have been relieved that someone was there for her. Instead he only swallowed another serving of g
uilt.

Absent from the room was Ryan's adorable young daughter, Riley. At only nine years old she'd suffered too many losses. The most devastating had come when her mother abandoned her for a career in Tinseltown. The former Laura Kincade's big claim to fame thus far had been a toilet paper commercial in which she looked into the camera, grinned, and breathlessly exclaimed, “It's deliciously soft.” Jordan had never thought to associate toilet paper with
delicious
but they could have used a case of the stuff to clean up the shit storm Laura had left be
hind.

As a family the Kincades had moved to Washington State after their grandfather passed away and left their dad the vineyards. At least that's what the parents had said when they'd decided to rip their five boys away from their suburban Philadelphia home. Later it became clear the move had also been to get him and his brothers away from trouble. Seemed most of them had been good at that. All of them except Ryan, who'd always been mature and responsible beyond his y
ears.

Jordan looked across the room where their oldest sibling and general manager of their family vineyards took the lead for the reading of their parents' will. Dark brows pulled tight over his trademark blue eyes, Ryan scanned the somber faces surrounding
him.

“Aside from the circumstances, it's nice to have everyone together,” Ryan said, his pained gaze dropping like a wrecking ball on Jordan's mountain of guilt. “I know Mom and Dad never shared much information on the state of the winery business. They figured you all had your own lives to live and didn't need to be worrying about the day-­to-­day goings-­on here. You might have wondered and you might not. Either way, Mr. Anderson is here today to let us know their final wis
hes.”

Their final wi
shes.

J
esus.

The knot in Jordan's stomach tightened over the bacon and pineapple appetizer he'd just devoured and made him qu
easy.

The short and stocky attorney stood and withdrew a stack of papers from the folder in his hands. He reminded Jordan of an older version of
Seinfeld
's George Costanza. Unfortunately the man wasn't there to make j
okes.

“Before I begin, I'd again like to express my condolences on your losses. I've known your parents for nearly twenty years. I respected and admired them. And I want you to know that if any of you have questions or concerns after today, please don't hesitate to pick up the ph
one.”

Dread slithered up the back of Jordan's neck. If ever a stamp of finality to their parents' lives existed, the reading of the will would be it. He wasn't sure he was ready. Not because of the content, but because it truly verified the end. The enormity of the loss. The slap of reality that he'd never see his loving and supportive parents a
gain.

The attorney read through the opening formalities in the document and then he adjusted his glasses and got down to the specifics. “Until she turns the age of eighteen, custody of Nicole Eloise Kincade is to be divided equally among her brothers. The vineyards, bed-­and-­breakfast, main house, and the complete property, which totals three hundred acres, are to be divided equally among Ryan Matthew, Jordan Daniel, Declan Paul, Parker Gregory, Ethan Alexander, Nicole Eloise, and Riley Elizabeth Kincade. A lump sum of twenty-­five thousand goes to your mother's sister, Penelope Margaret Everh
art.”

Aunt Pippy closed her eyes and bowed her head. Jordan didn't know if the emotion was from gratitude or a wave of overwhelming sad
ness.

The attorney cleared his throat and continued. “Regarding Sunshine Creek Vineyards, your parents requested that the property and its contents not be sold or any part be relinquished by any one party. It was their personal desire that the vineyard, in its entirety, remain in the hands of the Kincade family and be handed down to newer generati
ons.”

Like a storm cloud, silence hovered over the room as Ryan looked up, expression grim. “As much as I hate to ask . . . anyone want
out?”

Across the room eyes met and darkened. Expressions remained solemn and unread
able.

Jordan swallowed
hard.

As young kids, it had been all for one and one for all. Jordan had been the first to break that chain when he'd been drafted at the age of eighteen by the NHL and selfishly never looked back. His parents had always been encouraging, even when his visits home had become less and less frequent. Holidays had even become difficult. He hadn't made it home last Christmas because he'd had a game the following night. He remembered sitting in a hotel room, looking out the window at a snow-­filled sky, thinking of his family gathered together around the tree, and feeling lo
nely.

The last time he'd actually seen his entire family had been before the season began last fall. Hockey game schedules were fast and frenetic. The season was long and grueling, with lots of travel involved. Still, he could have made the time and effort to come home. He hadn't and now questioned why. Had he just seen it as an inconvenience to fly coast to coast for a mere day or two? Or had he actually let the bonds with his family become less important than slapping a puck around the ice? It certainly wasn't a matter of finances. So deep down, what had really built that
wall?

Family f
irst.

Inside his head he heard his father's motto. The two simple words gripped his heart and wouldn't let go. Jordan believed he'd had perfect parents who had created a perfect marriage and a perfect family. Yet he'd let them all go, and now he felt like the stranger among
them.

He glanced around the room to the clusters of framed images that told the story of who the Kincades were as a family. There were group photos of his parents, brothers, and sister at picnics among the grapevines or some other type of outdoor event. There were candid shots of his brothers grinning with their arms slung over each other's shoulders. There was a photo of his brothers playing tug-­of-­war with his laughing sister. And even more of Ryan with his daughter, R
iley.

In each photo there were pairings or groupings of those Jordan should feel closest to. The only photo of him on display was from last year's team roster. The photo showed him sneering at the camera like he didn't need anyone or anything in his life except the next game, the next big win. It was the only photo in the room with a single person in it. He blinked when he realized how loudly it defined his
life.

All the photos placed around the room showed his family living life and having
fun.