Текст книги "The End Game"

Автор книги: Kate McCarthy

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

Jordan

“This is what home feels like.”

Brody can’t unsay those perfectly uttered words, and I can’t stop hearing them. The heat in his gaze and the emotion in his voice tore right through my heart. He held me like I was a treasure he feared would slip right through his fingers, leaving him helpless to stop it.

How did I reply? With nothing, because I’m a coward. I want to run from my feelings, but I’m afraid to the edge of the earth isn’t far enough.

You let this happen, I growl at myself. Not that anyone will hear me if I speak aloud. It’s early, and right about now is when Leah barges into my room and rolls me from bed with a booted foot. It doesn’t happen this morning because I’m awake before she is. An unusual phenomenon, but midterms are over. Results are in. Today.

I skate to the edge of my bed and sit up, my pulse racing with nerves. Brody studied hard and today is the day I prove him wrong. Football is not all he’s good for, and believing in himself isn’t a wasted endeavor.

Getting to my feet, I dress in the running gear I set out the night before and add a warm, fleecy hoodie. It’s getting cold out now, especially in the mornings. It’s surreal. Summer will hit Australia in a couple of weeks. Christmas holidays spent at the beach, the hot sun beating down, sand sticking to sweaty, sunscreen-covered skin. If I close my eyes I can almost feel it. The familiar pang of homesickness hits. What’s unfamiliar is how underwhelming it is.

Not wishing to dwell on it, I leave my bedroom and make a beeline for Leah’s. Hayden stayed over last night. Although I can’t hear any noise, it doesn’t mean it’s safe to barge on in. I bang my fist on her door. “Up and at ’em, sunshine.”

“I’m up, I’m up!” Leah yells back immediately.

The door flies open. She’s clad in a tiny pair of Lycra shorts and sports bra, her face hidden as she tugs a fitted tank top over her head. With mussed hair, she twitches it into place and grabs her sports shoes, tucking them under her arm.

Hayden’s still in bed. Naked. The sheet barely covers below his waist, affording a peek of all the glory that lies beneath. I avert my eyes. Leah’s boyfriend is big everywhere. I have a sudden, newfound respect for her ability to walk a single step in the morning, let alone run.

Without opening his eyes, Hayden rolls over lazily and the sheet dips dangerously low. “See ya at lunch, princess,” he says, yawning loudly. “Miss your tits already.”

Leah sighs. “Later, big boy.”

She leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. Glancing up, she halts, eyeing my fully dressed form and wide-awake state with brow raising disbelief. “Why so perky, turkey?”

“I don’t want to be late for class today.”

She snorts, heading toward the sofa. “As opposed to every other day?”

“Is this how we’re starting our morning?” I ask as she sits and tugs on her shoes. “With lame, shitty wisecracks?”

Leah looks up, pausing from her task. “It’s how we start every day.”

She’s right, but my anxiety levels are rising, leaving no room for clever remarks. “Well not today,” I snap.

“Okaaaay then,” she drawls.

We head out for our run. I set the pace. Feeling ready to bust out of my own skin, I set it hard and fast. By the end of it, Leah’s gasping and my long-healed ankle injury is shooting sparks up my calf.

After a brief cool down, we stagger inside our apartment with wheezing breaths. Leah scoops up her water bottle off the kitchen counter and guzzles down half the icy contents. Drawing it from her lips, she fixes me with a scowl, still panting from our morning effort. “What the hell, Elliott?”

Tears clog my throat and nausea wells up from the pit of my stomach. Her comment is the catalyst because I don’t even know what the hell. My emotions have lost touch with reality. I miss my brother with a keening ache. I want home, but the idea of leaving Brody steals my breath. I want to stay but I also want what I’ve worked for since forever: a place in the US National Women’s Soccer League.

“Seattle Reign,” is all I manage to choke out.

“What about …” Leah trails off. Her eyes widen to saucers and the bottle in her hand falls lax. “Oh my god.”

“Valeena Kelly isn’t returning.” The star forward for the Reign had time out in the off-season for keyhole surgery on a torn ligament in her knee. It didn’t go as planned. She won’t be fit enough to return. I can only imagine her devastation, but her position is a valued one and they need it filled. “I spoke to Coach Kerr after training yesterday for the second time. They want an unknown. Someone young and fresh on the team. Someone with ambition and fire.”

And I’d made the sports news not long ago, an in-depth interview that pushed me right into the spotlight.

“And they want you? What about the combine?” Leah asks, referring to the campaign where players have to register and show off their skills to the coaching staff.

“They’re still holding it in early February, but they’re flying me out for it. They have three key players they’re looking at to replace Kelly.” I draw in a deep breath and let it out. “I’m one of them.”

“Holy shit,” Leah breathes, frozen on the spot as she stares at me. Then she yells it. “Holy fucking mother of all shit!”

Her drink bottle drops to the floor and she leaps. Her tackle sends me flying backwards. My ass hits the back of the sofa, and the force of her momentum sends us right over. I land on the soft cushions. Leah isn’t so fortunate. She rolls right over the top of me and lands on the other side, hitting the carpet with a bone-jarring thud.

“Are you okay?” I gasp, hearing her wheeze from below.

A few moments later Leah’s head pops up from the floor like a meerkat, a manic grin splitting her face. “A Reign,” she squeaks. “I can’t believe it.” Then her smile fades a little and she stills, comprehension dawning on her face. “Seattle. That’s …”

A hellishly long way from here. The distance feels greater as I fight my way through rushing students, anxious to arrive at my Ethics lecture on time. Jostled from all sides, I hold my protein shake up high to keep it safe as I push my way through. I slip inside the door and my eyes seek out Brody.

He’s in his seat, Jaxon laughing at something he says. Despite the cool season, he’s in his usual ensemble of muscle tee shirt and shorts. It’s not worn to tantalize—Brody’s body temperature runs at combustible levels, making him better suited to polar ice caps and life in the Arctic—but it does anyway. The abundance of biceps and packed muscle lining his rib cage catches my attention and holds it for a long, admiring moment.

Jaxon sees me first and nudges Brody. He swivels in his seat and finds me. A curve slowly tilts his lips as he watches me walk toward him. My body clenches. Lust. Fear. Elation. Heartache. I feel it all. Everything except regret. But as I look at Brody I know that, too, will come. Later. When I’m gone. Because that’s what happens when your need to be the best eclipses all else. Sacrifices are made, and those you love are always the first to suffer.

I reach the empty desk beside him and set my shake down first. Oblivious to my inner turmoil, he reaches over and swipes it from me.

“Hey!” I cry. My stomach growls with fury when he takes the straw inside his mouth and takes a deep pull. I dump my books on the desk, my bag on the floor beside it, and slide into my seat. “That’s mine.”

“So are you.” Brody leans across, his voice low. “Can I swipe you up and suck you down too?”

Heat breaks over me in a wave, leaving me damp between my legs. Cocky bastard knows how to get to me. Too bad for him I’m learning. My lids lower. “Only if I can return the favor.”

Brody sucks in a strangled breath, making him choke on the straw. Satisfied I won the round, I steal back the shake and set it on the far side of my desk. After coughing to clear his throat, he gives me a wounded glare. “You’re such an ogre in the mornings, Jordan. I’m thinking I don’t like this side of you.”

“Good morning students,” our professor calls out, saving me from finding a suitable retort. Our eyes draw to the front. Professor Draper sets his messenger bag on the desk. Not wasting time, he opens the flap and pulls out a handful of papers. “Look what I have for you all.” He turns and waves them in the air. “Midterm papers.”

A collective groan fills the room.

“There have been some surprising and some disappointing results across the board. Some of you may need to think seriously about cutting your losses and dropping this class. If you believe your grade is incorrect, do not see me after class today with your complaint. I don’t have time. Schedule an appointment. If anything, it will at least give you time to build your case.”

Nerves churn the protein shake in my belly to curdled milk. I steal a quick glance at Brody. He appears relaxed, sitting back in his seat, his pen tapping a rhythmic tune on his desk. Only the slight flex of his jaw betrays his anxiety.

“Don’t look now,” Jaxon mutters and leans back in his seat on the other side of Brody.

The papers are handed off to Kyle, who begins weaving between desks as he hands them out. Student chatter fills the room, but the two us share a wordless glance.

You’ve got this, I want to say but my mouth won’t form the words.

Kyle makes his way down the row on my right. Reaching me, he places my exam paper face down on my desk and leans in. It’s uncomfortably close, and I feel Brody tense beside me. I meet Kyle’s piercing green eyes and my skin crawls.

“Great job,” he murmurs for only me to hear. “If only you were that smart in choosing the people you hang around with.”

He straightens, tapping my paper twice with his finger before he goes to move on. Fury explodes. For a moment I can’t see through the red haze. Is this how guys feel right before they go for the punch?

My outer self remains eerily calm when I put a hand on his arm, halting him. He leans back in as if I’m going to speak as quietly as he did. I don’t. My words are loud enough to fill the entire room. “You want to know about choosing friends?” Silence settles around me, chatter dying a swift death. Brody shifts closer to me in his seat, the move so subtle I feel more than see it. “If you, Brody, and I were the last three people on Earth and only you knew how to save us, I would still choose Brody, because the only person you care about saving is you.” Kyle’s eyes narrow at my unforgiving little speech, each word getting louder and more forceful as I speak. Good. If only he’d choke on it too. “Life is too short to spend your last moments with assholes and you, Kyle Davis, are the biggest one I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.”

He jerks his arm from under my hand and straightens. I’m expecting an angry retort, but I get nothing. After a stony stare, a smug file forms on his lips. He makes sure we see it before he turns his back and continues down the aisle.

Jaxon busts up with laughter, but there’s nothing from Brody. I take him in with a sidelong glance. He’s a simmering volcano. The moment Kyle makes his way up Brody’s aisle, he’s going to erupt.

“Don’t,” I tell him.

His jaw ticks. He’s staring straight ahead as if he can’t hear me.

“Brody.”

Nothing.

Any altercation, big or small, could end up on YouTube and go viral. It would get back to his coach, who would have no choice but to extend public discipline and suspend him from a game. I don’t need to tell that to Brody. He knows it.

When Kyle makes his way up the opposite aisle between Brody and Jaxon, Brody’s body tightens like a coiled spring.

Kyle slaps the paper down on his desk and continues on.

I close my eyes, relieved.

Brody held it together.

Or so I thought.

The sound of scrunching paper reaches me. I open my eyes. The exam is a crushed mess in Brody’s fist, and it’s shaking. An ugly feeling takes over as he stands and grabs his bag. A panicked buzz fills my ears.

“Brody!”

He pauses for a split second and looks at me. I expect anything but the blank expression I get. It sends cold shivers up my spine. I open my mouth and he shakes his head. I shut it.

“I can’t be here,” is all he says.

My eyes follow him out the door. What the hell just happened? I search for Professor Draper. He’s standing by a student’s desk, but his eyes are also on the door, his expression resigned. A quick scan of the room shows Kyle calmly walking down the aisles, dispensing papers as though he hasn’t a care in the world.

“Jordan.” Jaxon leans across, resting a forearm on Brody’s now vacant desk. “What the fuck was that about?”

I have an idea and I’m praying hard I’m wrong. Standing, I shoulder my bag and shove my shake across to Jaxon. “Here, have this.”

When I reach the parking lot, his space is empty. After trying his phone and getting voicemail, I climb in the beat up car I’m too stubborn to get rid of, shove it in gear, and head straight for his apartment. Jogging quickly up the stairwell, I bang hard on his front door.

No answer.

“Brody, it’s me,” I shout. “Open up!”

I bang again, pounding my fist hard on the closed door.

It’s quiet inside.

Where are you?

I rest my forehead against the white painted timber, breathing hard from fear more than exertion.

“Out there on the field, the game is everything. It builds you up, breaks you down, and it bleeds you dry. But I fucking love it. It’s the only place I’m free.”

I rush down the stairwell and back to my car. My hasty fingers fumble with the seatbelt. “Dammit,” I growl with frustration. Eventually it clicks in place, and I back out and jam my foot down on the accelerator.

Brody’s car sits in the near empty parking lot of the stadium. My tires burn what little rubber they have left as I pull to a screeching halt beside it. Switching off the ignition, I sit for a moment, collecting my breath, my heart hammering. I don’t know his state of mind right now and it scares me. All I know is that I can’t let him push me away.

The car door creaks loud across the lot when I get out. I slam it closed, pocket the keys, and jog over to the fence. The metal chain link around the latch is loose. I slip through and make my way out onto the field. The sun is bright and the grass lush, and so perfect it’s almost not real. Brody is sitting on it by the twenty-yard line.

My pace falters and I come to a halt. Unseen, I watch him. His elbows rest on his knees and his head hangs low between his shoulders. In both hands rests a football. It’s pressed to his forehead like it’s the only thing that matters.

Brody doesn’t need to tell me he failed the test. The defeat in him makes my heart ache, and it makes me furious. He’s had a lifetime of hurdles. A lifetime of those he loves telling him his dream is worth nothing. That he’ll fail because he’s not smart enough. Being Brody’s tutor was his hail-mary pass.

And he dropped the ball.

Starting toward him, I call out his name. “Brody?”

Brody’s head snaps up. His lips are pinched, eyes red. Seeing me, he looks away. “You should be in class, Jordan.”

“Screw class.” I kneel down beside him, tucking my legs underneath me. “Talk to me.”

Taking one hand off the football, he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, takes out a folded piece of paper, and holds it out.

I take it, unfolding it to reveal an F sitting in the top right hand corner. My mouth opens and closes, not knowing what to say. From his earlier reaction it was what I expected, but it doesn’t mean I understand it.

Brody worked so hard. He knew the material back to front. “It’s just a midterm. I’m sure you can re-take it. We can go see the professor right now and we can get it—”

“It’s not the fuckin’ test!” Brody shouts and I flinch. “It’s not– Fuck!” His curse is a rusty sound as if ripped from his throat. He snatches the page from my hand and crumples it in his fist. “It’s not this! I don’t care about some goddamn fucking ethics test.”

Brody gets to his feet and tosses it off to the side as he stalks away. I snatch it up, folding it quickly and jamming it in my back pocket.

I start after him. “Brody!”

He turns his head to the side but keeps walking. “Get lost, Jordan,” he says coldly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “I actually came here to get away from you, yet here you are, chasing after me like every other damn bitch on campus.”

I suck in breath, hurt welling up. “You arrogant bastard!”

He doesn’t stop.

“Is that it, then? You just give up?”

Brody’s head lowers a little, the only sign he heard me. Yet he doesn’t stop and I want to scream and stamp my foot like a damn child.

“This isn’t you, Brody!”

He comes to an abrupt halt, pausing for what feels like long, endless minutes. When he turns, his eyes are hard and unfeeling. I brace, now knowing that when Brody said he’d ruin us, he believed it with all his heart.

“This is all me, baby.” He spreads his arms wide and chuckles like it’s all a big joke. Like he’s a big joke. Hot tears prick my eyes. “What you see is what you get. A big, dumb jock. It doesn’t matter what you do, Jordan, or how hard you try at making me someone I’m not, or even how much you make me work. Up here…” he taps a finger to his temple “…is all broken. You ain’t ever going to fix it, so maybe you should just stop trying and leave me the fuck alone for a change.” Brody swallows and stares somewhere over my shoulder, not even able to look me in the eye. “I just can’t fight anymore. I can’t.”

A pained whimper escapes my throat. I know the hurt is clear on my face. I hate that his eyes harden further when he sees it.

This time when he turns and walks away, I let him go.

“Well, Nate, I don’t know what’s going on with Madden out there on the field, but he’s off tonight. The one thing about this well-rounded receiver is that he always plays with his heart. I’m just not seeing that magic tonight.”

“True, John. This is a well-loved player who goes out and gives one hundred and ten percent every single game. He’s consistent, he’s strategic, but he’s also the heart and soul of the team. There is no doubt this kid is headed for the NFL. He’s the kind of player that every team needs. He’s passionate about the game, and tough, and the players really respond to that, but his lack of fire tonight is sending discouragement through the entire team. Let’s hope he can dig deep for the next half hour.”

I curse.

Snatching up the remote, I switch off ESPN and toss the remote on the coffee table. The back casing flies off when it skitters across and smashes to the floor. Its two little batteries pop out and roll underneath the small entertainment unit.

Hayden glares balefully from the opposite end of the sofa. I throw my hands up. “I can hear you thinking it so just bloody well say it.”

The words break free like a dam bursting. “What did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” he mutters under his breath.

I push up off the sofa and head for the kitchen. Comfort food is the only answer. Stretching high, I open the cupboard above the fridge. I feel around for my stash of Cadbury Caramello: a family block of chocolate filled with sticky, oozing caramel. It’s the last one from a food care pack that Nicky sent me, and I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. Apparently it doesn’t get any more special than this.

My hand encounters empty shelf. It’s not there. My anger rises like a lit match on kindling.

“Leah!” I screech. She’s in the shower, hot steam misting out from beneath the closed door. “Where the freaking hell is my chocolate?”

The door flies open and she pokes her head out. Her hair is wrapped up in a towel, turban-style. She peels it away from one ear. “What?”

“My chocolate.” I fold my arms, ready to rip the whole thing from her head if I find out she’s eaten it. “Where is it?”

Her eyes cut to Hayden. His widen and he shakes his head. “Hayden ate it.”

“I did not!” He points his finger at Leah and looks at me. “It was all her.”

My phone rings, saving them both. “This is not over.” With that ominous warning, Leah locks herself in her bedroom, and Hayden gets down on the floor by the television, digging for the runaway batteries from the remote.

Rummaging through my bag, I find my phone and check the display. Jaxon. Frowning, I hit the answer key and put it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Jordan.” His voice is loud. With the noise of music, tinkling glassware, and laughter in the background, I figure he’s at a bar somewhere. “Did you see the game?”

I grit my teeth. “I saw enough.”

“Enough to know what’s going on with Brody?”

“You too?”

“Me too?” he echoes.

“You think the way he played tonight is my fault too?”

“Well … partly, yes.”

I turn and lean against the counter, my fingers tight on the phone. “That’s so unfair!”

“So Brody failed his midterm and then you both don’t speak to each other for three whole days. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

“You know he failed? And figure out what? Stop speaking in riddles.”

“Of course I know he failed,” he says impatiently. “Brody clearly has issues. And when something upsets him, he just pushes everyone away. He can do that with me because I’m family. I’m not really going anywhere, you know? You’re good for him, Jordan. Don’t let him do that to you, okay?”

“I tried, okay? It just pushed him further away. I’m not sure I can help him.”

“You tried once. If that’s your definition of trying, then it’s pathetic.”

“Nice,” I bite out.

“Please, Jordan?” The background noise softens, and I know he’s stepped outside. “Brody doesn’t listen to me. I’m a straight-A student. He thinks I won’t understand.”

“Understand what?” I ask, cautious.

“Understand what it’s like being dyslexic,” he says.

I sag back against the kitchen cupboard behind me. “You know that too?”

“Of course I fucking know that too. He just doesn’t know I know. Maybe he thinks I’ll think less of him for it, which is dumb.”

“Don’t—”

“I know, I know. Don’t say dumb.” More silence. “Come by tonight. After the game.”

I give in and agree to stop by. Eleven p.m. finds me at Brody’s door in a pretty white dress belted at the waist, the thin straps making me shiver. What am I thinking? That I’ll sway him with a bit of skin? I’m a fool. This proves it, but it’s too late to run back and put on the hoodie and gym shorts I feel so much more comfortable in.

Taking a deep breath, I rap sharply on the front door.

No answer. Again.

Dammit.

Pulling out my phone, I stab at the keys, typing a new message to Jaxon. The amount of time I’ve given up to help Brody when I should be focused on my own future scares me. Has it all been for nothing?

Jordan: Where are you?

BigBananaBoy: On our way now.

I shake my head at the name Leah used to add Jaxon as a contact. I never got around to changing it.

Clattering feet and drunken male laughter echo up the stairwell, setting my nerves on edge. Being out so late and alone is probably not smart.

Jordan: I might just go.

BigBananaBoy: No! Don’t leave. Be there in ten. Promise.

The noise level rises, the stairwell ejecting a boozed-up pile of guys into the hallway. I press my back against the door behind me and fold my arms, doing my best to appear unobtrusive.

A soft, taunting laugh sweeps over me as they stagger their way along the wide corridor. My eyes flick to the group without turning my head. Prickles of apprehension rise on my skin when I see Kyle amongst them.

“If it isn’t Brody’s little soccer star,” he slurs, his alcohol-glazed eyes roaming over me. “And don’t you look super sweet tonight.”

He steps up in front of me, bathing me in beer fumes. I keep my head up, my gaze straight ahead while his drunken friends continue their merry way down the hall.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” He brushes the backs of his fingers across my cheek.

“Don’t touch me.” I jerk my head away, leaving his hand suspended in the air for a moment before it drops by his side.

“Did that dumb asshole lock you out?”

Anger churns my stomach, making my hands shake. I curl them until the nails bite into my palms. “Call him dumb one more time.” I lift my chin, meeting his gaze with hard eyes. “I dare you.”

Kyle laughs. “You’re feistier than I thought.” He presses his forearm against the door above me, bringing him closer. “But you shouldn’t care so much. Brody isn’t the nice guy you seem to think he is.”

“Why do you even care?” Wedging my arms between us, I shove him away.

He staggers, pressing a hand to the wall behind him to right himself. “I don’t.” His lips press to a thin line, his irritation spilling over. “I’m just tired of that self-righteous prick getting everything he ever wanted.”

“Because he got everything you ever wanted you mean?”

“Yes,” Kyle hisses. Lurching back toward me, he jabs a finger in my breastbone hard enough to bruise. “Someone needs to take him down a peg or two.”

“And what?” I snap. “You decided you were the man for the job?”

“See? I knew you were a smart girl,” Kyle croons and cups my right cheek in his palm. “I like smart girls.”

“Yeah?” I yank his hand away. My legs are weak and shaky beneath me, my show of bravado beginning to fade fast. “Because for someone who’s supposedly intelligent enough to be Professor Draper’s TA, you’re a bloody idiot.”

“An idiot?” Kyle cocks his head, and for the first time he looks unsteady, like something inside his head is out of balance. A tendril of real fear snakes up my spine. When another set of echoing voices reach us from the stairway, he takes a wobbly step backwards. Relief sweeps over me.

“I’ll be seeing you in class,” he says, and my eyes follow his retreating back down the corridor. He disappears inside the same apartment as his friends, and I gasp my next breath, hunching over because I can’t suck it in.

I can’t do this.

I can’t be the strength Brody needs. I barely have enough for myself.

I start for home, my head down as I rummage for my phone. I don’t get far. Jaxon emerges. Brody and Damien spill out of the stairwell behind him, drunk and singing about swinging from a chandelier. It should be funny, but all it does is break my heart. Brody is slowly ripping apart at the seams, and all I can do is run away.

Brody’s song cuts off when he smacks into me. He startles for a moment, color draining from his face when he sees me. Then his eyes devour me, unable to get enough. I want to do the same. It’s been three days since he walked off the field, yet it feels like a lifetime ago.

“Brody.”

My voice is low, but he jerks like the sound is a slap to the face. “What do you want?”

My eyes flick to Jaxon, who gives me an encouraging thumb’s-up. I shake my head and turn back to Brody, in no way encouraged. “I want to talk.”

“No,” he says, his tone rough and sharp. He cocks his head. “But we can fuck if you want.”

Damien chokes on a laugh. I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to force back the tears. The man in front of me feels like a stranger. I want to shake him and find the real Brody inside. “Please. Don’t. This isn’t you.”

“Christ, Jordan. You’re starting to sound like a broken record.” Brody rolls his beautiful eyes theatrically. “And you’re wrong. It is me.” He smiles sardonically, slapping Damien on the back when he edges his way around us. “Right, Damien?”

“Don’t include me in your domestic, dude.” Damien holds up his hands, walking backwards toward their apartment door. Jangling a set of keys in his hand, he points them at Brody. “This is why you don’t do a chick more than once.”

Jaxon takes a step in my direction and mouths, I’m sorry.

I shake my head. There’s nothing I can do. Not when he’s like this. Belligerent, drunk, uncaring.

When I brush past Brody to leave, his fingers snake around my bicep, a steel handcuff that locks me in place. He brings his face to mine, so close his eyes are all I see. They’re dark and unwavering, and so cold I ache from it.

“Let it go,” he whispers harshly. His eyes drop to my lips for a split second before returning to mine. “You tried, but I’m letting you off the hook. I’m not your problem anymore, Jordan. Go find someone else worth saving.”