Summary:
Harrisburg Railers #7
Tennant Rowe has it all, a boyfriend he adores, a loving family, and a career on the rise. He’s sure of his place in the world, and the future can only get brighter. Then one night, in a flash of skates and sticks, life changes forever. Getting back on the ice is Ten’s priority, and experts tell him that it’s just a matter of time.
Jared watches his lover fall in more ways than one, and when tragedy strikes, even the strongest of relationships are tested. Ten is strong, but Jared has to be stronger to help the man who holds his heart. Only, he has to admit that maybe it isn’t just him who can make Ten whole again.
Jared and Ten’s love is forever, but the rocky path to the romantic Christmas Jared had planned may be hard to travel.
Jared watches his lover fall in more ways than one, and when tragedy strikes, even the strongest of relationships are tested. Ten is strong, but Jared has to be stronger to help the man who holds his heart. Only, he has to admit that maybe it isn’t just him who can make Ten whole again.
Jared and Ten’s love is forever, but the rocky path to the romantic Christmas Jared had planned may be hard to travel.
Summary:
Arizona Raptors #3
Is it easier to fall into the shadows than hold onto the light?
Injured in a horrific car accident by a man who made him feel like nothing, Henry was left with life threatening injuries, crippling self doubt, and his career as a hockey player destroyed. He’s struggling to see, and as much as people tell him to have hope because he’s young and fit, his vision is compromised and he’s spiraling into despair. Estranged from his family, and his money all gone, there seems to be no hope. Hockey gave him freedom, and now it’s all been taken away.
Adler insists on letting Henry stay in a vast Lockhart-owned mansion in Tuscon, but it's a big and lonely place. When Apollo arrives at the house with his sunny smile and infectious optimism, along with his no-nonsense rules, he slowly becomes an integral part of Henry’s life. But one day, when Henry is better, Apollo will leave, and what happens then? Has Henry really fallen for the dark eyed man, or is it all just smoke and mirrors?
If there is one thing that Apollo Vasquez knows all about it’s helping others and living with quirky athletes. After all, he’s spent most of his adult life tending to one of the richest hockey playing heirs in America. His days have been filled with friendship, laughter, and the knowledge that he’s needed. Or he used to be. Over the past year Apollo’s best friend, Adler Lockhart, has been slipping away, his time spent with his boyfriend, on the ice, or traveling the world with the man he loves. This leaves Apollo feeling like a clunky third wheel or all alone in a luxurious apartment with no one to fuss over.
Knowing that his life is at a crossroads, his loving nature leads him far away from his childhood friend to the dry desert town of Tucson where he signs on to care for Henry Greenaway as the young Raptor recovers both mentally and physically from a near fatal car crash. Henry is also facing a new life, one that might lead him from the sport he has loved for so long. Cooking, cleaning, and providing moral support is just what the doctor ordered for Apollo, and he soon finds himself not only rediscovering himself and a new life he adores, but falling for the sweet, lost, injured man who’s slowly capturing his heart one timid smile at a time.
Injured in a horrific car accident by a man who made him feel like nothing, Henry was left with life threatening injuries, crippling self doubt, and his career as a hockey player destroyed. He’s struggling to see, and as much as people tell him to have hope because he’s young and fit, his vision is compromised and he’s spiraling into despair. Estranged from his family, and his money all gone, there seems to be no hope. Hockey gave him freedom, and now it’s all been taken away.
Adler insists on letting Henry stay in a vast Lockhart-owned mansion in Tuscon, but it's a big and lonely place. When Apollo arrives at the house with his sunny smile and infectious optimism, along with his no-nonsense rules, he slowly becomes an integral part of Henry’s life. But one day, when Henry is better, Apollo will leave, and what happens then? Has Henry really fallen for the dark eyed man, or is it all just smoke and mirrors?
If there is one thing that Apollo Vasquez knows all about it’s helping others and living with quirky athletes. After all, he’s spent most of his adult life tending to one of the richest hockey playing heirs in America. His days have been filled with friendship, laughter, and the knowledge that he’s needed. Or he used to be. Over the past year Apollo’s best friend, Adler Lockhart, has been slipping away, his time spent with his boyfriend, on the ice, or traveling the world with the man he loves. This leaves Apollo feeling like a clunky third wheel or all alone in a luxurious apartment with no one to fuss over.
Knowing that his life is at a crossroads, his loving nature leads him far away from his childhood friend to the dry desert town of Tucson where he signs on to care for Henry Greenaway as the young Raptor recovers both mentally and physically from a near fatal car crash. Henry is also facing a new life, one that might lead him from the sport he has loved for so long. Cooking, cleaning, and providing moral support is just what the doctor ordered for Apollo, and he soon finds himself not only rediscovering himself and a new life he adores, but falling for the sweet, lost, injured man who’s slowly capturing his heart one timid smile at a time.
Back Check
Summary:
Boston Rebels #2
Meeting Joachim could save his daughter’s life, but it may well cost Isaac his heart.
It’s been one hell of a year for Joachim Löfgren. After a long summer in rehab, he’s been moved to a new town, one far away from the warm Florida sun he so adores, to bolster a struggling Boston defense since the departure of their beloved team captain. He hasn’t even unpacked his skates properly when fate lands another blow, and he’s told that he is dad to a gravely ill child he never knew existed. It’s an easy decision for the burly defenseman to help and he opens up his new home to his child and her guardian Isaac. He’s instantly enchanted with the preschooler as well as her uncle and decides that his life will only be complete if his daughter is part of it. Filing for custody is the only option he feels he has, but this throws his budding relationship with Isaac into utter chaos. The two men soon find themselves on opposite sides of the courtroom as they both fight for the life they feel is best for Sophia.
Despite grieving for the loss of his sister, Isaac doesn’t hesitate to take on the responsibility for his newborn niece Sophia, creating a brand new family of two built on love and laughter. He has a steady income painting pet portraits during the day, but it’s the subversive and satirical cartoons he draws at night that silence his thoughts in the dark. They don’t have much as a family, but he is Sophia’s dad now, and nothing and no one will ever come between them. When a routine pediatric checkup shows that Sophia is ill, it forces Isaac to confront every one of his fears. Finding a matching donor is her only hope, and Isaac begins the journey to find Sophia’s mysterious father. There are no names or dates in his sister’s battered journal, and all Isaac knows is that he’s looking for a hockey player who was nothing more than a one-night stand. Little does he know that finding Joachim could destroy everything.
Second
Summary:LA Storm #2
When he’s lost everything, can Michael rebuild his broken life and find a love worth fighting for?
In the high-stakes world of professional hockey, Michael "Zeetoo" Zhang once had the potential to shine even brighter than his older brother, captain of the LA Storm. But one wrong turn and a growing gambling habit have led him down a treacherous path. After a run of bad luck, he's left with nothing but debts, and after an arrest, he's slammed with a non-custodial sentence of work in the community. Fate takes an unexpected turn when he is placed in an inner-city garden project, where he encounters Bryce, the enigmatic and surly manager of the project, who harbors a deep resentment toward him. Despite Bryce's cold demeanor, Michael wants to prove himself worthy of being loved, if only the scars of past failures and the constant shadow of his brother's success didn't haunt him and leave him feeling lost and alone.
Bryce Kincaid is chased by his own brand of demons, and years out from his mistakes, he's determined to stick to one path and never waver, just in case he once again loses control. Michael Zhang is everything Bryce doesn't want in his life; temptation wrapped in sex, the hockey player is a man on the edge, and to fall for him would mean Bryce opening his heart to hurt.
As they work side by side, the walls around Bryce's heart begin to crack, revealing a vulnerability that even Michael can't resist. Drawn to each other they discover a passion that goes beyond the ice and the earth, and find a love that defies the odds. Only, just as Michael starts to believe in second chances, his past catches up with him, threatening to derail his life completely, and destroy Bryce right along with him. If he wants a life with Bryce then Michael must confront the demons of his past and fight for the future he never thought he deserved.
Neutral Zone
Original Review November 2018:
When Tennant Rowe finds himself injured with a long road ahead to recovery and regaining his life on the ice, it is going to take everything he has to get there, including patience. Jared Madsen watches the man he loves battle towards recovery and he realizes that time and patience is needed from everyone but does he have strength to standby and let Ten do this while everyone turns to him for answers without breaking himself? Can the romantic Christmas Jared has in mind help heal both mens' minds?
Who doesn't love a holiday novella in one of their favorite series? When I heard that RJ Scott & VL Locey was going to do a Christmas novella in the Harrisburg Railers I knew it would be a winner, how can it not with them at the helm? Which means I went in with high expectations and that isn't always a good thing when it comes to art and entertainment, you don't want to start something expecting a certain level and then if it doesn't match your anticipation then suddenly you feel disappointed or let down either in the artists or yourself. WELL! I need not have worried because there wasn't an ounce of disappointment or let down in sight! Nope, Neutral Zone is all good in all ways, a definite win-win.
I won't reveal anything about the fight Ten has to come back or what put him in that position to begin with for those who are reading my review and haven't yet read Goal Line(Harrisburg Railers #6) or Ryker, the first in the authors' spin-off series, Owatonna U. I will say that Ten is still the tenacious and spirited young man we first met in Changing Lines and Jared is still the coach who loves him. They may find themselves on a path that neither saw coming but at the heart it hasn't changed them, its just made certain things a bit more clear.
One thing I do want to mention on a personal note, as someone who was at my mom's bedside everyday when she was in the hospital for the better part of 8 months back in 2007, the frustrations and inner turmoil that both Ten and Jared deal with are written pretty spot on and done so with respect that can often be overlooked or over-dramatized in fiction and for that I want to say a huge "Thank You" to RJ Scott and VL Locey.
We get to see many of the series favorites pop up here and there and in doing so if you haven't already guessed by this point you will now, the Railers are more than just a team they are a family. The fact that this is a Christmas novella only heightens the love. So much goodness from beginning to end. For those who have not read Harrisburg Railers from book one, I highly recommend starting from the beginning. Will you enjoy Neutral Zone if you just start with this holiday tale? Of course. Will you be lost? Probably not. Will you be missing huge entertaining chunks? Definitely. For the most part each entry is a "separate" tale because they are different pairings but as I said, the Railers are a family not just a team so the series is connected by more than just playing for the same hockey team.
When Tennant Rowe finds himself injured with a long road ahead to recovery and regaining his life on the ice, it is going to take everything he has to get there, including patience. Jared Madsen watches the man he loves battle towards recovery and he realizes that time and patience is needed from everyone but does he have strength to standby and let Ten do this while everyone turns to him for answers without breaking himself? Can the romantic Christmas Jared has in mind help heal both mens' minds?
Who doesn't love a holiday novella in one of their favorite series? When I heard that RJ Scott & VL Locey was going to do a Christmas novella in the Harrisburg Railers I knew it would be a winner, how can it not with them at the helm? Which means I went in with high expectations and that isn't always a good thing when it comes to art and entertainment, you don't want to start something expecting a certain level and then if it doesn't match your anticipation then suddenly you feel disappointed or let down either in the artists or yourself. WELL! I need not have worried because there wasn't an ounce of disappointment or let down in sight! Nope, Neutral Zone is all good in all ways, a definite win-win.
I won't reveal anything about the fight Ten has to come back or what put him in that position to begin with for those who are reading my review and haven't yet read Goal Line(Harrisburg Railers #6) or Ryker, the first in the authors' spin-off series, Owatonna U. I will say that Ten is still the tenacious and spirited young man we first met in Changing Lines and Jared is still the coach who loves him. They may find themselves on a path that neither saw coming but at the heart it hasn't changed them, its just made certain things a bit more clear.
One thing I do want to mention on a personal note, as someone who was at my mom's bedside everyday when she was in the hospital for the better part of 8 months back in 2007, the frustrations and inner turmoil that both Ten and Jared deal with are written pretty spot on and done so with respect that can often be overlooked or over-dramatized in fiction and for that I want to say a huge "Thank You" to RJ Scott and VL Locey.
We get to see many of the series favorites pop up here and there and in doing so if you haven't already guessed by this point you will now, the Railers are more than just a team they are a family. The fact that this is a Christmas novella only heightens the love. So much goodness from beginning to end. For those who have not read Harrisburg Railers from book one, I highly recommend starting from the beginning. Will you enjoy Neutral Zone if you just start with this holiday tale? Of course. Will you be lost? Probably not. Will you be missing huge entertaining chunks? Definitely. For the most part each entry is a "separate" tale because they are different pairings but as I said, the Railers are a family not just a team so the series is connected by more than just playing for the same hockey team.
Shadow and Light
Original Review March Book of the Month 2020:
It seems like forever that I've been waiting for Henry's story but I was patient and I knew that when he was ready to tell RJ Scott & VL Locey his journey it would be amazing. HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!!!! I was not disappointed.
Some might see Henry Greenaway as broken and they might see Apollo Vasquez in a smiliar light because of certain aspects that have brought them to where they are. I don't want to go into particulars because if you haven't been reading Arizona Raptors then I feel that I'd be spoiling some of the series. Each entry is a standalone as it's a new pairing but characters and elements are carried through. But back to the broken bit, I know that Henry and Apollo probably see themselves as broken but I don't like that term, I don't think anyone is "broken" they are hurting, they have issues that brought them to where they are, but never "broken". Is this what makes them such a perfect fit? Maybe. I think they work because they each bring something to the table that is both different and similar that gives them strength. Maybe I'm over analyzing it but whatever "it" is, it works and brilliantly too.
I don't often say this in a series where there is different couples but I believe that Henry and Apollo are my favorite Raptors pair yet. What surprises me most about that isn't that 99% of the time I fall so hard for the first pair none of the following ones quite compare, but because I was looking so eagerly to Henry's story I was a little afraid it wouldn't match up to my anticipation. I needn't have worried because Scott & Locey told an amazing story that is entertaining and believable with humor, drama(probably the most dramatic so far, some might even say angsty), romance, heat, but most of all it's got heart from beginning to end.
There's never any doubt that Scott & Locey will bring you a HEA tale but the journey getting there is what makes their work so outstanding. There is no page filler, no extra bits to cause unnecessary drama, nothing that doesn't enhance their tale. I can honestly say that for the first time in months I only ever wanted to protect these guys. Generally I war between Mama Bear Hugs and whacking a frying pan to the back of the head, but not with Henry or Apollo. I want to give Apollo never ending Mama Bear Hugs, to protect him but also to keep him warm and I would say hugs to Henry but he doesn't always like to be touched so I want to wrap him in warm layers of bubblewrap to let him know he's protected.
I feel like I've given away too much already or am about to if I keep going so I'll end by saying again: HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!!!! I was not disappointed.
For those wondering about reading order, I highly recommend reading them in order of release. Personally, I can't imagine reading the Raptors series without having read Harrisburg Railers and then Owatonna U but I can't say you'd be lost if you start here but I feel everything flows better especially in regard to friendships, character cameos and mentions. However you read it, Shadow and Light is a journey not to be missed.
It seems like forever that I've been waiting for Henry's story but I was patient and I knew that when he was ready to tell RJ Scott & VL Locey his journey it would be amazing. HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!!!! I was not disappointed.
Some might see Henry Greenaway as broken and they might see Apollo Vasquez in a smiliar light because of certain aspects that have brought them to where they are. I don't want to go into particulars because if you haven't been reading Arizona Raptors then I feel that I'd be spoiling some of the series. Each entry is a standalone as it's a new pairing but characters and elements are carried through. But back to the broken bit, I know that Henry and Apollo probably see themselves as broken but I don't like that term, I don't think anyone is "broken" they are hurting, they have issues that brought them to where they are, but never "broken". Is this what makes them such a perfect fit? Maybe. I think they work because they each bring something to the table that is both different and similar that gives them strength. Maybe I'm over analyzing it but whatever "it" is, it works and brilliantly too.
I don't often say this in a series where there is different couples but I believe that Henry and Apollo are my favorite Raptors pair yet. What surprises me most about that isn't that 99% of the time I fall so hard for the first pair none of the following ones quite compare, but because I was looking so eagerly to Henry's story I was a little afraid it wouldn't match up to my anticipation. I needn't have worried because Scott & Locey told an amazing story that is entertaining and believable with humor, drama(probably the most dramatic so far, some might even say angsty), romance, heat, but most of all it's got heart from beginning to end.
There's never any doubt that Scott & Locey will bring you a HEA tale but the journey getting there is what makes their work so outstanding. There is no page filler, no extra bits to cause unnecessary drama, nothing that doesn't enhance their tale. I can honestly say that for the first time in months I only ever wanted to protect these guys. Generally I war between Mama Bear Hugs and whacking a frying pan to the back of the head, but not with Henry or Apollo. I want to give Apollo never ending Mama Bear Hugs, to protect him but also to keep him warm and I would say hugs to Henry but he doesn't always like to be touched so I want to wrap him in warm layers of bubblewrap to let him know he's protected.
I feel like I've given away too much already or am about to if I keep going so I'll end by saying again: HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!!!! I was not disappointed.
For those wondering about reading order, I highly recommend reading them in order of release. Personally, I can't imagine reading the Raptors series without having read Harrisburg Railers and then Owatonna U but I can't say you'd be lost if you start here but I feel everything flows better especially in regard to friendships, character cameos and mentions. However you read it, Shadow and Light is a journey not to be missed.
Back Check
Original Review September Book of the Month 2021:
First of all, the black cover in the authors' hockey universe where the book covers are generally light colored helps to set the tone of heartbreak that starts the story off. Just goes to show you that cover colors can sometimes do way more than the character representation on said cover to highlight a story's emotions. Brilliant work, Meredith Russell on another great cover design!
Second, part of me wants to be upset with Scott & Locey for making me tear up in a crowded hospital cafeteria but the truth is they represented what teared me up so beautifully that I can't be anything but pleased. This isn't a spoiler because we know that Isaac is caring for his niece because his sister died so I'll touch on it. To be honest, the part that made me tear up is not a lengthy scene but still close to my heart. My mom has been in the hospital for over 100 days now and I've been at her side the entire time so that's why I was in a crowded cafeteria when I was reading Back Check. When I was born my mom had pre-eclampsia and was in a coma for 4 days but survived and when I read it in a book it always makes me grateful for how lucky our family was that Mom survived but it also makes me sad for the character that doesn't. The scene is short and only a few pages if that but the authors wrote the emotions so spot-on that I had to start poking at my eyes a bit so I wouldn't go from a few tears to full on blubbering.
As for Joachim and Isaac. My great grandfather was an alcoholic who took his own life a year before my mother was born but it left a lasting impression on the family so whenever I see someone, in fiction or reality, take the path of recovery I will always be rooting for them and it's no different with Joachim. I'll admit, there are a few scenes where I'd like to take a frying pan to his head to knock a little sense in but I can say the same about Isaac. Communication is key and bad communication or rush-to-judgement can definitely be a ginormous wet blanket on a blossoming relationship. But then where would the fun be if there wasn't some tension that makes us readers want to bash their heads together?😉😉
At times I would have liked to seen more of Sophia because she's just so darn cute and adorable and I want to protect her from all the evils of the world but then I thought about it and considering the characters' journey, I think Back Check is a very well balanced story and the authors definitely knew what they were doing.
Anyone wondering about series order for reading, I can't imagine reading any series other than the original release order but truth is, each book has a beginning and end because of the different characters at the center. However, there are a few mentions of previous couples that I think make friendships and teammates flow better but it isn't a must that they be read as written. You won't be lost by any means but I do warn you, you see just enough of the previous characters that you'll be enticed to go back and discover their journeys.
Second
Original Read February 2024:
Even with 30+ books in their Hockey Universe, Scott & Locey keep producing amazing stories with so much emotion that your heart can't help but melt No matter how many tropes & pairings the duo creates they keep finding ways to bring originality to said characters and as far as my mind is recollecting, I don't recall any of their athletes and the men who love them facing this kind of struggle(A bit cryptic I know but I don't want to spoil anything😉).
Michael and Bryce are complete opposites from occupations to homelife to emotional states, at least on paper. As Second progresses a few cracks begin to appear that give us a peak that they may not be as opposite as originally thought. Not to spoil anything but sometimes the struggles a new couple faces should be proof that they should not be together and then again it's those same struggles that make them perfect for each other if they are willing to put the work in. Scott & Locey have perfectly balanced both sides of those coins. It's easy for a reader to sit on the outside and want to smack a character(Michael😉) with an iron skillet to make him see sense(trust me I'm that reader most times😉) but when you start to look at life from the characters view you begin to understand why they are the way they are, doesn't mean you don't still want to give a good whack but you understand him😉.
As I've said from their very first hockey collaboration, Changing Lines, I don't know which author writes which character but they have always created a realistic cast. Michael and Bryce are no different, realistic fictious gems that I just want to wrap in loving Mama Bear Hugs until all the pain and drama disappears.
Now, having said that, don't think Second is bogged down in depressing, angsty, heartbreaking melodrama. Yes, there is some of those elements but the hurt is well balanced with comfort, healing, and humor that sucks you in until the last page is swiped and then you want to kick yourself for not reading slower to savor the deliciousness of Michael and Bryce's journey.
Just a couple of things to finish off:
1. As always, most of the Scott/Locey Hockey Universe is a collection of standalones but again as always there are a few mentions of past characters and teams. You don't have to read them first to enjoy Second but I warn you, when these other characters make an appearance or mentioned by current MCs, you will definitely be intrigued with wonder over their journeys and with 30+ books in the universe, that is a rabbit hole you might want to start at the bottom(or beginning as it were) to work your way out of instead of falling further in😉. But seriously, however you choose to read you won't be disappointed nor will you be lost(I do highly recommend reading the original Railers and Owatonna in order as the holiday novellas further the journeys of already established pairings).
2. In the Scott/Locey Hockey Universe there have been a few entries that had very little actual hockey in them for various reasons, ie: off-season, injury, possible retirement, etc. Second falls under "etc". This doesn't diminish the brilliant pull of the story in any way but I just wanted to mention it for those who need to have a lot of on-ice time in their stories, there is some here and it definitely plays a part in Michael's psyche but not nearly as central to the story as in others.
RATING:
Neutral Zone
Ten
Karma. It’s a real bitch. Just ask anyone.
I’d left my man and my team behind in Harrisburg and flown to—get this—fucking Tucson, Arizona, to begin treatment for my traumatic head injury.
The same city the Raptors played in.
I could open the blinds in my room here in the Draper Neurological Rehabilitation and Performance Center and see the glistening mirrored sides of the Santa Catalina Arena. Funny shit right there. Four blocks over, the Raptors were on the ice for morning skate, and I was here, trying to get my brain healed enough so I could maybe play my game again someday.
Shit, right now I’d be happy to be able to speak or read normally.
“Ho, ho, ho,” I growled, closing the drapes, then pulling my sunglasses off and tossing them to the bed. Living behind sunglasses and blinds sucked. Headaches sucked. Slurred speech sucked. Seeing the pity in the eyes of my boyfriend and family and teammates sucked. Christmas with sand and cactus sucked. I wanted to cry. I wanted to be back home with Mads, decorating our tree and shaking my presents. I wanted to be shopping for gifts for my boyfriend, my mother and father, for my brothers, and for Stan and Adler and all the Railers. I wanted things to be the way they had been before that night. Tears threatened, but I held them in. Crying only made my head hurt worse.
So, I padded out of my room and made my way to breakfast and the first of several rounds of rehab I’d be facing today. I’d been here one day and had come to realize that my brain was now as well-known with the neurologists here as my face was back in Harrisburg. This was the place for athletes to come when they were battling CTE-related brain issues. Most of the men here were older, retired players, lots of football players. I mean lots of them. I’d met three other hockey players so far, all retired, all fighting to keep a step ahead of the disease taking over their brains. Sometimes, late at night, when I was lying in bed, I’d get scared for myself and all the other guys on my team. I worried about Mads. God knows how many concussions he’d had when he was playing. Add that to his heart shit and… well, I worried about stuff now. Lots more stuff than I had before the night my head met the ice, sans helmet.
The facility held a hundred and fifty people, and not all of us were athletes. Lots of patients had come here after car accidents or other catastrophic injuries. There were head injuries and spinal cord injuries being healed. The staff seemed nice, confident in their ability to nurse me back to my old self or as close as we could get. The halls were bright and airy, the food excellent, and the medical staff top-notch. And yes, it was expensive and elite and the cream of the crop. Which was why Mads had stubbornly pushed me into coming here after my initial rehab had been completed. Two weeks at the facility, a couple of weeks back home for the holidays, then back for another four weeks. Then maybe we’d talk about hockey.
“Hey, you’re Tennant Rowe, right?”
I skidded to a halt outside one of a dozen sun-rooms. As though people in Arizona didn’t get enough sun just stepping outside? They needed to make rooms for sun? A tall, burly black man about my age ran at me, hand out. I smiled up at him, trying to pull some information about him from my cloudy memory banks.
“I’m Declan Fidler, cornerback for the Temple Owls.”
“Ah, cool, hey man.” We shook hands. God, he was cute. Short hair and a flashy smile, big wide shoulders and inkwork all over his arms. “Sorry to see you here though, dude.”
“Yeah, I know that.” He ran a hand over his hair. “First game of the season too.”
“That sucks,” I said, then released his hand. “I was on my way to the dining hall.”
“I could eat if you want some company.”
“Totally. Be nice to have someone to talk to who’s under forty.”
“I feel that.”
He joined me on the walk to the dining hall, which looked nothing like the hospital cafeteria I’d been expecting when I first saw it yesterday. This place was upmarket. Round tables with cloth covers, thick royal-blue carpeting, windows that ran floor to ceiling, flowering plants in the corners, and a wait staff.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this place,” I murmured as I followed Declan to a table by the windows.
“I feel the same way,” he said as we took our seats. “I mean, I grew up wealthy, my father’s the chief justice of the Pennsylvania Supreme Court, and I was still blown away.”
“That’s impressive. Did he…?” My brain went totally blank, and I scrambled to find the proper word. “Push. Yeah, did he push to get you in here?” I winced at the slip.
Fuck this shit. Really. Push? How fucking hard it is to recall a word like push?
An older woman in a tidy uniform filled our water glasses, then asked if she could have our room numbers. All the meals here were prepared by nutritionists with an eye to the patients’—athletes in my case—unique needs.
“Big-time. He was adamant about me coming here after the initial rehab. Said that this place would do things to counter the damage that no regular rehab could do. You here for CRT?”
“I uhm…” and that skip again. Fuck. “Dude, sorry, I’m like…” I tapped my temple.
He reached over the table to take my hand. “Ten, man, do not sweat it. You should have seen me when I got here. Barely able to string four words together. Sometimes I still trip up, just like that. But it’s all good. We’re tough motherfuckers. We’ll train our brains.”
“Yeah, train the brains. Cool.”
He gave my hand a squeeze and then released it. “So CRT?”
Our food was served, my platter loaded with scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, a bowl of oatmeal, and chocolate milk. My meds also sat on my tray. Declan’s food was similar, as were the meds in tiny cups lined up for him.
“Cognitive rehab therapy,” he said before shaking out his napkin and laying it over his lap. I did the same and tossed down the pills. I had no idea what they were pumping into me, and I truly didn’t care. As long as they got me back on the ice, they could be dumping Soylent green into my body via the milk. Man, that old movie rocked. What I wouldn’t give to be curled up on the couch with Mads watching it again. “Speech, occupation, and physical therapy. You don’t have any big physical issues, do you?”
“Some weakness on the left side, my arm, but it’s getting better. I hardly drop anything now.”
“That’s good. Once the swelling goes down, things tend to get better.” He took a bite from a slice of whole wheat toast. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here eating with you. Cup winner, LGBT crusader. Thanks for doing that, coming out, being proud and gay. I know how hard that is. My family and team have been amazing about my being queer.”
“Excellent. Glad they’re… fuck, I just. Give me a sec. Yeah, uhm, glad it’s good for you. I’m sorry. Sometimes I can go, like, whole days and barely fuck up, and then I’ll hit this patch where my brain glitches out and… shit. Fuck. Okay, I’m going to shut up for a minute and let my neurons… fire or something.”
“It’s fine. I understand.” And he did. I could see it in his eyes. He totally got it because he was living it too.
I wished everyone else in my life could get it as Declan did. We ate in amiable silence, not that heavy, cloaking pity blanket of quietude that my family draped over me every time I fumbled.
Therapy followed that pleasant breakfast, hours of it. Doctors and nurses, therapists, reading and tests and poking and prodding. Weights and treadmills and medicine balls. Shoving tiny pegs into tinier holes, pet therapy which was actually cool because who didn’t love a dog kiss? Speech therapy was last, and I tanked at it. Totally blew it to shit with my inability to recall one simple phrase. It made me so mad I flipped the table, sending papers and pencils flying. Then, because I had no clue where that outburst had come from, I felt even shittier.
“Tennant, it’s okay,” the woman, who was some fancy kind of advanced speech therapist, said as we picked up the mess I’d made. “Temper flare-ups are common. It’s frustrating not to be able to express yourself. We see that frequently in stroke victims.”
“That was uncool. Just so uncool. I didn’t… it wasn’t… shit.” I dropped to my ass, hands full of work sheets that looked as if a four-year-old had scribbled them down, buried my face in the papers, and wept.
Julie. Yes! That was her name. Julie sat down beside me, rubbed my back, and told me all kinds of reassuring things.
“I’m kind of done for the day,” I told her, and she let me go. I walked the halls, feeling discouraged and sickened with myself. Once I got back to my room, I called home, needing to hear Jared’s voice. As soon as he picked up, I kind of began babbling. A lot of it wasn’t sensible, and it was garbled because I’d have to stop, think, and then restart. But through all of that, Jared listened and never interrupted. When I was done, I fell back onto the bed, exhausted, battling a headache, and sick to death of myself and my stupid brain.
“Sounds like a rough first day,” Jared said. I rolled to my side, tucking my knees up, my gaze on that shiny arena where the Raptors were playing hockey right now. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come out? I can get a hotel room.”
“No, you need to work. The team needs you.”
“You need me as well, Tennant.”
“No, I got this. You can’t do this for me, Mads. Neither can Ryker or Brady or Jamie or my mother. It’s just…” I exhaled through pursed lips. “It’s so much harder than I thought it would be. I mean, I knew it would be hard but fuck sake, I couldn’t recall simple words. How will I ever be able to play if I can’t…” I stopped and calmed myself down. “I hate that this happened. I hate Aarni so much for doing this to me, Jared. I never thought I could ever hate anyone.”
“I know, babe. I wish you’d reconsider and let me come out there.”
He sounded as sick at heart as I was. And truthfully, in that moment, I was close to telling him to fly out. I so needed his arms around me.
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.” He drew in a shaky breath. “Do you want me to come out? Just say the word.”
I sat up slowly to avoid a head-rush and the pain that went along with those. “No, I’m good.” I pushed to my feet and went to the window. The sun was setting now, the mirrored sides of the Santa Catalina Arena glowing scarlet and pink. “I’m a tough camper. My Mom said that to me the first time I went to hockey camp.”
“Yeah? How old were you? Five months old or so?”
That made me chuckle. “Nah man, I was like six. And this camp was in Buffalo. I wanted to go so bad. I mean, I can be kind of stubborn when I want something.”
“I’m well aware of that fact,” he replied. Was he sitting down or pacing? Probably pacing because he was tension-riddled over me. “You were persistent about us.”
“Damn right I was. I knew we’d be good.” I touched the pane of glass as a smile of remembrance played on my lips. “I went to that camp, and as soon as my folks dropped me off, I wanted to come home. But Mom wouldn’t let me. She said I had to be a tough camper and that once the homesickness wore off, I’d be glad I stayed.”
“Were you?”
“Yeah, I loved it. Scored my first goal against Tommy Wayfarer. He got mad and cried.” The lights of Tucson began to flicker to life. Someone walked by my door humming Santa Claus is Coming to Town. “I’ll be okay. I just have to score my first goal here.”
“You will.”
“Yeah, I will. So, tell me about morning skate. How did the lines look?”
We talked about the Railers and about Ryker and Declan, my new therapy buddy. We talked about old movies and new songs. We talked for hours. Darkness had blanketed the city when I dozed off on him. I woke up a second later, phone still to my ear, my boyfriend chuckling.
“Wow, you snored yourself awake,” Mads said, then groaned, rising to his feet I assumed.
“Shit, yeah, I fell asleep.” A yawn rolled out of me. I flopped to my side on the bed, my sight on the desert sky over Tucson.
“I need to turn in too,” he said around a yawn.
“Yeah, you’re a couple of hours ahead of us. I’ll call you tomorrow at the same time. I love you, Mads.”
“I love you too, Ten. And your mother was right; you are a tough camper. You’ll begin to see improvement, I know you. You won’t stop until you do.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“Wiseass.”
“I miss our goodnight kisses.” My eyes were so heavy I could barely keep them open.
“You’ll get plenty when you get home.”
“Mm, loving sounds good.”
“Yes, it does. Get some rest. Heal. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Night,” I mumbled, ended the call, and then fell into an exhausted but fitful sleep. The bed was too hard, too narrow, and far too lacking in Jared Madsen’s big, broad body.
Shadow and Light
One
Apollo
Another sigh escaped me. I poked at the casserole with a wooden spoon, muttered under my breath, then placed the spoon on the blue-and-white checkered placemat. Dinner was ruined. Again. For the fourth time this week. Kicking my foot against a stool, I sat hunched at the new kitchen island Adler had installed for me two months ago, pushed the dried-up husk of what had been vegetarian lasagna away, and stared down at my phone.
“Why does he disrespect me so?” I asked Madonna as she wheeled around with a puma on the screen— although she sweetly called it a tiger, oh my God wasn’t she just the most amazing person to walk the planet?— in a cage in the backseat of a Rolls Royce. Or I thought it was a Rolls. Didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter lately. A big gray cloud of sad had been my constant companion ever since… well, ever since months now. I sighed yet again and turned up the volume on my comfort flick.
When feeling blue, I watched Who’s That Girl. I’d always loved the movie but the past six months had raised my views through the roof. “Is it asking too much for the man to get home in time for dinner?” My foot was swinging so hard my slipper flew off, sailing across the kitchen just in time to hit Adler in the face. “Good. Serves you right. Where have you been?”
He blinked, bent to pick up my silver slipper, then gave me that off-kilter smile of his. “Uhm, I was with him.” He jerked a thumb at Layton Foxx standing behind him.
Ah. Yes, of course he had been. He was always with Layton. They were in love. I was alone with a crusty lasagna and Madonna, sounding like some sort of queer fishwife bitching at her husband. Ugh, I hated that queer fishwife so much. Why did she keep popping up?
“Apollo, I told him to text you,” Layton said, easing into the kitchen, checking my feet in case another slipper went airborne. “He said that you’d know we’d be grabbing dinner after our matinee game.”
I folded my arms over my chest. Adler gently handed me my slipper before dancing back out of swatting range. I really wanted to rage at my best friend but seeing him so happy and so deeply in love, I found that I couldn’t. I could give him dirty looks though, so I did.
“Apollo, come on, not the Mama looks, please.” The big oaf huddled in on himself, hugging his midsection.
“I think I’m missing something here,” Layton said, easing around his melodramatic boyfriend to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.
“My mother has a look that can gut a man twice her size. Apparently, I have it as well,” I explained as Adler coughed, hacked, and fell to his knees to expire theatrically on the freshly mopped kitchen tiles.
“Ah, okay, yeah, I saw that look when we went to the Lockhart manor in Maine for her birthday.” Layton stepped over Adler lying dead on the floor while cracking his water. “She was mad at you two for making pornographic fruit sculptures.”
“That was him,” I stated, pointing at the dead Railer on the floor with my bare toes. “I told him she would get mad when my family saw a banana dick with two big grapefruit balls on the table among the party foods, but did he listen?”
“No,” the corpse said.
“Hush, you’re dead,” Layton told the dead man on the floor. “Oh yeah, your aunt from Arizona was the only one who thought it was funny.”
“Tía Sofía is the bomb,” the corpse spoke up again, so I kicked my other silver slipper off and it hit him in the belly, bouncing off his expensive suit jacket to lie on his chest. “Oh sorry, yeah, I’m dead. Ignore me.”
“We’re trying,” Layton parried, gave me a wink then padded out of the kitchen. On his way to the bedroom, more than likely. Which, again, was fine. I’d grown very fond of Layton over the time he and Adler had been together. He was a calming influence on the man I called my best friend and the world’s largest toddler.
“Get up,” I said to Adler. “I’m not so mad anymore. Just kind of mad.” My movie was still playing and I hit the rewind a bit to catch what I’d missed. Adler’s big hand settled over my phone, taking it from me and holding it over his head. As I said, world’s biggest toddler.
“I need you to talk to me.”
I reached for the phone, he held it even higher. Given he was six-foot-seven or ten or something crazy and I was five-foot-eight on tiptoes, I never won this game. I’d quit trying when we were thirteen and Adler had shot up a foot overnight. I was still the skinny, short boy who preferred doting on kittens and baby dolls instead of shooting hockey pucks down the marble hallways of the Lockhart home in Palm Beach where the family wintered.
“You’ve been super surly of late and watching way too much Madonna.”
“Okay, first off there is no such thing as too much Madonna.” I waved a finger under his nose. “Secondly, how would you know if I’m surly or sad or happy when you’re never here anymore?” Adler lowered my phone, his jaw slack, his eyes wide. I bit down on my lower lip. “Sorry, no, forget that. I didn’t mean that. I’m just… this needs to be cleaned up.”
Eyes averted, I slid from the stool, wiggled my feet into my slippers, and picked up the cold pan of crusty lasagna. Adler slipped between me and the ruined food, blocking me with ease just as he would someone going after a puck. I nibbled on the inside of my cheek, looking left then right, anywhere but up at him.
“Apollo, what’s going on with you? I thought you were happy for me and Layton.”
Ack, sweet Jesus and Mary. He knew just what to say to make me feel like homogenized shit. I drew in a deep breath, tipped my head back a bit, and gazed at the redhead who was my brother in every aspect other than sharing the same blood. A brother from another mother. And father.
“I am happy for you. I am!” I insisted when his eyebrows knitted. “I am really happy for you, honestly. It’s not you, it’s me. I’m not happy with me anymore.” I thumped my chest. “I’m just…” I searched for the right word to fit my mood. “Stagnant. Lonely. Unneeded. Unwanted.”
“Whoa, just whoa. You are most certainly needed and wanted, please don’t ever think you’re not. Who else would put up with my stupid shit on a daily basis?”
“Layton,” I whispered as Griffin Dunne and Madonna exchanged witty banter.
His wide shoulders sunk a bit before he handed me my phone. I glanced down at my cell to pause the movie.
“I’m sorry you’re lonely, Apollo. We can come over here more. I know we spend a lot of time at Layton’s but he’s kind of more comfortable there, but I can insist that we—”
“No, no, no.” I slid around him, grabbing the pan of congealed noodles, cheese, and sauce and carrying it to the sink. “Do not make him do anything. He’s sensitive. If he’s happier at his place, go to his place. This is all on me.” I grabbed a knife from the sink and started chipping at the crusty mess.
“Maybe you should try dating more.” I threw him another Mama look that made the big man draw back a step. “It’s been a year since… he who must not be named. Maybe I can set you up with one of the guys on the team.”
“There are no gay or bi men on the Railers that aren’t spoken for, Adler. And I don’t want to have you set me up. I’m a fucking fabulous Latino queer man and I’m quite capable of finding my own dates, thank you very much. Stupid fucking cheese!” I stabbed violently at the mess in the pan. “And do not bring up Jean-Claude again, even in passing and with a fake name! That cheating, pig-faced jackass! I will never cheer for that stupid team ever again! Sweet-talking French goalies are heartbreakers!”
“Sorry, okay, I just don’t know what to do for you. Can you stop assaulting that poor food?” I paused, breathless, and stared down at the carnage. “Oh man, my lasagna.” I dropped the butter knife and the pan into the sink. Then I covered my face with a sauce-speckled hand. “I’m just not happy anymore, Adler.” One large hand settled on my shoulder, then another on the other shoulder. I shook my head but he spun me around with ease, the big pushy asshole. “What will make you happy?” “I don’t know. I want someone to want me, to need me, to love me.” “I love you,” he said, pulling me in for a big, brotherly hug that felt so good I started crying like that soap opera star Mama adored. That woman could weep at the drop of a hat. Seemed I could too, but my tears were brought on by food murder. “I know, and I love you too, but that’s brotherly love. I want…” I mumbled into his silk shirt then paused. What did I want? “I want someone of my own, Adler. Someone who’ll look at me as you look at Layton. I want something strong, real, happy. I want to feel happy again. I want to be needed.” “I need you.” “Not like you did before.” I wrapped my arms around him and held him. “You found your future; I think maybe it’s time I found mine.” He pulled back to gaze at me. His eyes were dewy. God damn me for making everything so fucking dramatic. “Can it be here in Harrisburg? I’m not sure I can function if you’re not here at my side. We’ve been together since we were kids. I remember toddling around the Maine mansion with you, running outside with Nanny trying to keep up, making mud pies then serving them to my parents when they dropped in. Oh! And that time we snuck out when we were ten to go see that horror movie. We slept together for four months afterwards. Stupid fucking shaky-headed demon women still freak me out.” I smiled, a reedy smile yes, but it was a smile. “I remember all of that, and I treasure each of food?”
I paused, breathless, and stared down at the carnage. “Oh man, my lasagna.” I dropped the butter knife and the pan into the sink. Then I covered my face with a sauce-speckled hand. “I’m just not happy anymore, Adler.”
One large hand settled on my shoulder, then another on the other shoulder. I shook my head but he spun me around with ease, the big pushy asshole.
“What will make you happy?”
“I don’t know. I want someone to want me, to need me, to love me.”
“I love you,” he said, pulling me in for a big, brotherly hug that felt so good I started crying like that soap opera star Mama adored. That woman could weep at the drop of a hat. Seemed I could too, but my tears were brought on by food murder.
“I know, and I love you too, but that’s brotherly love. I want…” I mumbled into his silk shirt then paused. What did I want? “I want someone of my own, Adler. Someone who’ll look at me as you look at Layton. I want something strong, real, happy. I want to feel happy again. I want to be needed.”
“I need you.”
“Not like you did before.” I wrapped my arms around him and held him. “You found your future; I think maybe it’s time I found mine.”
He pulled back to gaze at me. His eyes were dewy. God damn me for making everything so fucking dramatic.
“Can it be here in Harrisburg? I’m not sure I can function if you’re not here at my side. We’ve been together since we were kids. I remember toddling around the Maine mansion with you, running outside with Nanny trying to keep up, making mud pies then serving them to my parents when they dropped in. Oh! And that time we snuck out when we were ten to go see that horror movie. We slept together for four months afterwards. Stupid fucking shaky-headed demon women still freak me out.”
I smiled, a reedy smile yes, but it was a smile. “I remember all of that, and I treasure each of those memories. Well, not the shaky-head demon woman, I still can’t do those, but everything else. I’m just lost, I guess. I’ve built my life around you and now you don’t need me.” I gasped. “I sound like Mama!”
Adler chuckled, pulled me tight to his chest, and then pecked my hair affectionately. “You really do, but I get it. We’ll work on making you happy again. I can’t have my little brother unhappy. Would you like a new car?”
“Stop,” I said on a weak laugh, my nose pressed into his shoulder.
“A boat? Boats make people happy. You can float a boat.”
“Stop.”
“Oh! How about the entire Madonna musical collection? Oh wait, you already own that.”
“Stop. What I want can’t be bought.” I squeezed his middle then broke free, wiping at my face as I stepped back. “I’m not sure what it is I do want, but it’s deeper than presents and expensive gifts. I want…” I threw up my hands in exasperation.
Adler gave me a sad smile. “We’ll figure out what it is you want and when we do I’ll move heaven and earth to give it to you. Mi hermano.”
My brother. I choked up again then waved him out of my kitchen so I could clean up the mess I’d made out of myself and supper. The pan would need soaking but it’d survive, just a bit more scarred than it had been before. There was some sort of life metaphor or something in that last thought.
“Be the pan, Apollo,” I whispered to the empty room. Great, now I was patterning my life after bakeware. I really did need to figure out who I was and where the hell I was going. I’d not be able to focus well on an empty stomach or without the queen of pop, though. I’d think better after more Madonna and some chocolate-marshmallow ice cream. Obvs.
The next morning was a bleak one in Harrisburg. The March sky had been dark gray when I woke up, threatening winter fury. As the three of us were eating breakfast, the fury arrived in the form of freezing rain that crippled the city in an hour. Schools were cancelled, office and government workers given the day off, and the Railers morning skate had been scrapped. The game tonight— one of a back-to-back— was still on as far as we knew. It was an in-state game with Philadelphia, so maybe with the bad weather Trent’s Lola would stay home. We all loved the figure skater’s grandmother but she was brutal at times. Talk about a rabid fan.
Layton and Adler lounged around in bed after breakfast. I cleaned up, ran the vacuum, and then sat at the desk by the window and stared out at the icy landscape of Harrisburg, my light therapy box on and shining on my face. For several years the box had worked pretty well, keeping me off meds for the seasonal funk I’d always fallen into. This year though…
Rain hit the windows and froze. My mind wandered aimlessly. Winter weather sucked, it truly did. It was depressing the shit out of me. I snuggled into my thick sweater, wishing I were somewhere warm and sunny. Tucking my legs up under me, I sat there until someone lobbed a stuffed lobster at me. It missed, hit the icy window, and fell to the desk where it tipped over a cup filled with pens.
I didn’t even have to look to know who was responsible.
“Sorry, that was supposed to hit you in the head then I was going to yell something incredibly funny like, ‘Is that a lobster on your head or are you just happy to see me?’ but I missed and the whole joke is shot in the ass. So, hey, what are you doing?” Adler bounded over to the desk and gathered up his stuffed lobster, which he held to his bare chest. At least he had pulled on lounge pants. Sometimes he didn’t.
“Watching the world freeze.”
“Man, your SAD is really bad this year.” He took the back of the chair in his hands then rolled me from the window to the living room where he parked me then sat on the sofa. His ginger hair was knotted from sleep or sex, probably both given that I’d not seen Layton since we’d had breakfast. Adler had more than likely loved his man back to sleep. I so wasn’t envious of the two of them. Okay, yes, I was, and I hated that I was. “So, I was checking in on how Henry is doing.”
“How is he?”
“Doing okay. The leg is slow and his vision is still not where it should be, but they’re all hopeful. Anyway, I’m letting him stay at my new property in Tucson. He’s being released tomorrow and he’s on his own. He’ll be looking for someone to move in and take care of him. Clean, cook, drive him to his rehab and doctor’s appointments.”
“So they’re looking for someone to provide home care. I’m not a nurse.” I wasn’t sure what I was. Adler Lockhart’s… what exactly? Personal assistant? Yes, that had always fit when people asked what I did. Add baby-sitter, errand boy, keeper of important facts, chief cook and bottlewasher, and shoulder to cry on and this was a fair idea of my job/ life. It revolved around Adler and always had. I loved him but was that good? I didn’t have a clue about anything aside from having chilly feet. My toes were icy cold as they peeked out from under my funky, retro bell-bottom jeans. I needed to find my slippers.
“No, he has a nurse coming in twice a week. He needs someone to live there with him on a temporary basis. A companion. I told his brother Dan that I’d ask you.”
My gaze flew from my cold tan toes— I needed a pedicure badly as my bright pink polish was chipped to shit— to Adler. He was the picture of earnest affection. Layton liked to say he reminded him of an Irish Setter— all red and pretty and exuberant and overeager to please. That comparison fit perfectly.
“Me? But I have a job as your handler.”
He snorted in amusement but the humor quickly faded. “Yeah, a job that you’re not happy with anymore.” He looked down at the stuffed lobster, a memento he’d brought home from a cruise he and Layton had taken last summer. The summer I’d been seeing that rat bastard Jean-Claude. I spit on his memory in my mind. “You don’t have to even think about it if you don’t want to. I’d be super happy if you stayed here but you’re just so damn sad, and I feel like shit for ignoring you to be with Layton.”
“Adler…”
“I just thought that maybe this might be a solution. Get away from the cold weather which I know you hate, visit your Aunt Sofía, hang out with Henry, who’s a nice guy who also had a disastrous relationship with a real dick-bag shithead. Work on your tan, cook food for someone who will be there to eat it, maybe make some new friends and go out, fall in love. I want you to be happy even if it kills me to see you leave.”
I gave my head a shake. No. This wasn’t what I wanted. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
“But that’s just it, I won’t be alone. I have Layton.” He reached out to place his hand on my exposed toes. “Your toes are like ice. Dude, find your slippers then have a think, okay? It’s not for ever, just until Henry is back to his normal life. Maybe three months or so? I’m sure I can manage on my own for three months.” My right eyebrow climbed up my brow. “I totally can be a grown-up if I have to be.”
“Do you want me to go?”
His warm hand on my cold toes felt so good. He squeezed my smallest toe playfully then gave it a tug. “No, Apollo, I don’t want you to go. I want you to be here to take care of all the shitty things about life that I like to ignore. But that’s not fair to you when you’re obviously unhappy with your life now.”
“You’ve been talking to Layton about this, haven’t you?” I adored Adler but his upbringing made him a little blind to those around him at times. Being so rich and so spoiled, he tended to only see the brightest star in the sky, which was him. Adler was the sun and we were just little piddle planets caught in his gravitational pull.
“No, actually, I haven’t. Well, not about the thing with Henry. That was all me. He just suggested I try to look past my wants and needs to focus on yours, for a change.” He gave me that Adler Lockhart look. The one that said he knew he could be self-centered at times but he didn’t mean to be, which he didn’t. Adler would buy anyone anything they asked for. Sometimes, though, what a person needed couldn’t be purchased. “It was just a thought. Why don’t you think about it. I’m going back to bed. You can keep Rocky.”
He stood then handed me the plush red lobster. “Rocky for the B-52’ s song?”
His goofy smile lit up his face. “You know me too well.”
Off he went to his lover. Using one foot, I rolled back to the desk, over a few pens that needed to be picked up, Rocky tucked under my arm, and resumed my moment of reflection. The rain was mixed with snow now. The charcoal sky was throwing everything it had at Harrisburg. The March storm was a sound kick in the balls for those of us who lived for summer. Spring had been so close, just a few weeks away, hiding in April.
It’s warm in Arizona, Apollo, and sunny. There’s someone who needs you out there too. Someone who’s been broken by love just like you. Someone who’s struggling to find himself just like you.
The soft sound of male laughter floated over me. Maybe it was time to seek out the sun. God knows living in the shadows wasn’t for me and my brilliantly queer Latino light.
Back Check
Chapter One
Isaac
The box arrived on a Tuesday.
Coincidentally, the same day I received the worst news in a phone call from the oncologist, and right about the moment I lost the last of my hope that we would ever find a donor to match Sophie.
“The HLA markers came back at six or less in all the potential donors,” Dr. Carmichael said in her quiet, supportive tone. “I’m so sorry, Isaac.”
“Then we use one of the people that match six? At this point, surely that’s all we can do?” We needed a donor, but we couldn’t find one. Without a donor, Sophie couldn’t have the chemo. Without the chemo, she’d die. It was a simple chain of events, but we were stuck on part one.
Sophie fussed in my arms, wriggled, and butted my shoulder as she tried to fight sleep. We’d been up all night, watching kids shows and singing nursery rhymes. My eyes scratched with exhaustion and my throat was sore from a hundred iterations of “Wheels on the Bus.”
“I wish it was. Having the best possible match means less risk of Sophie’s body rejecting the new stem cells or her new immune cells reacting against her other body cells. It would be disingenuous of me to suggest that taking a chance on a mismatched transplant would be right for Sophie at the present time.”
“But we’ve run out of options. Tell me what else we can do.”
“We’ll keep searching.”
“I read a transplant from a relative whose tissue was a half-match to Sophie. What about me?”
“A haploidentical transplant you mean? I’m sorry, you’re not a match for that,” she reminded me gently. “And I’m guessing you still haven’t tracked down her biological father?”
I’d tried. I went to the bar where my sister had worked, which was staffed by people who lasted a few months and drifted away and were mostly from the University of Tampa Campus, covering peak times of the year. They remembered my sister, recalled that Ashley was vivacious, a little wild, beautiful, funny, but not one of them knew anything below the surface. She hadn’t left any kind of footprint at the college or the bar or the hundreds of places in between that could help me track down Sophie’s sperm donor. The fact I couldn’t control this situation was driving me insane, and the baby daddy situation was yet another thing I’d never gotten out of my sister, and never would, as she’d died the day Sophie was born.
Despite becoming an uncle, then a single parent, in one terrifying twenty-four-hour period, I got through it and came out the other side, grieving, but wholly focused on Sophie and what she needed. I didn’t even think twice about putting everything on hold for the tiny scrap of a thing who searched for her momma, but was left with me. That had been two years ago. Sophie had just passed her second birthday, and I had the photos to prove that she was a physical presence in my life—a beautiful smiling angel with dark hazel eyes and fine blonde hair that was nothing like her mom’s or mine. I couldn’t bear to think that these might be the last photos I’d ever have of her with a cake.
We’d tried everything, every database, every resource, and I knew Doc Carmichael was the best oncologist for Sophie. Every cent I had went to Sophie’s care, but I felt helpless because I couldn’t do anything. I was out of money and losing hope. I wished I could heal her just with the force of my love, but miracles like that didn’t happen.
Sophie murmured against my neck. She was running a temperature, but not a normal one from teething or a mild fever that new parents expect. This was from a poison inside my daughter’s blood, and it was slowly gripping her and pulling her away from me, minute by agonizing minute. Some days, when I looked into her eyes, I saw nothing but a bright future for her, with all the possibilities of what she could be someday, there for her to take. Then the shadows would fall in my own eyes and all I could see was pain and loss. Now, I don’t know if I can live without her. I’d lost everyone close to me—my parents to Hurricane Wilma, my grandparents who’d faded from old age, and then Ashley herself.
It was just Sophie and me now.
And I was losing her too.
“I wouldn’t even know how to narrow it down,” I said in defeat. “Aside from erecting a sign on every corner and asking if some random guy knew my sister, I have no way of knowing anything at all.”
Dr. Carmichael made a noise that sounded as if she was sucking her teeth. She never once mentioned that my sister’s wild days had left us backed into a corner—she was nothing but supportive—but even I wanted to bury my face in my hands and scream at Ashley’s life choices. If we knew the sperm donor then we’d be able to move onto an alternative solution, but we didn’t, and Sophie was dying.
“As for good news, her last results were encouraging…”
I didn’t even listen. I’d heard the hope in her voice before about good results that implied Sophie would make it through this, when I knew in black and white terms that she wouldn’t.
Neither would I.
“… so, I’ll see you for your appointment on Friday and stay strong, Isaac. Give Sophie a kiss for me.”
She wrapped up the conversation, with the kiss line, and I wondered if it was something that all pediatric oncologists learned in college. Send them a kiss, connect the parent to the child after delivering bad news, always sound positive.
“I will, thank you, doctor.”
The call ended at the same moment the doorbell rang, leaving me no time to dwell in the isolation of my hallway when someone needed me. Albeit the postman, who was probably dropping off a parcel meant for one of my neighbors, which happened often, as I was the only one in the vicinity who worked from home.
“One for you, Mr. Miller,” the postal worker announced with a grin and handed me a battered box wound with enough tape to start a shop. He scanned the parcel and asked me to sign, then I shut the door and rattled the box to work out what someone had sent. It certainly wasn’t a professional wrapping job, so I didn’t imagine it was merch from any of my clients.
I carried it and Sophie through to the kitchen. Sophie was now sleeping on my shoulder, her tiny hands twisted in my shirt, and thankfully, she seemed cooler than earlier. I placed her into the rocker, which was locked into a permanent position in the breakfast nook, then gave the parcel another shake.
Graphic designer killed in exploding parcel incident.
Sophie murmured in her sleep, her eyes opening briefly, as she searched the room for me.
“Dadda,” she whined, arching against the belt that held her secure, and then fisted her hands when I didn’t lift her out fast enough. I’d gone to her immediately, all thoughts of parcels and bombs and life just gone in that instant she needed me. I bet any nanny worth their salt would tell me I shouldn’t carry her with me, but this was Sophie and my time with her might be limited. I wanted every snuggle and moment of love I could get. She pushed one hand into my hair and stared at me with an expression that meant this could go one of two ways. She could start to cry because she was exhausted, in pain, or just generally crabby, or she could melt in my arms and cling to me.
“Hey, baby girl,” I whispered against her neck. She smelled so good, and she loved me and needed me so much. The grief welled up from me so fast it took my breath away.
“Dadda,” she murmured again and then closed her eyes and snuggled in for more love. My heart filled with love, but the sorrow in my chest grew stronger daily, and it was making it harder to keep it there. I’d worked my way through the steps of grief. Hell, denial had lasted an hour before I was on the internet googling everything from cutting-edge drugs to mystical solutions. I would do anything for Sophie, but I felt hopeless and lost because I couldn’t be the dad she needed right now.
One-handed, I attempted to open the box, hacking through the tape in a messy uncoordinated way until the top was shredded and I was finally able to pin back the tabs. There was an envelope at the top, and opening that was an exercise in frustration, but at last I was able to pull out the note. It was short and to the point, and from a name I recognized. Jillian McAfee, an old roommate of Ashley’s at UT—who majored in chemistry or something equally intelligent and had been as quiet as Ashley was vivacious. Last I saw her was just after Sophie was diagnosed when I’d been looking for clues as to the identity of Sophie’s baby daddy. Jillian summed up Ashley as someone who flitted from person to person and didn’t have a steady partner, adding that Ashley was confident and sassy and always smiling. Still, she couldn’t give me a clue as to the identity of the sperm donor.
“This is from a lady who knew your momma,” I told a sleeping Sophie.
Hi, you might not remember me, but I roomed with Ashley for a while. These are some of her things that I’d mixed in with mine when she didn’t come back for the final semester. Hope all’s good with you. Love Jillian.
As notes went it wasn’t earthshattering, but I was excited to see some of Ashley’s things that I could put away for when Sophie was older. If there was a later. I rubbed at the abrupt pain in my chest, forced away the sorrow, and focused on the positives. We would find a way to get a match. Somehow.
At the top were a couple of sparkly leotards, seeing them brought back so many memories of Ashley dressing up in things like this and giving our grandparents impromptu dance recitals. They hadn’t happened much after we lost them, seemed as if nothing nice happened after that, but hell, I wasn’t going to think about that right now.
“Come on, Soph, let’s take this into the garden room.” I carried coffee out there first, then returned for the box. Sophie never woke for one second. When I finally got to sit in the comfy chair that was my happy place, Sophie tucked into my neck, I pulled the box onto the small side table and picked out the next item. It was a calculator, an old Casio, that I couldn’t believe for one second my sister had ever used. Neither of us were gifted with mathematical brains, she a dancer and me an artist, but on the back, scratched into the plastic, was her name. I missed her so much, for all that happened when we were growing up, for all the obstacles in our way, for her leaving too soon. I missed her like a limb.
A stuffed toy followed next, a giraffe wearing an orange T-shirt, and attached to the T-shirt was a key ring from the bar she worked at—Branson’s Beach Pub. There were some postcards of London, a place she always wanted to visit, and a photo of Mom, Dad, me, and her from way back when we were just youngsters without a care in the world. We looked so innocent, me ten and her eight, the year before a tropical storm became something more, and Hurricane Wilma took Mom and Dad without stopping.
There was something else wedged in at the bottom, a textbook or something, but when I levered it out, I realized it was stuck because it had a lock on it, like one of those old-fashioned secret diaries, although there was no sign of the key. I stared at it for the longest time, torn between opening it and then struck by the fact there might be a name in there that would help find a connection to Sophie. Was it an actual journal? I went to fetch a knife then thought better of carrying Sophie at the same time and placed her back in her chair. Just give me a few moments, sweet girl.
I had the lock broken in no more than two twists of the knife, then placed it carefully on the counter. Sophie seemed content to sleep where she was, and with a prayer to the goddesses of luck and hope, I opened the journal to page one.
It was a diary of sorts, dated, but there were random notes scattered in the margins, a reminder for a haircut, a shift list for the bar, a list of possible nail polish colors, and a lecture schedule that was pasted on page five. A bobby pin marked that page, and it was oddly bright with a smiling ladybird against the subtle cream paper. My hope shifted to despair when I didn’t immediately find the words baby daddy with an equal sign and then a name.
But when I got further in, the posts were more of a diary. There were entries for deadlines for work, even a note about a three-hundred-dollar tip and what she was going to spend it on.
Then I saw the first note of interest, dated Christmas Eve 2017. I hadn’t seen her at all that Christmas, or even much at all the entire year. She’d been at college, getting on with her life. We had at least exchanged texts, but they never went much past the “are you okay, yes I am,” kind of exchange. Too many wasted days.
“Met HG tonight, dark eyes, muscles, sexy man, swoon.”
Well, that didn’t narrow the pool, but it was the only mention so far of this nebulous man and the initials HG. That could be Harry, Henry, anything.
I went through the next few entries. HG appeared a couple of times, and she seemed interested in him.
Was HG Sophie’s father? The timing was right. Christmas 2017. There were smaller notes, a clipping of a red low-cut dress, and then there in black and white was the first clue I had.
29th HG puck drop 7. Will call ticket. Reminder NYE 8-3, nails = scarlet lake.
I flicked back to her schedule, and yep, she was working New Year’s 2017 from eight p.m. to three on New Year’s Day, so that was one detail I could rule out. Puck drop, I guess that is hockey? I’m not the world’s best expert at hockey, or sports in general, but the one thing I did know is that pucks were found in hockey. Was she meeting someone at the hockey game? Was HG a hockey fan? That narrowed it down a bit. Maybe I needed to reach out to the local NHL team or to one of the smaller teams? I didn’t know enough, but I had initials and that was a start. Then I saw the words Hockey Guy, and my heart sank. HG was just short for Hockey Guy? Had she even known the man’s name? How could she conceive a baby and not know the sperm donor’s name? A flush of anger vanished as soon as I glanced at Sophie because no connection that made her could be wrong.
I scanned the rest of the journal, broken up once by Sophie waking up grumpy and hungry, but by the time midnight rolled around I knew without a doubt that Ashley had met and hooked up with a hockey fan she called Hockey Guy, or HG for short, because it was the only thing that made sense.
Which is why for the opening game of the preseason, against Tampa, I left Sophie with June, a neighbour and retired nurse, who had babysat for me in the past. Dressed head to toe in neon orange, I headed to the Tampa Arena with three huge signs I’d drawn, determined to get the attention of every single hockey fan as they went into the place.
Sophie needed help so there I stood half-naked with face paint, looking like a carrot. I couldn’t get a ticket to the game, but if queuing fans read the signs and went to get themselves tested with the hospital to see if they were a match to Sophie, then it was a win. Maybe, somewhere, within the twenty-thousand people at the arena, HG might be there, and I was going to find him.
Because it really was Sophie’s last chance.
And I refused to let someone else die on my watch.
Second
“Card,” I demanded and schooled my features when the king of diamonds turned up. I had a straight flush, and it was perfect—the kind of dream hand in poker that comes once in a lifetime. My heart raced as I peeked at my cards, barely containing my excitement. The odds were in my favor. It was a sure thing, a certainty, and blinded by the promise of winning, I did the unthinkable. I pushed all my chips to the center of the table. Everything. It was a bold move, a statement. I was all in. This was my moment, my chance to erase all my past mistakes, to come out on top, to prove to everyone, especially to my brother, that I was more than just a cautionary tale.
The room fell silent as the other players contemplated their next moves. One by one, they folded, until it was only me and one other—a newcomer with a poker face that gave nothing away. The final card was dealt, and I held my breath, ready to claim my victory.
But fate, as I had learned the hard way, is often cruel. In a twist that seemed ripped from a movie script, the newcomer revealed his hand. It was the only one that could beat mine, a statistical improbability, a once-in-a-lifetime counter to my once-in-a-lifetime hand. A royal flush.
“Read ’em and weep, Freckles,” my opponent cackled.
The realization slammed into me like a physical blow. I’d lost.
Lost everything. The room spun, and the sounds around me faded to a dull roar. I couldn’t breathe, couldn't think. The chips, my lifeline, my ticket to paying my way out of debt, were now sliding across the table, away from me.
The weight of what I had done crashed down on me with brutal force. I’d gambled everything on a single hand, and everything was over. Paying off the debts, the promises of turning things around, the fleeting glimpse of a better future—all gone with the turn of a card—my brief taste of success was ash in my mouth. The debts were still there, looming larger than ever, and now, I had nothing left to pay them with. My car, my last asset, was as good as gone, promised to Looper for a fraction of its worth. I’d been so close to clawing my way out and keeping my baby, only to plunge deeper into the abyss.
“I’ll be back,” I said with confidence, but no one met my eyes.
Saturday's Series Spotlight
Chestorford Coyotes
🏒👨❤️👨🏒💖👬💖🏒👨❤️💋👨🏒
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
Back Check
Second
Harrisburg Railers Series
B&N / iTUNES / iTUNES AUDIO
Owatonna U Series
B&N / iTUNES / SMASHWORDS
KOBO / WEBSITE / GOODREADS TBR
Arizona Raptors Series
B&N / iTUNES / SMASHWORDS
KOBO / WEBSITE / GOODREADS TBR
Boston Rebels Series
B&N / iTUNES / SMASHWORDS
KOBO / WEBSITE / GOODREADS TBR
