Thursday, August 14, 2025

🎑⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine⏳🎑: Texas Heat by RJ Scott



Summary:

Texas #3
What happens when secrets are exposed and lies unravel? How far are Riley and Jack willing to go to play matchmaker—and what will it cost them?

Life seems picture-perfect for Riley and Jack Campbell-Hayes. Jack is thriving with the DD Ranch’s expansion into training quarter horses, Riley is on the brink of securing his first ethical-based contract, and their daughter Hayley is nearing ten, her joy lighting up their world. But in Texas, tranquility rarely lasts.

When Jack hires Robbie, a man grieving a devastating loss, as his right-hand ranch hand, sparks of change ignite. At the same time, Riley’s audacious and flamboyant photographer friend, Eli, storms onto the ranch, declaring the DD the ideal location for a cowboy-themed model shoot. With twenty scantily clad male models parading across the ranch, the stage is set for chaos, humor, and unexpected revelations.

But Eli isn’t just here for his art. Beneath his charm and mischief, he harbors secrets even Riley doesn’t know. When Eli sets his sights on the guarded and grieving Robbie, his instant attraction sets tongues wagging. Everyone can see they’re meant for each other—except Robbie.

As Riley battles the unrelenting oil establishment determined to see him fail, the heat of a Texas summer stirs emotions, challenges loyalties, and pushes boundaries. From a raucous Gay Rodeo to a brawl at the Rusty Nail, Texas Heat is a story of humor, heartache, and passion, where love is tested, secrets come to light, and Riley and Jack’s bond proves unshakable in the face of it all.



Original Review 2013:
Another great entry in this series. There was a bit more humor in this one but it was done so fittingly and mixed with just the right blend of drama, angst, and love, and of course hotness and cowboys!

2nd Re-Read Review 2016:
The addition of Robbie and Eli is just a perfect fit to the Double D. Love the interactions between the old and the new. Just all kinds of awesomeness all the way through.

Overall Series Re-Read Review 2018:
I seriously have no idea what more I can say about Texas that I haven't already.  This is the series that brought me into the world of published M/M genre so Jack & Riley Campbell-Hayes and the Double D universe will always hold a special place in my heart.  No matter how many times I read this series, I always smile, cry, laugh, and just completely escape into their world.  I may never experience that first time adrenaline rush but it still gets my blood pumping and heart racing.  Texas is not just Jack and Riley's journey, yes they are the primary leads but we also get to see their children, their family, their friends all navigate life on and off the ranch.  The Double D has a way of bringing people together, giving them hope and purpose, a fresh start, a place to grow and become who they are meant to be, but at the heart of each story is just that: heart.  When RJ Scott wrote The Heart of Texas, I doubt she had any idea what she started, how far it would go or how many people it would touch but I'm just glad she gave life to Jack and Riley and everything that came from their love.  This is one series that isn't getting old any time soon for me.

Audiobook Overall Series Review 2019:
As I've said many times before, RJ Scott's Texas series was the first published M/M genre book that I read so they will always hold a place of pride in my heart.  No matter how many times I read or listen to the journey Jack and Riley Campbell-Hayes, their friends and family take I never tire of it.  The characters and the paths they take are so real, so honest, the good and the bad, the heartache and the healing, it never fails to put a smile on face.

As for the audio versions, I can't imagine anyone other than Sean Crisden bringing these stories to life.  Sean's voice make Jack, Riley, and the whole Texas family(which grows with each entry because its not just blood that connects everyone) real.  Honestly I felt as if I looked up I'd see Jack with Solo Cal out in the yard or Riley on the floor with his maps.

If you haven't read/listened to Texas before I highly recommend giving it a go but it is a series needed to be experienced in order.  I warn you though Jack and Riley can be addictive, you'll never want to say goodbye and now thanks to audio you really don't have toπŸ˜‰πŸ˜‰.

RATING:





Chapter 1 
"Riley, can you please try to find Jack?" Donna asked. Unspoken in her words was the plea that Riley keep Jack's temper reined in. No one had to be a rocket scientist to know Jack Campbell-Hayes was not taking this whole wedding as well as he was making out. Up until yesterday Jack had been this growly guy who accepted the wedding was happening with as much grace as he could. Then yesterday happened.

What exactly had gone down, no one was sure. Not even Riley could fully understand what was going on in Jack's head. Yesterday he had clammed up and refused to talk at all. Riley knew Jack was happy for his mom; he just couldn't get past the age difference and the money. Donna knew this. Hell, poor Neil Kendrick, Donna's husband-to-be, knew it.

"He was here a minute ago." Riley peered around the kitchen door to the organized chaos beyond the window in the front of the Double D. Looking for the familiar figure of his husband proved fruitless. There was no sign of Jack.

"Where's Neil?" Riley asked.

Donna shook her head and Riley wished he had never asked. Whatever was happening between Jack and Neil was something Donna didn't need spilling over onto her wedding day. Donna laid a gentle hand on Riley's arm and instinctively he pulled her closer for a hug. She smelled of sunshine and home, and peace flooded him at the scent. Dressed in a robe, she wasn't in her wedding finery or whatever she was wearing today, but her hair was twisted up into a knot at the top of her head. When he stepped back he didn't think he had seen anyone more beautiful than the woman who had gifted the world with Jack Campbell.

His job on this cool Valentine's Day was to keep the peace. Although Jack and Neil had made some kind of unspoken promise to not fight it didn't mean that Riley's hot-tempered husband wasn't off somewhere releasing tension on some poor unsuspecting caterer.

"I'll find him," he promised.

"Everything okay here?"

Both he and Donna turned to face a concerned Beth. Emily, her daughter, was gripping her hand tightly. Walking now and with as much sass as her Uncle Jack, Emily was a breath of fresh air in the room. Donna immediately scooped her granddaughter up in her arms and squeezed her until she giggled uncontrollably.

"Gramma, you coming?"

Riley turned at Hayley's words. His daughter's voice was so familiar and gentle and he couldn't stop the surge of love for the nine-year-old that had put herself in charge of getting Gramma ready for her wedding.

"Hey, pumpkin," Riley said.

"Daddy, you shouldn't be in here," she said.

Riley raised his hands in defense. "I'm going, I'm going."

Somehow Hayley had Beth, and Emily had Donna moving away and out of the kitchen into the good room. The front room was where Donna's bridal party were readying themselves.

Sighing, Riley left the kitchen and moved outside, down the steps to the front of the house. He cast a thorough glance around the area but couldn't see the strong figure of his husband anywhere. He could, however, see Neil who was standing to one side with a group of guys. The man looked to be unhurt and upright so Riley surmised Jack hadn't been in that direction. Exchanging waves with Josh, who was across the yard, pacing and looking down at cards in his hand, Riley weaved through caterers and visitors until he reached his brother-in-law's side.

"Have you seen Jack?" he asked.

Josh's eyes widened at the question and he looked behind him to where Neil was standing. He visibly relaxed that the bridegroom was still there and wasn't face-planted in the dirt at Jack's hand. Jack and Neil's uneasy truce had been tested more and more the closer the wedding came.

"He said something a while ago about the caterers and their vans blocking the horses."

"Are they?"

"Are they what?" Josh was distracted. Being the man who was giving his mom away was not coming easily to him and he was way past nervous.

"Blocking in the horses?"

"No." Josh frowned. "They're over on the other side by the new barn."

Riley turned on his heel and headed to the only other place that he thought his husband could be. Crossing to the old barn, their barn, he was relieved to see the still figure of Jack leaning on an old stable wall with his head tilted back and his eyes closed.

"Jack?" Riley cleared the short distance between them until he was toe-to-toe with Jack. His husband was dressed and ready for the wedding and he looked so damn gorgeous. He was lucky Riley was on a mission or he would be out of those clothes in an instant.

A soft gray suit fit Jack snuggly and the jacket hung perfectly on Jack's broad shoulders. A Western-style belt buckle was the only concession to cowboy that Riley could see, and tucking a finger behind the belt, he leaned into the man who owned him from his heart outward. Jack had shaved but it was a matter of a few hours before stubble defined his jaw and heat caused his unruly dark hair to fall in disarray around his head. Riley loved that hair and the stubble; the burn of it against his skin when they made love was exquisite. Questioning blue eyes, the color of a cloudless Texas sky, looked up at him and Riley smiled in reassurance.

"Why are you hiding?" Riley asked.

Jack pulled Riley the final inch until he was supporting his husband's weight. He was wearing aftershave and Riley could see a tiny nick in his tanned skin on his defined cheekbone. Carefully he placed a gentle kiss on the mark.

"'M not hiding," Jack drawled.

"You are hiding," Riley said. He knew his other half too well.

Jack shrugged but said nothing. That was not a good sign. Jack clamming up and not talking was a recipe for disaster.

"Jack? Talk to me?" Riley used his free hand to cup Jack's cheek and pressed firmly when Jack turned his head slightly into the touch. There was something in his cornflower eyes—uncertainty maybe?

"Neil came to see me yesterday with a prenup he wanted me to take a look at."

Riley wasn't surprised. Jack was not only worried about the age gap between his mom and the younger veterinarian but also about any and all money and property in his mom's name that the guy would have access to as her new husband. Riley, on the other hand, thought Neil was a good guy; he loved Donna to distraction, despite the twenty-year difference.

Riley cursed that, with Jack increasing the horse training side of the D and with him so involved in the latest Hayes Oil project, they had lost track of each other over the last few days. Damn it. If he had been here when Neil visited to speak to Jack then maybe he could have smoothed things over.

"A prenup is a good thing. Right?" Riley leaned in a little more and it felt right when Jack circled his waist with his arms, both of his large capable hands resting on his lower back. He could feel the flex of his lover's muscles in his broad chest and it didn't matter that a hundred people were only thirty feet away around the side of the barn; he really wanted Jack.

"No," Jack responded simply. "He talked to me and he was defensive and I tried to tell him that I trusted my mom and her choices but he didn't listen. Just kept asking me to read the prenup and telling me I should get my lawyers to look at it to make sure."

"He's gonna be defensive, Jack. He knows how you feel about him."

"Well, what if I didn't?"

"Didn't?" Riley wasn't following this change in direction.

"What if I felt that he was good for Mom and that I even liked the guy a bit."

Riley watched as Jack worried at his lower lip with his teeth. This wasn't Jack. Jack knew his place in the world and was certain of his feelings. He didn't wander from one point of view to another; he was black and white.

"What did the prenup say?" Riley decided this was a better thing to focus on.

"That he'd have me, Beth, or Josh sign off on anything financial with Mom, that at any time any one of us could call in an independent audit on her money." Jack stopped talking and leaned his head forward to rest his forehead on Riley's chest.

"That's a bad thing?"

"Yes." Jack's voice was muffled. "All I want for my mom is a strong man who will look after her and make her happy. If he signs that prenup then all that is left is half a man with no control over his life and sons-in-law who don't trust him. It just looks like we don't trust Mom to know her own mind and hell"—he lifted his head and his eyes were full of fire—"do you know of any woman anywhere who is stronger than Donna Campbell?"

Riley shook his head. "So what happened then?"

"He gave this speech about how he just wanted Mom to be happy and left me the papers. He's signed them; all I need to do is sign them, get Beth and Josh to do so, and then we can get the whole lot notarized. He assumed that is what I was doing and then he shook my hand and said he was proud to be a part of our family."

"Did you get it notarized?"

"No. I didn't show Josh or Beth and I didn't even sign the fucking thing. How can I do that and then look Mom in the face?"

"So, wait, you haven't signed, you think Neil is good for your mom, and you trust him."

With a groan Jack rested his forehead back on Riley's chest again. There was a muttered "fuck" and Riley thought on what he had to say here. Damn his obstinate husband.

"Okay, cowboy. Where is the paperwork?"

"Inthetruck." Jack ran his words together.

"Get the paperwork then decide. Sign and it's done or don't sign and tell Neil what you really think." Riley checked his watch. "There's thirty minutes until the ceremony starts, plenty of time to get your head out of your ass and do something to make this right."

Jack groaned again and Riley smiled. His cowboy may be a stubborn fucker but Jack knew what he had to do. He lifted his face again, but this time worry had been replaced by something else—something punctuated by the press of a hard and very interested dick against Riley's thigh. Jack quirked his eyebrows.

"Have we got time for—"

"No," Riley replied adamantly. As much as he wanted Jack out of the suit and bent over the nearest rail, they had things to do that were more important.

"Not even a—"

"No."

"You're a fucking bastard, Riley Campbell-Hayes," Jack said with no heat.

"It's why you love me." Riley smirked. "You have half an hour."

* * * * *

Jack hated it when Riley was right. Inevitably Riley was always freaking right when Jack came out of his stubborn focused stage. The fucker.

He readjusted himself and saw the lick of heat in Riley's eyes. If only they had longer then falling to his knees and wringing a noisy, messy orgasm from his suit-wearing husband would have been right at the top of his list.

He chuckled and pulled Riley close for a kiss, a touch filled with the promise of later. Finally separating, Jack left to get the papers from the truck and with them safely in his hand he returned to the throng to find his soon-to-be whatever. Certainly not step-daddy, but something a little more official than the guy who was keeping his momma's bed warm at night.

He saw Neil's eyes widen when he approached and guilt twisted in his gut. The man had a couple of other guys with him, two in suits and one dressed in Sunday-best Cowboy. Nice-looking guy, built like a brick outhouse, with short blond hair and dark blue eyes. This guy took a careful step forward to put himself closer to Jack. He wasn't actually between Jack and Neil but it was enough of a stance to be meaningful. They stood toe-to-toe for a few seconds and it was humiliating to think that this cowboy was feeling the need to protect Neil from him.

"Is everything okay?" Neil finally asked.

"Can we talk?" Jack asked formally. The other two men in suits moved away, leaving Neil and the cowboy in front of him.

Neil shook his head. "Please don't. Not now. Can it wait until after?" he asked simply.

The cowboy frowned at Neil's words. Hell, who wouldn't. Neil sounded resigned and just a little pissed. If this cowboy was a good friend then he probably knew everything. Jack wasn't going to let this lie.

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior," Jack said firmly. He knew it was his imagination but he felt as if every eye of the waiting wedding party was on him. What the hell? He had told Neil what he thought of him in public before, it was only right to be telling the man now how Jack had changed his mind. "And I have a wedding gift for you."

He thrust the paperwork of the prenup at Neil, and the man looked down at it with resignation on his face.

"Thank you," he said carefully. He didn't immediately take the papers. Jack shook them a little to encourage Neil to take them and at first he didn't get why the guy wasn't snatching them out of his hands. Then realization hit him. Neil probably thought it was the signed and notarized paperwork. Fuck. When am I going to do things right?

"I didn't—" he started. Then he thought maybe actions spoke louder than words. Taking the thick sheaf of papers, he ripped them cleanly down the middle and then ripped each half again. Finally, grasping the pieces in one hand, he held them back out to Neil who accepted them in his left hand. The man was obviously shocked, judging from his facial expression. Although he was quiet, his expressive eyes spoke volumes.

"Thank you, Jack," Neil said. His voice was gentle and then he held out his right hand. Jack hesitated briefly in accepting the handshake. Didn't seem right welcoming the man into his family with a freaking handshake. With a single step forward he pulled the other man into a close hug that Neil returned immediately.

"Welcome to the family, Neil," Jack said. He stepped back and inclined his head to the cowboy at Neil's side and then with what he was sure was every eye on him, he left to find somewhere to hide again until the wedding began.

* * * * *

The ceremony was beautiful. Donna looked radiant in a lacy summer dress in a pale shade of blue and Neil was smiling so hard that Jack thought the guy could do permanent damage to his face.

Hayley and little Emily were flower girls and Josh's daughter Lea made it three. Lea's older brother Logan was thirteen now and wasn't that keen on being labeled as anything except 'cool dude in a suit' but he did hold Emily's hand the entire service.

Jack couldn't take his eyes off of Hayley. She was taller now, coming up on ten in September; she was the spitting image of her dad with the same blond hair and hazel eyes. He couldn't be prouder of Riley's daughter. She was his as well and she loved her Pappa as much as she loved Riley.

The backdrop to this wedding was home. The beautiful ranch in the setting sun with the vista of their land spreading before him was where his heart felt most at peace. Feet planted firmly on Texan soil with his family around him, Jack was at rest.

Riley slipped a hand into his. "This reminds me of when we renewed our vows," he murmured.

"I love you, het-boy," Jack replied softly so no one could hear.

"I love you too, cowboy."

Jack was only one step away from letting an emotional sigh leave him. This land, these people, they were his and he was theirs. That was the way he was and the way he always would be.



Saturday Series Spotlight
Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Legacy



RJ Scott
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.


EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk



Texas Heat  #3


Legacy Trilogy


Wednesday, August 13, 2025

πŸ’»Blogger ReviewπŸ’»: Blitz by RJ Scott & VL Locey



Summary:

Railers Legacy #3
When hockey's biggest ego meets football's golden boy, sparks fly, and defenses crumble. 

Cole "Trick" Harrington III has made a career out of pretending he doesn't care. Not about his past, his name, or the father who built a megachurch empire off judgment and control. Trick torched every bridge back to Atlanta, deliberately wrecked his career, and buried his truth so deep even he started to forget it. Now traded to the Harrisburg Railers, he's skating on thin ice, with a reputation for arrogance and a career teetering on the edge. The last thing he needs is a PR stunt tying him to a squeaky-clean football star, particularly one who is sexy, strong, and always freaking happy. As Trick is forced to confront his growing attraction and deal with the past he's spent years ignoring-including the younger sister he never knew existed-he realizes that the most brutal battles aren't fought on the ice. They're fought in the heart. And this time, he has to stop running.

Tom Fulkowski has led a charmed life. Starting with a typical middle-class childhood in Philly, his skill at catching quarterbacks has propelled him to the heights of pro football. He's got the rings, he's got the cash, and he's got the cars. He's also got a bad back, achy knees, and a yearning to move on. With one final season to play with the Philadelphia Pumas before retirement, Tom looks forward to that next phase of his life. He's just not sure what the next phase is exactly. Then, out of the blue, he meets a wild-eyed hockey player with a chip the size of the Liberty Bell on his shoulder. As he and Cole grow closer, he finds a depth to the younger man that resonates deeply. If only Cole would slow down and let Tom catch up to him, they might win it all.

Blitz is an MM romance featuring a bad-boy hockey player with a past he can't outrun, a football legend on the verge of retirement, a forced PR stunt that might turn into something real, and a game-changing journey to their happy-ever-after.






I gotta start by saying, I never expected Cole “Trick” Harrington III to get his own story and I definitely could not see myself rooting for him after his behavior in Speed, the first entry in Scott & Locey's newest hockey series, Railers Legacy.  He was only in a few scenes but he did not exactly ingratiate himself to the readers with his interactions with Noah Gunnarsson, to say he was a jerk, is an understatement. When I learned Trick was going to get his own story, I never doubted that he would have his HEA because I trusted the authors to get him there by making him earn it.  More importantly, I knew there would be underlying issues to his previous attitude and behavior, not that it made it okay but it shows the authors respect the fact that people don't see everything behind the veil, that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, and at the same time those who act out due to the things they don't let us see are still held accountable for their jerkiness(to put it simply).

Now to Blitz and everything about it, Trick, Tom, hockey, football, and romance.  As always, we see the journey from both characters' viewpoint, making it the couple's story but if I was to put a number to it, I'd say Trick's side edges on top by a 60/40 margin.  Don't get me wrong, Tom has his drama as well dealing with coming out now or waiting until he retires which was the original plan as well as his own "teammate nemesis".  As I stated above, Blitz is Trick's redemption journey, though once you learn the reasons behind his behavior, "redemption" might be a little strong but he still has a lot to make amends for.  Truth is, some might think the authors didn't spend enough time on the romance factor in Blitz and perhaps they didn't in comparison to their other stories but sometimes that is okay.  To have a great romance, you have to have likeable characters that deserve their HEA and sometimes that means the character(s) has to grow, has to heal, has to get to that deserving moment.  That is what Blitz is about, Trick's development to deserving, to get him to the point that readers want him to have his HEA.

I'm afraid if I continue I will give too much away and that's a no-no for me, so I'll stop here.  Truth be told, my thoughts are a bit jumbled with this story but I hope they aren't coming out that way in this review.  I loved the fact that Scott & Locey had competing sports for their two lovers, and by "competing" I mean hockey and football have a partial overlap season-wise not actually playing against each other, despite my loving the dual sport couple, it saddens me a bit too.  As the new football pre-season gets underway, my dad and I's hearts are breaking a bit knowing Mom won't be here to cheer on her Green Bay Packers, which is why my thoughts are wonky and again, I hope they aren't translating that way here, if so I apologize.  To be as clear and simply put as I can:  Blitz will warm your heart, make you smile, but it will also hurt your heart and make you scream a time or two first. Tom may be a football star but he has earned his spot alongside Trick in the Scott/Locey Hockey Universe and together they will entertain you with all the feels you can possibly imagine.  There is nothing that is not good about this story and I look forward to their next entry, and the next, and the next, and . . . well lets just finish by saying I'll be here for every journey they bring usπŸ˜‰πŸ˜.

RATING:





ONE
Cole Patrick Harrington III AKA “Trick"
I’d been called a lot of things in my career—cocky, cold, un-coachable—but this was a new one: Kid.

“Jesus, kid!”

“Smile more, kid.”

“You look like someone pissed in your Wheaties, kid.”

The man with the camera was talking to me as if I were some fresh-faced rookie and not a twenty-five-year-old professional who’d survived two concussions, a torn MCL, and had cultivated a reputation so toxic even my agent flinched when my name came up. Any minute now, I was going to launch this chirpy, caffeine-fueled photographer from the top floor of the Railers practice facility and act as if it was a training accident.

I gritted my teeth and resisted the urge to lose my shit, mostly because I’d been warned—again—that this PR stunt was a chance for me to play nice. Apparently, how I got myself traded from Atlanta had been way too effective. I may have overplayed my hand at my old team when I tried my hardest to make myself the bad guy to escape the specters that loomed large in Georgia. The Railers had scooped me up like a clearance-sale gamble, hoping maybe a change of scenery would fix whatever was wrong with me—as if I was just some glitchy piece of tech needing a reboot. But instead of skating drills or hitting the weights to prove I still had game, I was stuck posing with a golden-boy football player in a sponsored shoot for BoltFuel—oiled up, half naked with shorts the only thing hiding skin, and gritting my teeth while trying not to explode at everyone in sight.

Worth it to get out of my dad’s way. Right?

“We are smiling,” Tom said beside me, his voice bright enough to make my teeth ache as he elbowed me with what I assumed was solidarity.

His default setting was probably grin-and-glow, the kind of guy who thought the world could be fixed with a good attitude and an extra scoop of protein powder. He wasn’t only smiling—he was radiating PR-friendly charm as if it was his job. And maybe it was. Meanwhile, I was trying not to set the BoltFuel banner on fire with my eyes.

“This way, Trip! Smolder for me, Trip! Love that protein drink, Trip!” the camera guy shouted.

“It’s Trick,” I corrected. Everyone wanted to call me Trip for the III, but no, I was Cole Patrick Harrington, and people had better remember that it was Trick from Patrick.

My dad was Cole Harrington—Pastor Cole—slick with charm, polished by the spotlight of his Temple of the Radiant Truth ministry, and backed by generations of old Southern money.

“Trick, then. Smile!”

According to Layton Foxx, the Railers PR guru, sunshine-football-guy and I were good for BoltFuel, the team, and hell, even the league. I was surprised he didn’t tell me it would lead to world peace, but apparently, the optics were perfect: hockey’s most controversial problem child standing next to football’s favorite son. I gritted my teeth and forced my trademark golden-boy grin. This was good for image and cross-market promotion, and excellent for a company trying to prove their product wasn’t just for gym bros and weekend warriors.

BoltFuel’s directive had been front and center in the email thread leading up to this shoot—DON’T LET HARRINGTON FUCK IT UP FOR US. All caps. Bolded. Message received loud and clear. Be good, be agreeable, and sell the shake. Keep your attitude on a leash and your mouth shut. That was all they needed from me: a warm body and a winning smile.

The camera flashed, and I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms. I focused on my breathing, slow and controlled. One… two… three. My jaw ached from clenching, and my shoulders were so tight my head hurt. Ten seconds of pretending. Ten seconds of not messing up in front of BoltFuel, the team, and the one guy in the room who seemed untouched by the circus. Ten seconds of being someone I wasn’t—I could do that. Hell, I did it every day.

Tom I’m-fucking-perfect Fulkowski, carved out of golden light, good intentions, and twenty million a year, stood beside me as though he didn’t have a care in the world, flashing his perfectly white teeth and charming everyone from the interns to the assistant GM. He even smelled good, like sunshine and cinnamon. I smelled like sweat and frustration.

We both smelled of oil.

Taller than me by a couple of inches, he was broad-shouldered and stupidly photogenic. He wore his Philadelphia Pumas shorts as if he belonged in a magazine ad instead of a football stadium.

“Trick? A word,” Layton said from the sidelines, all pleasant PR charm until I got closer, and he pulled me aside like a cop about to read me my rights.

“What! I’m doing it! I’m smiling, aren’t I? I didn’t swear, flip anyone off, or smash a camera. That’s practically sainthood.”

God, it was hard to turn off the asshole side of me.

“I swear, Trick, if you don’t pull it together and act like you’re even vaguely enjoying yourself, I will personally staple that BoltFuel logo to your forehead. This campaign is already hanging by a thread, and if you tank it, you’re not just screwing yourself—you’re screwing me, the team, and everyone who still thinks there’s a PR miracle waiting to happen here.”

Message received. Loud and clear. Again.

“Act like you’re happy we plucked you off the waiver wire. Smile, nod, and for the love of god, Trick, look like you’re thrilled to be standing next to America’s sweetheart and holding a protein shake like it’s your golden ticket back into hockey heaven.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, letting the PR-approved smile drop like dead weight. I didn’t want to be told what to do. I’d escaped Atlanta to be my own man, and here was this guy shouting at me.

“Even if I’m not happy?” My voice was flat; the kind of tone that said I was two seconds from lighting the whole BoltFuel banner on fire to see who’d scramble first.

Layton’s eyes darkened, and I could see the vein in his temple starting to throb. “I swear…” he began. “Do your job and pretend you want to be part of the Railers.” Then, he gently encouraged me, aka shoved me, back out onto the rooftop where Perfect-Tom-the-football player was chatting to the photographer and smiling so damn hard I was surprised his face didn’t break.

“Here he is,” Tom said, throwing me the same smile.

Fuck. My. Life. Happy to be with the Railers? I wish. After the reputation I had—the one I’d created to escape—no one really wanted me here. Hell, I didn’t want to be in Pennsylvania—I’d wanted Vancouver or LA—anything to get as far away from Atlanta as possible.

I need to try and smile. I need to look unaffected. But I need to smile.

My head!

Tom leaned in. “You good, dude?”

Dude? Who the fuck said that anymore? And no, I wasn’t good. I hadn’t been good in years.

“Peachy,” I muttered, forcing a tight smile for the next shot. The camera clicked again, and I caught sight of my expression on the monitor. Yeah. Real sunshine and rainbows.

“Okay to post to my socials?” Sunshine asked.

The photographer nodded, and before I knew it I was being hugged super close, skin on skin, and Tom’s phone caught my automatic media smile before I extricated myself and made a show of wiping myself down.

“So, onto the interview,” the camera guy said, standing aside for the slip of a girl who couldn’t have been a day over eighteen. The questions were generic. Layton wanted us to banter about hockey vs. football, even after I pointed out that I was earning seven million a year, which was less than half of what Sunshine-Tom pulled in. Was that the banter he wanted me to focus on?

Tom was chatting about the many charities he was involved with, from dogs to kids to mental health. He was all over everything: fun runs, ultra marathons, kicking balls through holes.

“… charities?” the interviewer asked, looking at me expectantly.

“I prefer to keep my charitable endeavors private,” I threw out, rude as fuck, and pointedly raising an eyebrow. Why the hell did I do that? Oh yeah, because I didn’t do charity work. I gave half my freaking salary to my dad.

Silence. I could feel Layton’s gaze boring into the back of my neck. “Apart from the dogs,” I added after a pause. “I do a lot with dogs.” I wondered if anyone could tell I was lying. Again, no one would call me on it, and I resolved to donate to the closest dog rescue place.

“You do?” Tom asked, “That’s so cool. I love dogs! I have this cute pup… look!” He’d picked up his cell and was now waving it under my nose.

I was motion sick but managed to at least murmur something that got him to stop waving it at me.

When the interview was over, I was free to leave, but Tom wouldn’t let me. Oh no, he wanted to talk to me.

“Do you want to get a coffee?” he asked with a grin, as if we were old friends and not two strangers thrown together for a PR campaign no one had asked for.

Did I want to spend time with another man—a gorgeous, sexy, muscled, oiled man—where my urges might spill over and I did something stupid.

Nope.

Don’t look at his body. Mask down.

Scrappy miserable defensive shield up.

“Why? So, you can add rehabbing hockey player to your list of charity cases?”

He didn’t flinch, but he did frown. “Just an idea,” he said. “No biggie.”

Anyone would notice Tom the second he walked into a room. He was tall and had a lean, but powerful, football player’s build—one of the top defensive ends in the league. He was clean-cut American perfection, with hair cropped short and neat, blue eyes that probably melted cameras, and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass.

He turned slightly to talk to the photographer, and the view from the back didn’t disappoint. Broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist, and his ass—well, it was ridiculous in those Pumas shorts. That was some fine award-winning bubble butt he had going on there. His whole body looked as if it had been designed in a lab to torment me.

And those lips—Christ. Full, plush, shaped like sin and confidence. The kind of lips that made you think of things a man shouldn’t, especially in front of half a dozen cameras. I could imagine tracing them with my fingers, feeling them against my neck, and yeah… his lips would be gorgeous wrapped around my⁠—

My cell buzzing interrupted my thoughts—not my normal cell phone, but the tiny handset I kept tucked in a zipped pocket of my bag. It only had one number programmed into it. My father’s.

I didn’t want that man anywhere near the real life I was trying to build. He didn’t deserve even the ghost of a presence in it. Everything I’d clawed my way toward—every minute on the ice, every hard-earned scrap of control over my own goddamn story—I’d done in spite of him. Not because of him.

But I couldn’t make myself leave the phone behind. Not ever. Because I knew him. Knew the way he operated. He’d wait until the perfect moment—until I was almost happy, until I was steady—and then, he’d throw a curveball that’d knock me sideways. He’d done it before. Enough times that the idea of missing one of those calls, of not being ready, left a knot of barbed wire in my gut.

The phone was my warning system. My fire alarm. I didn’t pick it up to talk. I picked it up to survive.

The message was simple. A lone photo, forwarded from Tom’s Instagram. His arm slung casually around me, my head tipped slightly toward his. It wasn’t anything.

Below it, my father had typed: The cameras have caught you touching sin!

My stomach dropped.

Classic him. No context. No conversation. Just a warning dressed up as scripture, like he thought he was standing at a pulpit instead of slinging shame over text. Like he had any right to say a damn thing about my life after our contract.

I stared at the message, my grip tightening on the tiny phone until the plastic creaked. This was the curveball. I’d felt it coming. He always found a way to remind me that he was watching.

“Trick! Security just called,” someone said, cutting through my spiral. Now what? “There’s someone downstairs for you.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know. Greg said it’s personal.”

I blinked, heart thudding as if I’d been caught doing something illegal. I turned back to the photographer. I was thankful for the interruption, even if my chest was tight—I didn’t do anything personally. “Are we done here?”

He nodded, distracted by adjusting some lighting rig.

I didn’t say goodbye. I shoved my hands deeper into my hoodie pockets and walked off the set without glancing back, using the stairs to get down, and stopped just before exiting the lobby. My breath hitched and my heart punched against my ribs as if it were trying to escape. Panic curled in my gut, sharp and sudden, coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. My palms were slick, my vision narrowing as thoughts raced—who was out there wanting me? Did they want a golden boy hockey player or an asshole wanting to be punched? What character would I have to play? Not knowing was kinda shit, and I didn’t do surprises. Tension flooded my veins, thick and hot, locking up every joint until I couldn’t move or think without spiraling into worst-case scenarios.

“Hey, you okay?” a voice said behind me, and I whirled to face a half-smiling, half-concerned Tom.

I focused on his stupidly pretty face and sneered. “Oh, fuck the hell off,” I snapped, and pushed out of the door, my anger at being spotted enough to snap my daydream. I didn’t think he followed me, and I strode to the main desk, seeing an empty lobby apart from some kid sitting on the sofa.

“What?” I asked Greg, who pointed at the young girl without saying a word. “We don’t let fans in.”.” I moved to leave, but the girl had moved—damned fast—and blocked my way.

She couldn’t have been more than seventeen, eighteen maybe—but then, what the hell did I know—and she smiled up at me. She was in jeans and a simple T-shirt, the kind you could pick up in a three-pack at Target, and her hair was scraped back into a no-nonsense ponytail. There was no makeup I could see, but she didn’t seem plain—just real. Her dark eyes were wide, curious, and maybe a little nervous, like she wasn’t sure if she was about to get yelled at or hugged. There was something familiar in how she stood too—shoulders back, chin lifted as if she’d practiced this moment in the mirror a dozen times and wasn’t about to flinch now.

“Hi, Cole Harrington the Third.” She extended her hand to shake.

I ignored it.

“You shouldn’t be in here; there are scheduled times for meet and greets,” I said. “Give Greg your name, and he’ll add you to the list.” I stepped back so Greg could see her and me in case I got accused of something awful; I mean, Jesus, she was a young woman, and I was the bad boy of hockey, and I’d been accused of unfounded shit before.

“My name is Rebecca Jensen.”

“Okay. Tell Greg.”

“I’m here to see you.”

“As I said, we have meet and greets.”

“I’m your sister.”

“Fuck off.” My mouth moved before my brain could catch up. Sister? No. That word didn’t belong to me. That word wasn’t part of my life. My entire world had always been me—solo, closed off, self-contained. No siblings, shared birthdays, hand-me-downs, or late-night whisper fights across a hallway. Just me and the silence I’d made peace with. And now? This stranger wanted to rewrite my entire history with a few words. That was a new one. I’d had four pregnancy accusations—two of them from women I’d never even met, one from a former one-night stand who’d forgotten she was married, and one who thought wishful thinking made it real. I’d punched a photographer in Vegas after he’d tried to shove a lens up my nose during a hangover. I’d been accused twice of getting too handsy in public—both dismissed, but the stain lingered. I’d been called every name in the book by commentators and sports pundits alike. But this? A long-lost sibling showing up out of the blue in the Railers lobby? That was a first.

“No, you’re not,” I scoffed. If there’s one certainty I have, it’s that I don’t have siblings. “Greg, can you get over here and deal with this.”

“Cole Harrington, the second, was your father, same as mine,” she said, her voice steady, like she’d rehearsed this a hundred times. “My mom, Georgie Jensen, was your dad’s PA for a couple of weeks. She never told me about him—not until last year when she was diagnosed with cancer.” She paused then, grief in her expression. “She told me to stay away, that it was safer that way, until I turned eighteen at least. And I’m eighteen now, I mean… look, when she passed away there was a lawyer explaining everything.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope, which was thick and official judging by its weight. “There’s a genetic match, an affidavit, photos… the whole kit and caboodle.” Then, she smiled—wide and awkward—and added, “Hey, big brother.”

“Is this a scam? Because if it is, save us both the time and get the hell out now. I’ve seen enough people try to angle in with a sob story and some paperwork. You want money—there’s a line forming behind my last three fake cousins and a guy who swore he babysat me once in kindergarten and said I told him my dad would give him money. So, unless you’ve got more than a manila envelope and a smile, I suggest you turn around.”

“She said you’d be like this,” she muttered, then sighed. “Take this, asshole.” She thrust the envelope at me. “Call me.”

Then she turned smartly on her heel and walked out of the arena, leaving me in the lobby like an idiot. An idiot holding a sealed envelope and a hundred questions I didn’t want to ask. My fingers itched to tear it open, but my feet stayed rooted to the floor. What the hell was I supposed to do with this? What if she was right?

She’s not right. Jesus Trick, pull yourself together.

I shoved the envelope into my hoodie pocket as if it were radioactive. Greg was staring, and I snarled. He scampered off to do whatever he was supposed to be doing, like not letting a random stranger in here.

This day was officially fucked.



Saturday's Series Spotlight
Harrisburg Raptors
Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3  /  Part 4

Owatonna U
Part 1  /  Part 2

Arizona Raptors
Part 1  /  Part 2

Boston Rebels
Part 1  /  Part 2

Chestorford Coyotes

LA Storm
Shield  /  Spiral

Railers Legacy
Speed  /  Blitz  /  Powder  /  Fly

Hockey Universe
Xmas Edition
Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Family First

Road to the Stanley Cup Edition
Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3

Father's Day Edition

Caregivers Edition
Part 1  /  Part 2




RJ Scott
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.




VL Locey
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.



RJ Scott
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk
EMAIL: vicki@vllocey.com



Blitz #2

Harrisburg Railers Series

Owatonna U Series

Arizona Raptors Series

Boston Rebels Series

Chestorford Coyotes Series

LA Storm Series

Sparkle #1.5(LA Storm)

Railers Legacy Series