by Robyn M Ryan
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
1
2
3
4
5
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7
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Books by Robyn M. Ryan
This Piece of My Soul
This Piece of Our Being
About the Author
HEALTHY SCRATCH
Robyn M. Ryan
Healthy Scratch is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Any products named are trademarks of their respective companies and are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Except as permitted by US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, downloaded, printed, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database, or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author. All rights reserved.
Cover Photos: ©Stocksy/Lumina iStockPhotos/paulrommer
Cover design by Karla Fouts
Editors: Cara Lockwood, Mary Callaghan, Rachelle Reese
Copyright © 2019 Robyn M. Ryan
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7329590-0-2 epub
ISBN-13: 978-1-7329590-1-9 mobi
ISBN: 978-1-7329590-2-6 print
Healthy Scratch is dedicated
to the many readers who requested follow-up
books to the Clearing the Ice Series.
The Tampa Suns Hockey Series is especially for you!
Thank you!
Hummingbird don't fly away, fly away.
The sweetness of your nectar has drawn me like a fly.
I just love you, love you, love you.
I don't even know the reason why.
—DARRELL G. CROFTS, JIMMY SEALS
1
LAUREN GENTRY SIPPED a mimosa as she studied the group who’d gathered to celebrate her best friend’s special occasion. The sparkling orange juice only partially removed the bitter taste in her mouth. She shared their happiness as they introduced the adorable twins to a houseful of friends, but envy…jealousy?…crept into her thoughts. Why couldn’t she enjoy the delight these three-month-old infants brought to their lives? She shared the joy, yet an unwanted sense of resentment tickled her mind. Seriously—watching them interact as dozens gather to "ooh and ah" over the babies comes straight from one of my romance books. Why do some people find their “happily-ever-after,” while the rest of us wait?
Irrational. Caryn and Andrew Chadwick had just survived over a year in hell, a time that nearly cost his life and threatened to destroy their marriage. But as if in a story, he fully recovered, and they healed the damage to their relationship. You’d never realize they’d had problems now. Caryn’s smile brightened the room as she greeted each guest, and Andrew took the prize as the sexiest father of the year. Add proudest parents and you get an exact depiction. Yep, exactly like a romance novel.
For once, couldn’t that storybook glow transfer to her? Her basic insecurities shoved envy aside. I don’t belong in this sea of beautiful people… Many are my friends but only because of Caryn. I’d never travel in these circles if she wasn’t my BFF. That bothers me now? Why? It’s nothing new. I love her like a sister. I'm happy for her.
Will I find my “happily-ever-after?” I don’t expect a hot hockey superstar like Andrew… just someone who sees me as more than a pal. Not that “for a fun time, call Lauren” friend. I enjoy parties, but I’m tired of carrying the good-time girl label, the girl you don’t have to impress, and the one you’d never consider taking home to meet the parents.
Irrational? Maybe, coming from the memory of an unwanted child who learned her insignificance before she could speak. Her earliest memories included constant arguments that deteriorated into bitter accusations, always loud and terrifying. Lauren had fractured images of cowering in the darkness of her room when her father entered the house—often long after dinner. She tried to disappear by hiding under the bed or huddling in a closet. To stop the noise, she pressed her hands over her ears, her small stuffed rabbit tucked under her arm. The three-year-old heard things she didn’t understand but never forgot. Get over it, Gentry. You haven’t been that kid in twenty-two years.
Forcing the memories, resentment, and envy back into her mind’s lockbox, Lauren exchanged her mimosa for two champagne flutes as a server passed and took one to her best friend.
“Private toast?”
Caryn shifted the baby to her other arm to accept the glass. “What shall we celebrate?”
“The obvious. Jenna and Daniel… AND Andrew cleared to skate with the team.”
She shook her head. “We’ve celebrated that—I’ll toast the outstanding conclusion to the ‘Project from hell.’ One more meeting and you’re finished. You did a fantastic job, Lauren.” She held up her glass. “To depositing that last check and never having to communicate with Jim Wesley again.”
They clinked glasses, and both giggled as they sipped the champagne.
“I wonder if he’s such an obnoxious jerk when not in his work mode.”
Caryn’s smile was more of a challenge. “The contract’s complete—you could find that out now.” She nodded over Lauren’s shoulder. “Or, choose from the single, unattached guys in this room.”
Lauren glanced over the area and shook her head with a soft laugh. “Not likely.” She set her glass on a tray and reached for Jenna. “Can I hold her?”
“Of course, Aunt Lauren.” Caryn placed the infant in her arms. “Thanks, I need to take a quick break.”
“No hurry.” She kissed the top of Jenna’s head. She loved the children as if they were her own. Can’t wait until Andrew and Caryn trust someone—me—to babysit. Though, they show no signs of leaving the babies soon. When Andrew plays again? “Tell your mom you want to stay with Aunt Lauren. I’ll tell you girl secrets your daddy doesn’t want you to know.”
#
Lauren didn’t realize that anyone had stepped to her side until he spoke. “Holding that baby suits you.”
She stiffened, even as goosebumps rising on her arms caused her to shiver. She turned her head and met the chocolate brown eyes she never expected to focus on her again. “Marty…” The nickname slipped out, but she realized it sounded almost too familiar. They weren’t that close—anymore. “Er, I mean, Dave… I… I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“I didn’t think I’d make it either, until yesterday.”
“Quick trip to Tampa?” Lauren avoided his eyes, self-conscious beside the man she’d once shared a torrid summer romance with. She glanced at him when he spoke.
“I got the news last night I'm no longer with the Blues." He smiled, running hi
s hand through his dark hair.
“I can't believe it—who traded for you?”
He nodded across the room where many of Andrew’s teammates gathered. “Suns. Maybe back on a line with my favorite right-winger.”
“Did you expect a trade?” Lauren dropped her gaze to Jenna. Can he hear my heart racing? Why didn’t Caryn warn me? Did she think I'd be a no-show?
“Trade deadline’s coming up,” Dave Martin said. “Expected I’d get traded somewhere since I’m a free agent at the end of the year, and they hadn’t opened discussions with my agent. The Blues have cap issues, same as when Andrew got that offer sheet.”
“I thought you had a no-trade contract?” Lauren forced her eyes to meet his again.
“Approved trade. I provided a list of teams, and Tampa made the deal, so here I am.”
“Does that mean you’ll get a new nickname?” Lauren teased. She remembered teammates tagged each other with nicknames. Martin, Marty, Chadwick, Chad. Others not so tame. "Something like 'Martini,' Mr. Martin?”
“Do. Not. Even. Mention. That.” The sudden spark in his brown eyes contradicted the stern tone.
Lauren smiled as she pulled her auburn hair to one side of her neck and lifted Jenna to her shoulder. “Jim Andrews bummed that both his linemates landed in Tampa?”
“He’ll survive, don’t worry. You heard he’s getting married, right?”
“No idea. I’ve been out of the loop.”
He captured her eyes again. “You still in St. Louis? I haven’t seen you since… I can't remember when.”
Lauren’s laugh was soft. “I’ve come home a few times. I just completed an eight-month project that had me flying across the US and Canada.”
“You’ve changed jobs?”
“Not long after Andrew's injury. Caryn asked me to work with her on her social media accounts. You know how much I hated my job.” She shuddered at the memory of those boring days. “I agreed. It mushroomed into a partnership when we landed a corporate contract with an international consulting team to present seminars teaching social media best practices. When she couldn’t travel, I racked up the frequent flyer miles.”
“You got an idea of what it’s like for us during the season.”
“I think you guys have more fun. Unless you spend your free time working in the hotel and ordering room service. Few opportunities to go clubbing by myself.” She jiggled Jenna as the infant fussed. “What do you need, princess?” Lauren discretely checked her diaper, then pressed her lips to the silky baby hair. “We’ll get you changed.”
She looked at Dave with a shrug. “I’ll catch you in a few—we girls must freshen-up.”
As always, his smile threatened to melt her defenses. “Let’s talk later, okay?”
Lauren felt his gaze follow her as she slipped into the nursery. How could Caryn not tell me he’s in town? Her heart skipped a beat. I could stare at him forever—from across the room. Much safer than standing right beside him.
She was no rookie changing diapers. She’d had plenty of experience babysitting throughout secondary school. “I could change you with my eyes closed. Except you’re too cute to miss a second.”
Her thoughts wandered to the disastrous reception following Andrew and Caryn's wedding four years ago. She will never forget her humiliation the next day when she realized she'd enjoyed the champagne too much. She suspected Dave Martin still remembers that morning.
2
FOUR YEARS EARLIER
The shrill blast of the phone’s alarm jerked Lauren from a deep, dreamless sleep. Why so early? She reached to silence her phone, groaning when she saw the time. She wanted to sleep; no, she needed sleep. Her head ached, her brain shrouded in fog. If she moved, nausea threatened, and if she opened her eyes, dizziness caused her to groan. The mother of all hangovers. What possessed me to set the alarm for seven a.m.?
She pulled the covers over her head with her eyes shut and gradually realized she’d slept in a strange bed. Oh, yeah, the wedding…hotel…Montreal. Champagne…too much champagne… during my best friend’s wedding reception? Was I supposed to help with something this morning?
She heard water flowing in the bathroom. The shower? Did I leave it running last night? She pushed back the covers and sat up, and then burrowed back into her cave. A tux on the back of that chair? Whose tux? And how did it end up here?
Lauren groaned as she tried to unscramble her thoughts. The wedding and reception unfolded as the fog lifted. Dinner, wine…lots of wine… Things got fuzzy during the champagne toasts, and as the champagne continued to flow. The newlyweds’ first dance…then the bride’s dance with her father and the groom's with his mother, and everything else wedding protocol dictated.
Lauren knew she’d danced with each of the groomsmen at least once. Plus the groom’s teammates…all that eye candy in the black-tie attire. Can’t remember half the guys—every single one a hot hunk. Champagne, always more champagne. Remember looking for Dave…my wedding party “date.” I danced with him, right? More than once? He stood beside me when they cut the cake…remember that. Took a glass of champagne from me…said I didn’t need it. Don’t know why that pissed me off, but he shrugged when I grabbed another. After that…nothing until now.
Lauren checked that she at least wore underwear. Thank God. At least I threw on a T-shirt before I…passed out? Who’s in the shower? What happened last night? If I pretend I’m still sleeping, maybe whoever it is will just leave.
The shrill sound of her phone ringing shredded her brain. His ring tone. If he’s not the one in the shower…Lauren hid under the blankets as she spoke into the phone. “Good morning.”
“Discovered a champagne hangover’s no joke, kiddo? You ready?”
“For what?” Lauren croaked.
“The post-wedding brunch for the wedding party.”
Is he laughing at me?
“Can you make my excuses? I don’t feel well.” The mere thought of looking at food made her queasy.
“No can do. You cannot ditch the grandmother of the bride’s luncheon.”
“Madame Martineau, yes. How much time do I have?”
“It begins in ten minutes.” Dave’s voice projected no sympathy.
“Okay, I’ll meet you there.” After I shower. Crap, what a mess!
“Sure you don’t want me to wait?”
“Don’t be late because of me,” Lauren said. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
She ended the call and remained under the covers. The shower had stopped, and Lauren prayed whoever was in the bathroom would get dressed and leave. She held her breath when the bathroom door opened. She tried to track the footsteps across the room, but the sounds confused her foggy mind. Oh, for God’s sake, go already!
Suddenly the covers were ripped aside, and with a scream, Lauren scrambled to pull the sheet back over her, shutting her eyes against the harsh glare of daylight. “Go, please.”
“Nope. I take my duties as a groomsman seriously.”
Lauren opened one eye. “Mr. Martin?”
“You expecting someone else?”
Lauren shook her head, relief and embarrassment flowing through her. She made a move to sit up, blinking her eyes to stop the room’s spinning. Dave extended an opened water bottle and ibuprofen.
“You didn’t know who spent the night with you, do you?” His amusement carried a tinge of irritation. “You drank at least ten too many glasses of champagne.”
Lauren held up her hand as she swallowed the pills and drained the water bottle. “I remember little after…they cut the cake.”
“Not surprised.”
She risked a glance at him, his brown eyes unreadable. “Did I make a spectacle and ruin the reception?”
“Like knocking the other women out of the way to grab the bouquet?” He nodded toward the flowers on the dresser.
Lauren winced. “I wanted to give it to Caryn…I want to preserve them for her.” She met his eyes. “I seriously knocked people away?”
“Not that I deserve it, thank you for getting me to the room. I’m sorry I was a bitch when you tried to stop me from drinking too much champagne.” Her eyes wandered to the other side of the bed. Untouched.
“Thank me after I toss you into a cold shower." Dave scooped her into his arms and headed toward the bathroom. “In answer to your question, I slept on the couch.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your eyes did. Don’t worry, I make a point of not getting in bed with a drunk-on-her-ass woman.”
Lauren didn’t complain when he set her in the shower and turned on the cold water. Too mortified to even look at him. Smart move, Gentry.
#
All things considered, they arrived fashionably late, before the guests took seats. Amused by her death grip on his arm, Dave led Lauren toward Madame Martineau. She perched on an elegant settee greeting guests along with her husband. Dave knew Lauren’s French was atrocious and that Madame Martineau refused to speak English. He greeted and thanked them in flawless French on their behalf.
Lauren murmured a passable “Bonjour.” Dave watched as she tried to decipher the rapid-fire French response and leaned to whisper the translation in her ear.
“Just say ‘Merci,’” he suggested.
Lauren leaned into him as they greeted the others in the wedding party and Caryn’s parents. “Do I need to apologize to anyone, Marty?” She used the nickname she’d heard teammates on the Blues shout to get his attention during a game.
Dave shook his head. “No, you’re cute when you’re wasted.”
She groaned. “I owe you a huge apology and thanks. Never again will champagne pass my lips.”
“Never say never, Ms. Gentry. You can't predict when you’ll have something champagne-worthy to celebrate.”
Lauren laughed. “Nothing on the horizon. Sparkling water until I forget last night—and I won't for a long, long time.”
