Sugar and Ice (Raptors Book 4)

by RJ Scott

  Sugar and Ice

  Arizona Raptors, book 4

  RJ Scott

  V.L. Locey

  Copyright

  Sugar and Ice (Arizona Raptors #4)

  Copyright © 2020 RJ Scott, Copyright © 2020 V.L. Locey

  Cover design by Meredith Russell, Edited by Sue Laybourn

  Published by Love Lane Books Limited

  ISBN - 9781785642159

  All Rights Reserved

  This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer-to-peer program, for free or for a fee. Such action is illegal and in violation of Copyright Law.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  All trademarks are the property of their respective owners.

  Dedication

  For Kelly E Lipp who named Vlad’s parrot Frank.

  To my family who accepts me and all my foibles and quirks. Even the plastic banana in my holster.

  VL Locey

  Always for my family.

  RJ Scott

  Contents

  Sugar and Ice

  Next for the Raptors

  Hockey from Scott & Locey

  Authors Note

  Also by V.L. Locey

  Also by RJ Scott

  Meet V.L. Locey

  Meet RJ Scott

  Chapter One

  Tate

  My cancelled wedding day passed in a blur. I was drunk, obliterated, because I’d woken up this morning and decided it was the only way I could deal with the shit storm that was my life.

  I knew I was at home, that was where the drinking had started, and I knew for sure both my brother and sister were there, but the rest was a haze of not caring what the hell I was doing, and reveling in breaking all the goddamn rules that guided my life.

  Be nice to people. Always be nice. Don’t be a dick. Don’t let the money go to your head. Play the best hockey you can. Don’t fuck up. And mostly don’t fuck guys.

  No one had told me the one about not hooking up with Lacey, my psychotic, murderous, cat-stealing, ex-fiancée.

  Where was that in the how-to-be-a-perfect-hockey-professional rule book?

  “IblimissaObi,” I slurred, and felt my sister’s arm on my shoulder. I did miss my cat, Obi, he was a good cat, a Maine Coon who was all fur and big woobly eyes, and he loved me.

  Lacey wouldn’t let me take him when I left.

  I could’ve bought a million cats if I’d wanted, maybe two, but it was Obi I wanted right now, all curled up in my lap, or riding around on my shoulder. Obi was my friend.

  My best friend.

  My only friend.

  “LeeblissaObi,” I repeated some jumbled up mess of words.

  “We know you do, little brother,” Josie murmured.

  I tumbled sideways into her, but I must have misjudged because I sprawled onto my huge-ass sectional in my huge-ass front room, in my freaking empty-as-fuck mansion. I lived close to a singer whose name I’d forgotten but who’d won some show and did Insta shit, and opposite a championship boxer who was all bling and very little conversation, other than muted grunts. Millionaires’ row, exactly where I belonged with my twenty-million something sign-up to the Arizona something or other. I belonged here. Obi my beautiful Maine Coon belonged here with me, not down in Dallas with Lacey and her acid tongue, and her interviews, and her big eyes dripping tears on daytime talk shows.

  Did he ever hurt you? they asked her, and fuck me if she just shook her head a little whilst dramatically looking down and left. People drew their own conclusions, Tate Collins, the Captain America of Hockey had hurt this cute, sweet young woman who loved cats.

  My cat!

  And then Dallas had told me to get the fuck out, they’d expected more of me, they’d told me things, vital things, and I’d told Lacey and now things were out there for everyone to know. Lies. It was all lies, but no one believed me. Not even the freaking Raptors with their rainbow shit, and their crappy games, and the fact that no one on the team liked me.

  “FuckemRaptors,” I slurred, and snapped my fingers, sliding off the sofa and onto the thick white carpet, leaning to one side and then flailing as I ended up lying flat on my back.

  “Jesus!” The voice was far away. Far far away, like a million billion miles from me. “What the fuck, Tot?”

  “G’way!”

  “Have you got him? Get his other arm… 911?”

  911? Wasn’t that a television show? With like all these heroes doing hero shit and rescuing people? Important dudes who deserved to be called heroes. Not messed-up idiot hockey players who just play a game.

  “He’ll kill us if we call—”

  “Phnargle shump,” I blurted, which totally made sense in my head, telling whoever was here that I didn’t need the paramedics, because that would shatter any illusions left about the perfect guy everyone bought into.

  “What did he say?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  I twisted to stand and smacked my head on something hard, and I opened one eye. Why was there a toilet in my front room?

  Wait? The floor is hard. Where was the carpet? I wanted my carpet back. I gripped the porcelain, felt sick, lost whatever was in my stomach, which was basically any alcohol I had in the house, from vodka to alcopops, plus as many packets of the shittiest snacks that Josie had left on her last visit.

  “Ja-hossseeeeeee,” I managed.

  “S’okay, Tot, we got you,” Josie reassured.

  “We have?” The second voice, decidedly male, belonged to my big brother Logan, who levered me to stand, and then I was wet. It was raining in my bathroom, tropically raining in a rainy kind of way, with pulses as if the clouds were squeezing themselves. I was so wet that I wish I wasn’t in my clothes, only… I was naked, no clothes, nothing, and was Josie in the room?

  “Jo’eee cock.” I scrambled to cover myself but whoever was holding me up sniggered, and then slathered something that smelled of oranges all over me. I hoped to hell it was Logan; it sure sounded like Logan.

  “She’s gone,” Logan reassured me. “It’s just you and me, Tot, and you stink.”

  I opened the other eye, which wasn’t working, then realized I’d actually shut the first one, and I tried my hardest to open both, wanting to cry because this was my wedding day and I was in the shower with my brother who was supposed to be my best man, Logan. He was wiping sick and shit and holding me up, and Josie was out there probably crying or something that would break my heart, because she was my sister and she was everything to me.

  “Love you,” I put all my attention into forming the words clearly, and they didn’t sound bad, echoing, and a little loud, but they made sense.

  “Love you too, Tot, now wash your ass.”

  I tried, I really did, but he had to hold me up, and I felt as legless as a newborn kitten. No, not legless, kittens had legs. Some didn’t, though. I felt tears push up past the bile thinking about all the lost and lonely kittens who didn’t have legs.

  “Imma gonna ‘dopt legless kittens,” I managed.

  “Okay, okay, come on, let’s get this soap off.”

  “Gonna call Bob, he’ll get me legless kittens in a bucket…” That didn’t sound right. “No, bucket load.”

  “Your agent is the best person to get you kittens,” Logan lied. I knew he was lying. He hated Bob. Said that Bob only stayed after the shit hit the fan in Dallas becau
se of my money. Of course he did.

  All people wanted from me was money.

  Logan rinsed me off, and some of the water went into my mouth, and I needed that, warm water that quenched my thirst.

  “Nomorebeer,” I managed.

  “We got this.”

  “Kittens though.”

  “All the kittens, Tot, all of them.”

  I wished my big brother wouldn’t call me Tot now that I was super-old, but then I wished he wasn’t holding me up in a shower, and I was glad of both at the same time. Somehow he got me out of the shower, and then wrapped me in fluffy, soft towels, and the caring and gentle words he used cut through my drinking pity party for one. I gripped his shirt, finally opening both eyes, nausea dragging at every cell of me, and looked at Logan. Emotion welled, maybe it was the kittens, or the love he showed me, or the way he called me Tot. Maybe it was because today was supposed to be the day I married Lacey, and I’d never loved her, and this was all my fault.

  Whatever it was, my emotions began spilling in tears and curses and being sick again, only this time Josie stroked my head, Logan held me, and neither of them moved away. We ended up on the sofa, Logan forcing me to drink blue water with electrolytes, my favorite, and Josie stroking my head and telling me I’d be okay. Slowly, the stupid, self-pitying, emotional, life-ending tears subsided, and the cursing stopped, and the intense reaction to today’s date subsided one teeny tiny legless kitten at a time.

  “I don’t understand what happened,” I said.

  Logan sighed. “You see, Tot, the way this works is that you drink the alcohol, and your body—”

  “I meant with Lacey. I know she’s had issues with her mental health, but I thought… I really thought that she loved me.”

  “I know, Tot.”

  “And I thought that I loved her.”

  “Let’s get you to bed,” Logan murmured, and helped me stand.

  Somehow he and Josie managed to get me to my room, which was bigger than our entire house had been when we were kids, and they helped me into my bed, with its billion thread count whatever, and the pillows that were as gentle and soft as clouds. The room was spinning, but I closed my eyes.

  “There’s water here, Advil, and a bucket, and we’ll be outside.”

  And I think I must have slept, and I only recall being sick once more.

  When I cracked open an eye I reached blindly for the bottle of water and Advil that Logan had left me and swallowed enough that I hoped this headache would leave me the hell alone.

  What had I done?

  I’d woken to a hundred regrets, and none of them made any sense this morning. I managed to get up and out of bed, the cool air of the room hitting my naked everything.

  Shit. Had Josie seen all this? What must she have thought? But more importantly had she got an eyeful of my…

  I couldn’t even go there.

  I moved so slowly that a snail would’ve overtaken me on the outside, but I swear the carpet was making a loud noise, or the wall, or maybe it was the vibrations in the air, because my head hurt with the hell of it.

  I headed for my kitchen which was left from there. I think I’m going left; the wall is really fucking loud right now, as I trailed my fingers along it. Then there were the voices. Not ghostly voices in my head. This was my baseball pro brother arguing with my actress sister.

  “—Yeah right,” Logan said, and he sounded exhausted.

  “You want me to delete the entire freaking Internet?”

  “Whatever, JoJo, just don’t let him see it.”

  “It’s on TMZ, she’s plastered it all over her Instagram, and she tweeted it and the tweet is freaking trending, Lo, there is no way he’s not going to see this.”

  I heard a scuffle. “Give it to me, I’m gonna break the Internet,” Logan snapped.

  More scuffling, and when I stepped into the kitchen I saw a typical Collins standoff. Logan holding something up high and Josie trying to reach whatever it was, which was my brand new iPad.

  “Hey,” I croaked, and both of them whirled to face me so fast that Logan threw my iPad, which hit the wall on the other side of the room and smashed in slow motion to the floor. Damn Logan and his freaky throwing arm. I couldn’t even be bothered to care; they were there for me, and I was so grateful.

  Josie reached me first, guiding me to the kitchen table, a seats-twelve affair made of glass, with chrome legs. It was shit to keep clean, so I never used it. What was the point; it wasn’t as if the team was over here having pizza and beers.

  I can’t even think about beer.

  Silently she placed water in my reach, and then a magic plate of pancakes with maple syrup and bananas appeared in front of me. My favorite, and she knew it, although she couldn’t cook if it was a matter of life or death, so I knew Logan had made them. I forked up a mouthful, swiping the pancake in the syrup and stabbing at a banana, then chewed and swallowed. I wasn’t sure that my taste buds would have survived last night, but after a few bites the banana-pancake-syrup goodness hit me right where I needed it to.

  “What did she say?” I asked after I’d finished my first entire pancake. If I knew Logan there would be a whole pile of them somewhere; he stress-cooked, and this right there, his little brother trying to drown his sorrows on the worst day of his life, was definitely going to stress him. Logan didn’t understand half the things that had gone wrong for me, and told me so, often, but he had my back the entire way.

  “You don’t want to know,” he said

  I looked up at a face so similar to mine, his eyes narrowed, and temper creating twin flags of scarlet on his cheeks.

  Josie started, “I’m sorry Tate, but she shared a photo with bed hair in her jammies, pouting—”

  Logan cursed, “With a face full of makeup—”

  “Logan, shut up. The caption was that she wanted privacy on this terrible day, but that she had someone who was helping her find her inner light, or some shit.” She air-quoted the last part.

  “The usual places picked it up, TMZ ran an article on what happened, blah blah, the ongoing new start.”

  “What a bitch,” Logan snapped, but I placed a hand on his arm.

  “No. She’s not, Lo. There’s something wrong with her, she’s so unhappy, and I should never have asked her to marry me. But now, I don’t let what she says hurt me.”

  “She is hurting you, little brother,” Josie murmured and patted my cheek.

  “I can’t think about that, I just want to play hockey.”

  Logan smacked the counter, making me jump. “I don’t get this, Tot. All you need to do is tell people what she was really like, explain that the person you fell in love with changed, and that she blackmailed you into marrying her—”

  “She didn’t blackmail me. She was honest with me about the despair she felt with life, and I knew I couldn’t leave her.”

  “But if you went out and said something, anything, then you wouldn’t be seen as the bad guy here.”

  “I’m not airing… sharing stuff,” I managed. The whole mess had been on me too, and I was a god damn gentleman.

  “She was the one who went on that reality show and blabbed all your secrets, she’s doing this to get sympathy for what was her own freaking fault.”

  “She has issues,” I began, still in defense mode.

  “Too right,” Logan muttered.

  “Look, guys, I don’t care anymore, I had my day of self-pity. I’m done with it all now.”

  “There’s something else, and you won’t believe it,” Logan said

  I heard Josie’s sharp inhalation, and saw her shake her head in warning. “What?” I was tired of this, I was tired of being the bad guy, the one pushed off the pedestal I didn’t even want to be on in the first place. Dallas had wanted a poster boy for manners and friendliness, the league wanted the nice guy they could label a superstar and could wheel out for any and all occasions. They’d made Tate Collins, superstar, and all the other parts of me had been destroyed.


  What else had been made public? The entire NHL, plus fans, knew I collected Star Wars stuff. I’d never made a secret of it, and my first ever Instagram photo was of me in one of the rooms in my Dallas place with whole shelves of merchandise. The fact I was bi, and liked men just as well as women was a secret, but that was my personal life and nothing to do with anyone. I groaned. Fuck. Was it out that I’d had an impossible crush on Tennant Rowe when he was at Dallas, and that I avoided him?

  It had to be a Star Wars thing. She hated I wasn’t into collecting something more, in her words, manly. When I’d pressed her on what she meant by that, all she could come up with was dumbbells.

  Who the hell collected dumbbells?

  I’d never judged Lacey for what she’d done to my original Boba Fett that first night I’d caught her in bed with another guy. She hadn’t seemed herself, and after I’d gently asked the guy to fuck off out of my house, I’d held her for a while as she cried. Then I’d taken a pillow and slept on the couch. Lacey wasn’t the one but she ticked enough boxes that she could have been.

  If I’d tried harder, maybe? I know some of it’s on me.

  Finding the guy in her bed was bad enough, but having a Boba Fett, with his head snapped off, ripped from his original packaging and thrown at me was more of a shock. That was how numb I’d been to the whole Lacey/Tate love affair.

  “She says she might have found new love, and that her heart is finally full blah blah,” Josie didn’t add anything else, and hell, what about that was going to worry me that it got Logan all riled up?

  “I’m pleased for her.”

  “Tell him about his cat, tell him about Obi” Logan pushed.

  Josie held my hand tight, and I knew this was serious.

  “What about Obi? What happened?”