Neutral Zone

By RJ Scott and V.L. Locey

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.

• Language: English
• Publisher: RJ Scott
• Release date: Nov 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781785641404

RJ Scott

RJ Scott is the author of the best selling Male/Male romances The Christmas Throwaway, The Heart Of Texas and the Sanctuary Series of books.She writes romances between two strong men and always gives them the happy ever after they deserve.

Book preview

Neutral Zone

NEUTRAL ZONE

A Railers Novella - Harrisburg Railers, book 7

RJ SCOTT

V.L. LOCEY

Love Lane Books Limited

Copyright

Neutral Zone - A Railers Novella

Harrisburg Railers, book 7

Copyright © 2018 RJ Scott, Copyright © 2018 V.L. Locey

Cover design by Meredith Russell, Edited by Sue Laybourn

Published by Love Lane Books Limited

ISBN - 978-1-78564-140-4

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

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

Neutral Zone - A Christmas Railers Novella

Ten

Jared

Ten

Jared

Ten

Jared

Ten

Jared

Ten

Epilogue

Next for the Railers

Hockey from Scott & Locey

Also By RJ Scott

Also By VL Locey

Meet RJ Scott

Meet V.L. Locey

Neutral Zone RJ Scott & VL Locey

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