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  This book is a work of fiction. 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 coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Victoria Denault

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner. Cover photography by Claudio Marinesco.

  Cover copyright © 2017 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  First Edition: May 2017

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Denault, Victoria, author.

  Title: Score / Victoria Denault.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Forever, 2017. | Series: San Francisco

  Thunder ; 1

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016057328| ISBN 9781455597666 (softcover) |

  ISBN 9781478915614 (audio download) | ISBN 9781455597673 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Hockey teams—Fiction. | Hockey players—Fiction. |

  Man-woman relationships—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Romance /

  Contemporary. | FICTION / Contemporary Women. | GSAFD: Romantic

  suspense fiction. | Love stories.

  Classification: LCC PS3604.E525 S36 2017 | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016057328

  ISBNs: 978-1-4555-9766-6 (trade pbk.), 978-1-4555-9767-3 (ebook)

  E3-20170331-NF-DA

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  1: Jude

  2: Zoey

  3: Jude

  4: Zoey

  5: Zoey

  6: Jude

  7: Zoey

  8: Jude

  9: Zoey

  10: Zoey

  11: Jude

  12: Zoey

  13: Jude

  14: Jude

  15: Zoey

  16: Jude

  17: Zoey

  18: Jude

  19: Zoey

  20: Jude

  21: Zoey

  22: Jude

  23: Zoey

  24: Jude

  25: Zoey

  26: Jude

  27: Zoey

  28: Jude

  29: Zoey

  30: Jude

  31: Jude

  32: Zoey

  33: Jude

  34: Zoey

  35: Jude

  36: Zoey

  Epilogue: Zoey

  About the Author

  ACCLAIM FOR VICTORIA DENAULT’S HOMETOWN PLAYERS SERIES

  Look For “Slammed”

  Newsletters

  For the Ocean Park, Maine, crew

  Acknowledgments

  The first and biggest thanks for this book go to my family. I edited this book beside my dad’s hospital bed. He’s fine now, but it was a big, unexpected scare that, as big, unexpected things do, brought our family closer together. Thanks to my mom, Ken, Sonia, Max and Zoe for allowing me to lug a hard copy of my manuscript around everywhere, even the hospital, so I could still meet my deadline. You guys are a great group of humans, and I’m lucky to call you my family. And thanks, Dad, for being superhuman and proving the doctors wrong. Again.

  To my husband, Jack, thanks for providing me with humor, encouragement and support. You’re the best, and I love this adventure we’re on together. To my dogs—yes, my dogs—Belle and Gus. Thanks for snuggling me while I write and for letting me finish a chapter before I take you on walks. Now if you could stop stepping on the power bar and turning it off, that would be nifty.

  Thanks to my agent, Kimberly Brower. You’ve been nothing short of perfection from day one. With this series in particular, you guided me through unexpected twists and turns, and thanks to your advice and encouragement, I know I produced the best book possible.

  To my editor, Leah, thank you for coming up with a crazy, big change. This series is better off thanks to your efforts, and I’m more grateful than I can express. I’m so lucky to have you in my corner. Thank you to everyone at Forever for all you do to edit, publish and promote my books.

  Thanks to all the other authors who have been an amazing support system. To my friends like Ari D, his sidekick Peter M, Ray and Mel M, Bev T, Jenn D, Katherine H, Des G, Mike “Shoelaces” H, Joe D, Carlos “One More Shot” M, Sarah J, DeAnna Z and so many more, thank you for showing me such overwhelming love and support. Thank you, Ruthe Douglas, my Fiesta sister, for bringing “Oh Mylanta!” into my vocabulary so I could put it in Zoey’s. Sorry, Devon, but my goal is to make that catchphrase world famous. And to my friend and Realtor extraordinaire, Chris W, thank you so much for answering all my realty questions for this book.

  Last but never least, a million thank-yous to the bloggers who work so diligently and passionately to promote books and authors and share the reads they love. You all rock!

  1

  Jude

  I lock my car and make my way across the hospital parking lot. It’s a gorgeous day—the sun is shining in the cloudless sky, and the temperature is a perfect seventy-eight degrees. I’d be bitching about having to spend it indoors if it weren’t for such a good cause. Today I’m doing a meet-and-greet at the children’s hospital with a few of my teammates and the Stanley Cup, the second in a row for the San Francisco Thunder. The only thing that beats lifting that Cup above my head on the ice after our win is sharing it with kids.

  Not everyone is back from summer break yet, so it’s a small but excited group. I normally wouldn’t be back in San Francisco yet either, but this hasn’t been a normal summer for me. Nothing has been “normal” for me in a long while. It’s not that things are bad; they’re just…different. And I have been realizing I am not the best with dealing with changes on my own.

  The last big change I’d faced in my life was being traded to San Francisco from the Milwaukee Comets, but I didn’t do that alone. They traded my teammate, my best friend since I was seventeen, Levi Casco, as well. And then there was my dad getting sick, but I had my family to go through that with me.

  As I reach the sidewalk where the team is gathered, I see my youngest sister and Thunder publicity dynamo, Dixie, pacing a hole in the concrete a few feet from a bunch of guys from the team. I make my way toward her, stopping to hug and high-five a couple of the guys on my way by. Dixie’s got her face buried in her phone, which is typical when she’s working. She doesn’t look up, but somehow she knows I’m coming. As soon as I’m standing beside her, she says, “Are you sober? Are you hung over? Oh, and no hitting on the moms or nurses.”

  “Nice to see you too, sis,” I reply and roll my eyes.

  The word “sis” finally gets her blue eyes off her phone screen. They land on me w
ith an expression that could wilt flowers. “Do not use that word in public, Jude.”

  “Sorry.” I roll my eyes again, and she frowns. “And FYI, I’m sober, and I will keep my dick out of the staff and mothers. Thanks for thinking you have to tell me that, though.”

  “Of course I have to tell you that,” Dixie replies matter-of-factly. “Unfortunately, I know your dick and your brain are mortal enemies. Anything your brain says, like ‘don’t bang people at team events,’ your dick purposely defies.”

  “You are a total weirdo,” I tell her for what’s probably the millionth time since she was born into the family. “And you need to stop saying ‘dick’ in front of me.”

  She stops pacing, just out of earshot of the team. She shoves her phone in the pocket of her off-white summer blazer and tilts her head up to hold my eye. “If it makes you feel any better, this is Dixie Wynn, publicist for the San Francisco Thunder, talking, because it’s my job to keep the dick of our best player in its pants at public events. It’s not your sister Dixie Braddock talking. That said, both of us—Dixie Wynn and Dixie Braddock—are still disgusted your Little Jude ended up on the internet.”

  “There’s no proof it’s my not-so-little Jude. And you don’t think it’s weird that your job is to keep my dick in my pants?” I can’t help but ask because, damn, she could have gotten a job anywhere else. My two other sisters, Winnie and Sadie, are living and working in our hometown of Toronto.

  “Oh, it’s weird,” she agrees and gives me a humorless smile. “But you know what’s really weird? You’re the only player on the entire team who needs to be reminded to keep his dick in his pants at team events. Not even creepy Eddie Rollins needs the reminder.”

  Ouch. I must look as wounded by that as I feel, because her expression softens for a second before her eyes dart around to make sure no one is watching. She’s ridiculously anal about keeping the fact that we’re related a secret from the rest of the team. A lot of the management is aware, but no one from the team except Levi knows. It’s kind of weird that no one has guessed. Especially since we have almost identical blue eyes and high cheekbones. We’re both blond too, but my hair is more of a sandy color than hers is.

  “We’re scheduled to be inside in five minutes,” Dixie tells me, and I simply nod as her eyes scan the players gathered on the sidewalk. “Where’s Levi? He’s never late. In fact, he’s usually the first one here. Can you call him for me?”

  “No.” She frowns at my quick and assertive response.

  “He called you a lot this summer,” she counters.

  “Yeah, because he thought my dick was on the internet, and management made him,” I reply. Her frown deepens, as does that little crease between her eyebrows she gets when she’s annoyed. The truth is Levi had called me a few times this summer, and some of the calls came before the dick pic scandal. I just ignored them because I was still pissed at him for dating my ex-girlfriend behind my back.

  In an effort to avoid Dixie’s judgmental stare, I look away, and my eyes land on Levi. I knew he’d never be late. He’s the same old calm, reliable, emotionless Levi. Only I can’t help but notice as he gets closer, he doesn’t look like that Levi anymore. His posture is loose, his hair longer than I’ve ever seen it, careless stubble covers his jaw, and his smile is light, jovial. Everything about him seems to be the opposite of the cool, emotionally detached, almost moody guy who was my best friend until two months ago. Now he looks like someone I don’t know, and that stings, like a sunburn inside my chest.

  He glances up, our eyes connect and he gives me a Levi smile I recognize—tight, small and quick. I smile back, but it isn’t completely authentic. This is what we are now. This is what we’ve become. Best friends with a deep crack running through the foundation of our friendship. One I don’t think can or will ever go away. And it’s eating at my soul to admit that. But I don’t know how to get around the fact that he started sleeping with my ex-girlfriend without telling me.

  “Hey!” Levi reaches out and grabs me in a hug. I hug him back, but it’s awkward and brief. “How was your vacation time?”

  I shrug and keep my smile light. “Fine. Not long enough.”

  We are due back for training camp in two weeks, after only ten short weeks off. Levi nods. “Yeah. It’s gonna be a long season, but it was worth it.”

  He rolls his shoulder, probably without even thinking about it. He was injured last year in the playoffs, and I’m sure the shoulder is still not one hundred percent. “When did you get back to San Fran?”

  I shrug again. “Two weeks ago. I went back to Toronto for a while, but after the picture thing happened, I came back here. Needed some alone time.”

  His brown eyes grow dark, and he nods tersely at that. I’d sworn to him it was a misunderstanding, the picture wasn’t me, and in true Levi fashion he didn’t believe me but backed me up anyway. Between his support and the fact that the dick pic taken by the puck bunny didn’t have my face in it, the team management decided not to cut me loose. Thankfully.

  “How’s your dad doing?” Levi asks, his face filled with sympathy. It’s the only unfiltered expression he gives me now. I know he truly is gutted about what I’m going through with my father, who was recently diagnosed with ALS, and I do appreciate his concern. My family is also like a family to Levi. He became an honorary Braddock the summer after high school, when he lived with us.

  But the fact he’s been like a brother to me is why the shit he pulled with my ex hurt me so much.

  “He fell this summer. Had to spend a couple days in the hospital with a fractured wrist and some broken ribs, but you know him, he’s bouncing back,” I explain quietly. I’m still having a hard time dealing with the fact my big bear of a dad may only have a year or so left.

  I pull myself together as Duncan Darby walks over, his phone to his ear. “Okay, babe. Yeah. I’ll call you when I’m done. Love you.”

  He drops his phone from his ear and pulls me into a bear hug. I hug him back easily. Duncan is a giant, hilarious man-child. He’s a defensive beast on the ice and as sweet and loyal as a puppy off. “Braddock! You Playgirl centerfold, you!”

  I roll my eyes. “Wasn’t my dick.”

  He nods emphatically. “Right. I forgot.”

  I ignore the completely un-ignorable exaggerated wink he gives me. Levi clears his throat. “Was that Carla on the phone?”

  I watch Duncan nod. He started dating Carla Soto almost a year ago. She’s best friends with Tessa Haynes, my ex and Levi’s girlfriend. Yeah, we’re one big happy family. Not.

  “Yeah. She wants me to swing by work when I’m done.”

  “I was going to swing by and see Tessa too,” Levi tells him. “I was going to surprise her with lunch. Carpool?”

  They’re like suburban husbands now. The realization makes me feel very lonely. Luckily, I don’t have to stand here awkwardly and listen to them talk any longer, because Dixie is walking toward us. She stops in front of us and claps her hands to get the group’s attention. “Okay, everyone! We’re going to go into the lounge on the main floor, and the kids will filter in a few at a time to get pictures with you guys and the Cup.”

  Everyone nods. “The PR staff will be giving out Stanley Cup cookies and little stuffed mascots. Any questions?” Dixie asks.

  No one has any questions, so she leads everyone inside. A couple minutes later we’re in the long, antiseptic-smelling room, and the kids are starting to come in. It’s brutal to see so many kids pale, frail and in some cases attached to tubes and IVs, but there’s no place I’d rather be. I always take the time to shake their parents’ hands and chat with them a little bit. Not because I’m trying to flirt with the hot moms, but because I can only imagine how hard this is on them. I’m feeling helpless and furious about my dad’s health; I assume those feelings are even deeper when it’s your child.

  As the event winds down and the last of the kids finish with the photos and make their way to the cookies and toys, I see Dixie huddled in the corner
with one of the nurses. She glances at me but doesn’t really acknowledge me. That crease between her eyebrows seems deeper than normal, so I walk over to find out what’s going on.

  “He’s just devastated,” the nurse says to Dixie as I approach.

  “Who?” I ask. Dixie hasn’t realized I’ve joined them, and she jumps a little when I speak.

  “A little boy,” the nurse tells me as she smiles a big, flirtatious smile and smooths her bright pink scrubs. “Christopher. He’s a huge Thunder fan, but his white blood cells got low last night. He’s in isolation until we can pump them up again, so he couldn’t come today. I’m Kina, by the way.”

  I smile at her and shake her hand. She bats her eyelashes at me with a smile that tells me I could violate Dixie’s little rule with her.

  “He’s one of the reasons we organized the event,” Dixie explains, and her brow pinches so tight I’m tempted to press my thumb between her eyes and flatten out the crease. I decide against it, because she’d probably slap me. “His mom wrote us with a few of the other moms and asked us to visit.”

  I feel for this kid. I hate the idea that he’s going to miss us. Dixie’s expression perks up a little. “Could we have Levi hold the Cup up outside the window to his room?”

  “Why Levi?” The question flies from my mouth with a hard edge that has both Dixie and Kina startled. “I mean, I could do it.”

  “Well, you are his favorite player,” the nurse explains with that flirtatious smile, adding, “And mine.”

  I ignore her last comment, because Dixie told me to, and nod. “Well, I’d love to see him. Can’t I go in the room if I’m sanitized or whatever?”

  “You’d have to wear full scrubs and a mask and everything,” she explains. “It’s a bit of a pain.”

  “You know what’s a bigger pain?” I ask and smile. “Being a sick kid and missing your chance to see the Cup and meet your favorite player.”

  The nurse smiles; this time it’s more excited than flirty, thankfully, because I’ve never been great at ignoring a flirty woman. Dixie, on the other hand, is staring at me with a stunned and confused look rather than a happy one. I shrug at her. “What? It’s not a big deal.”