Scoring the Player (6ix Loves Book 2) Read online

  SCORING THE PLAYER

  A 6IX LOVES NOVEL

  S.M. WEST

  CONTENTS

  PLAYLIST

  1. Claire

  2. Matt

  3. Claire

  4. Matt

  5. Claire

  6. Matt

  7. Matt

  8. Claire

  9. Matt

  10. Claire

  11. Matt

  12. Claire

  13. Matt

  14. Claire

  15. Matt

  16. Claire

  17. Matt

  18. Claire

  19. Matt

  20. Claire

  21. Matt

  22. Matt

  23. Claire

  24. Claire

  25. Claire

  26. Matt

  27. Matt

  28. Claire

  29. Matt

  30. Claire

  31. Matt

  Epilogue

  Also by S.M. West

  About the Author

  Scoring the Player Copyright © 2021 S.M. West

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, storylines, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.

  This book is for your personal enjoyment only. Please respect the author’s work by not contributing to piracy and purchasing a copy for those you wish to share it with.

  Edited: Happily Editing Anns

  Cover Design: Bailey Cover Boutique

  Cover Photo: Wander Auigar

  Cover Model: Travis S.

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  “Love is the purest form of a soul at peace.” ~ Matthew Donnelly

  PLAYLIST

  Listen On Spotify

  “Years in the Making” – Arkells

  “Beautiful War” – Kings of Leon

  “Crimson & Clover” –Tommy James and the Shondells

  “Blister in the Sun” – Violent Femmes

  “Fall to Pieces” – Pale Waves

  “Wild Love” – James Bay

  “I Melt with You” – Modern English

  1

  CLAIRE

  “Get her out of my operating room!” The doctor’s thundering demand rattles my bones.

  I flinch, eyes slamming shut, and forget how to breathe. As if stuck in the jaws of a trash compactor, my ribcage crushes in on itself, and all the air is sucked from my lungs.

  The whiny buzzing…I can’t make it stop…it’s coming from inside my head and it makes me nauseous. Everything is too much.

  The weight of the world crashes into me, causing my knees to buckle, and it’s as if I’m being ground into the earth.

  Immobile. Sweating, heart pounding, I shake.

  I’m dying.

  That is what this is.

  No air. Nausea. Heart rate rocketing to the moon. Dizziness.

  Someone grabs me by the elbow and their touch is like a taser, shooting a pulse of electricity through me. It’s enough to get me to snap out of whatever this is. It gets me moving.

  I’m dragged from the stunned and skeptical gazes of those dressed in surgical gowns, caps, and gloves, crowding the table.

  Sounds are muddled—almost incomprehensible—and I can’t tell if someone’s talking to me or what. Under water—that’s what it sounds like and I can’t make anything out.

  As soon as the door opens, the air shifts—or more like rushes in from somewhere—filling my lungs. The lighting changes, still bright but somehow less garish. And thank goodness, we’re now outside the operating room.

  Greedily, I gulp in large amounts of air, but I can’t swallow. My throat’s closed. I still can’t breathe. What’s happening to me?

  Falling onto my knees, my fingers scrape at my neck, willing to tear the flesh away in need of oxygen.

  “Claire, you’re okay. Take a deep breath.” A hand snatches mine away from clawing at my neck and the other rubs circles in a soothing motion on my back. Her touch settles me, slowly bringing me back. “Listen to my voice.”

  I do as she says. It’s hard, near impossible. Mind heavy and hazy, it takes all I am to concentrate on that one singular task.

  Gradually, my breaths shift from fast and shallow to slow and deep, flooding my diaphragm. I can’t say how long it takes—time is irrelevant right now—but eventually my surroundings come into focus.

  “Hey, that’s it.” The woman’s voice is calm and melodic. “Deep breaths.”

  I glance at her, blinking as I catalogue her features, trying to place the face. She’s one of the nurses on the operating team. I can’t remember her name.

  “You okay?”

  “What happened?” I brush blonde strands behind my ear.

  I’m a mess. My long hair is loose and in disarray, no longer tucked neatly into my surgical cap, and my hands tremble with unthinkable nerves.

  “You had a panic attack. I think we should get someone to take a look at you.” The nurse attempts to bring me to my feet, but I’m dead weight, unmoving. “Can you stand?”

  “No.” I’m unsure of what I can and can’t do right now, but I’m not letting a doctor check me out. I need to get out of here. “I’m fine.”

  “I don’t think so.” Resigned, she loosens her grip and stands. “I’ve got to re-scrub and get back in there. If you need help, call out. Someone will come.”

  She’s right. I’m not alone no matter how I feel. We’re in a hospital; people are close by.

  Nodding, I swallow another gulp of air, and my heartbeat eases into a steady rhythm. My skin is no longer clammy and my mind isn’t spinning so fast.

  Her smile is faint, almost pitying, and she’s gone before it hits me that I didn’t thank her. But I’m not going anywhere near the OR.

  For some time, I stay there on the cool tiled floor in the hospital corridor, not sure if I have the strength to walk, and I’m okay with that.

  The inquisitive stares and incredulous double takes are better than the alternative—in the OR with all the medical machines and surgical equipment. The body—the man—unconscious and cut open on the table. And let’s not forget the unspoken but ever-present expectation of greatness.

  As if chased by the four horsemen of the apocalypse, a surge of adrenaline pushes me to my feet. I run for the exit, then into the parking lot, ripping off the gown, cap, and gloves and shoving them into the nearest trash can.

  I get a few stares from those I pass. I must look crazed, but escaping is easier than I feared. No one stops me, and better yet, I don’t come across anyone I know.

  The afternoon and evening are a fog, and I’m unable to recall the drive to my apartment much less the hours following. It’s well past nine when the banging on my front door starts. At first, I ignore it, not wanting to talk to anyone.

  It isn’t my family—
they would call or text before coming over. My schedule is insane and more times than not I’m at the hospital, what I used to think of as home. I was most comfortable there. Now, that is funny. It’s the last place I want to be.

  Today makes no sense. I’ve spent the past couple of years of medical school dealing with the day-to-day care of patients, even observing operations. Blood, scalpels, and all that don’t scare me or make me queasy. Yet today I was unrecognizable. A disaster.

  The banging continues. Whoever it is, they’re not going away. It isn’t a neighbor. I’ve lived here for several years now, and I’ve never said more than hello to anyone in the building.

  Shoot. Could it be someone from the residency program? A few know where I live because we swapped personal information for our study groups. Argh, no.

  Why? None of them are my friends. We’re acquaintances or colleagues. To be friends, we’d have to go out, share laughs, maybe even trade secrets.

  “Claire, answer the door or I’m getting the landlord to let me in.” The voice behind the door causes my heart to scramble up my throat.

  Ugh. Ellis. Of course. My recent ex-boyfriend—he ended it a month ago although I’m grateful it’s over—and fellow resident in the same program, at the same hospital.

  He is the last person I want to talk to. But he’s determined, and his threat isn’t idle.

  I pull the door open and glare at him. “What do you want?”

  His sharp gaze scans my body from head to toe like a doctor looking for signs of the problem. I want to laugh. Not a funny ha-ha kind of laugh but more a maniacal, I’ve gone insane kind.

  He must be thrilled to no longer have to deal with the likes of me. The crazy girl. I am a mess. Both on the inside and the outside.

  Hair piled on my head, and wearing ripped shorts, a stained, oversized T-shirt, and yellow rubber gloves, I must look like a haggard cleaning lady. I’ve been cleaning for hours, keeping my mind from reliving this morning’s event.

  “Are you okay?” Ellis brushes past me into my small apartment. “What happened today?”

  He stares, waiting with his hands on his hips, as if I owe him a full account of my most embarrassing moment. He wasn’t in the OR, but another intern—the moniker for those in the first year of the residency program—was and it seems he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  I wonder how many minutes it took for my freak-out to spread to all the interns and residents. As head of my class, and one of the highest MCAT scores in my year, everyone knows who I am—even though it goes against all my efforts to get by unnoticed. And so many wish they were me.

  Ellis is no different, and that’s another reason why we never should have dated. Any of the interns would gladly shove me out of the way, leaving the top spot open for the taking. Today’s debacle, my failure, gives the vultures hope.

  “I choked.” I’m matter-of-fact. There’s no point sugarcoating my humiliation.

  His expression remains stoic although I imagine he’s squealing on the inside. Well, that’s if Ellis indulged in such juvenile acts. His words, not mine.

  It could be worse. If phones were allowed in the OR, I’m pretty sure today’s incident would be online for all to see. And like most workplaces, gossip and rumors abound among doctors and nurses. They like to think they’re above everyone else, but they aren’t.

  We’re all human.

  My arms wrap around my waist, wet, soapy gloves seeping into my shirt. He sighs, shaking his head as if disappointed.

  Ellis was my first real relationship and at one point, I thought he’d be my first. Yes, that first.

  I’m a virgin.

  I know what you’re thinking. Twenty-six and never had sex, how is this possible? It is. I’m living proof.

  Boys, and then men, weren’t a priority. Becoming a doctor was all that mattered. As an added benefit, my single-mindedness also gave my family peace of mind like nothing else could.

  I wasn’t a troublesome teenager.

  I wasn’t boy crazy.

  I didn’t need a curfew or go to parties.

  I was boring, studious Claire.

  I wasn’t a burden.

  Ellis was my second boyfriend, and we dated for close to six months. On the surface we had a lot in common. Most importantly, we’re both driven to be the best general surgeon in Ontario, but that’s where our similarities end.

  He broke things off without explanation, not that I needed one. I wasn’t feeling it. Strangely, I never felt it with most men. The first guy I dated, Devin, was when I was sixteen.

  We were in the same English class, and I liked him, even had the strange flutters in my stomach whenever he was near. That’s the closest to it that I ever got.

  We studied, ate lunch together, and held hands when he walked me home. But dating Devin was the equivalent of drinking or drugs. I was being reckless. We lasted all of a month before I came to my senses.

  One night, at the end of our date, we stood on the porch holding hands, and Finn, my older brother, came outside. He wouldn’t leave, scowling while poor Devin stuttered and stammered goodnight.

  I instantly lost all interest in the boy, not needing the turmoil and worry my dating would cause Finn and the rest of my family. It was better to forget about boys and reassure my family that I was safe and focused on my studies.

  Ellis releases a long, dramatic sigh, drawing me away from thoughts of virginity, boys, and a profession I may have ruined.

  His hand runs through his wavy caramel hair, and he forces the corners of his mouth into a tight, tragic excuse for a smile.

  “Why’d you choke? That isn’t like you. Is this about our breakup?”

  “No, this has nothing to do with you.”

  “Then what the hell is going on?” He nears me, hand out to…to cup my cheek?

  Uh-uh, no way. I step back and narrow my gaze. Things are amicable between us, but he has no right to touch me.

  “Claire,” he drags out my name like failure—I’m the failure—and likely, he’s glad to no longer have anything to do with me. “What are you doing?”

  “What’s it to you?” I’m defensive, even snarky, which isn’t like me.

  I’m no pushover, but I like to give people a chance, more about listening than arguing. And Ellis doesn’t deserve my claws, but I can’t stop myself.

  “I care about you. We may no longer be together, but I want to see you succeed.” He’s tender, tone beseeching, and my stomach clenches. “I respect and admire you. You’re one of the best doctors I know, and it kills me to see you messing it up. We only get one chance to make a good first impression. You were selected for Mackenzie’s team.”

  He’s referring to Dr. Burton Mackenzie, an outstanding general surgeon. One of the best. The doctor wanted two interns to observe a patient’s journey from the onset of an issue to discharge. This would include preoperative, operative, and postoperative care. I was one of the lucky two to be chosen and then I choked.

  “I know that. And I certainly made sure he’ll remember my name.” My sarcasm does nothing to lessen his expectant gaze. “Look, I’m not in the mood for company. Please go.”

  “We’re back at the hospital in less than eight hours. Have you got this?”

  My “yes” won’t form, and I don’t even try, only nodding. It’s a lie.

  For the first time since I started my journey to be a doctor, I have doubts. I’m unsure if I can go back or if what happened today won’t happen again. I can’t make sense of it, and truth be told, I’m scared.

  He leaves, and finally, I’m alone. I tear off the gloves and my sweaty, latex-reeking hands cover my face as I slide down onto the floor. The thought of going into the hospital causes my stomach to convulse and throat to shrink.

  I can’t face tomorrow, and if I stay here, I’ll drive myself insane. Running is the best option. And it’s so out of character for me. I solve my problems—face them head-on. I don’t run from them.

  But this time feels different.

&
nbsp; This time I’ve lost my head, and escaping is the answer.

  I know the perfect place where no one will find me.

  2

  MATT

  “Hey, thanks a lot.” I slam the town car door, double tapping the roof to indicate to the driver he can leave.

  The crisp, early February air fills my lungs, and snow covers every surface of Drew and Pippa’s cottage. It’s eerily quiet and a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of just a few short weeks ago.

  They’d gotten married here, and I was honored to be invited to their special day. Pippa is a good friend, and we’re colleagues, both working for the NFL’s New York Fury.

  I’d flown in for just two days in the middle of January for their picture-perfect wedding. The grounds and home were decorated like a winter palace.

  Why they call it a cottage, I just don’t get. The word suggests small, cozy, and maybe even rough around the edges. While it’s indeed cozy and inviting, there’s nothing small or even remotely rugged about this place.

  The house is big and luxurious with a large yard and deck surrounded by majestic views of the woods and lake. And at the edge of the property, nestled among the trees, is a boathouse perched both on land and over water. This is a killer vacation spot, no matter the season.

  When Pippa heard I wanted somewhere to unwind with the football season over—well, at least for our team—she generously offered this place. At first, I’d declined, thinking they might want to honeymoon here, but that wasn’t the case. They both needed to get back to New York.