3. Mal

3

MAL

A fter six years of living in Seattle, you'd think I'd finally feel at home. That my teammates would be more like family than anything, and at the age of thirty-one, I would have found my goddamn purpose in life.

But when you're tormented daily by inner demons and regrets, you only find solace in being alone. Where no one would get close to you. Where no one could get hurt.

I thought getting out of Sutton was my first step. Getting drafted right out of college, I left without so much as a goodbye. I packed all my shit and got the hell out of there, escaping from everything that I didn't have the courage to face.

And still didn't have the courage to face.

Angry at the world, I picked fights with just about anyone. Teammates, fans, opposing players, I was unliked by the whole league. Then four years later when the Wolverines were done with my ass, I found myself being traded to the Seattle Orchids.

I couldn't figure out why one of the best teams out there wanted me, but they saw something in me no other team did.

Even now as I approached the neon-lit bar with crowds way too vast for my liking, I couldn't figure out why I agreed to live in one of the busiest cities in the U.S.

I hated people.

But I didn't have much of a choice. It was either play for the Orchids or no more hockey.

With a hesitant hand on the door of the bar, I walked inside and instantly regretted my decision to come here.

From what I could see, every table, booth, fucking square inch of this place was covered in people. All annoyingly happy, all laughing, and all partially focused on a single table that was somewhere in the back.

I had a strong feeling I knew what table that was.

"Villareal, over here!" a familiar voice shouted from the back of the bustling bar where I immediately noticed James and all the other guys from the team hanging out. No one bothered to look over. Probably because they didn't believe I was actually here, but more so, they didn't care.

On a quiet grunt, I nodded my head in his direction before shoving my hands into my pants pockets and making my way over to him. Hat on, hood up, I kept my head down. During my many years in the NHL, I'd mastered the technique of walking through crowds with my eyes trained on the ground. It was the only way to get anywhere unnoticed.

I was just as unapproachable off the ice as I was on, but when it came to privacy and personal space, it was something every player had to get used to. Whether you wanted to or not.

"Didn't think you'd actually show up!" James rounded the table where a few of our teammates sat and slapped a hand on my shoulder.

Almost immediately I felt like I had been put under a spotlight as all the guys turned my way and nodded in hello. I noticed the surprise on a few faces, while other looked less than thrilled to see me.

"Didn't have much of a choice," I tried to joke, but instead it came out harsher than intended.

"Well, we're glad you decided to show up, aren't we, guys?" James beamed, then shot some hard glances at the rest of the team who eventually raised their glasses and nodded in agreement.

Yeah. I'm sure you're all real happy I'm here.

"See." He draped his arm over my shoulder and pulled me over to an empty stool at the table. With Vince, our captain, on the right of me, and Trevor, the team's physical therapist, on the other side, I was half tempted to turn right the fuck around and leave. Out of everyone on the team I could sit by, I found myself stuck between a guy who couldn't stand me and one who tried talking to me every chance he got.

Without much of a choice, I awkwardly fit my large body onto the stool and inwardly groaned when I noticed Trevor turning in his chair to face me.

"Malachi, good to see you, man!" His overly enthused voice instantly caused my blood temperature to rise. Small talk wasn't my forte. Never had been, never would be, but that didn't stop dipshits like Trevor from opening their mouths.

Briefly making eye contact, I gave him a curt nod.

"How's your shoulder doin'?"

On instinct, I found myself rotating the muscle in my shoulder, causing a dull ache to spread throughout the area and down my arm. He must have noticed my discomfort and quickly leaned in close.

"It's fine," I gritted through the pain. The last the thing I wanted was for him to cause a big fucking scene, especially with Vince sitting right next to me. I was already high on his radar and I could feel his attention slowly shift over to me.

"You sure? I can take a quick look at it if you need me to?"

Irritation swept through me as my jaw set.

"No," I ground out. "Like I said, it feels fine."

It wasn't, but I'd rather sit here in pain than rehash an injury from a month ago that Coach and everyone else believed to be healed. After a lengthy three-week recovery, I couldn't take sitting on the sidelines any longer. I looked as useless as I felt, watching my teammates every game and practice from the bench. Without my presence out there, I anticipated for at least a one- or two-game struggle, but what I didn't expect was for them to fucking dominate without me. Win after win, my one and only purpose in life was slowly being stripped away from me and I knew I had to do something about it.

I needed back out there.

I needed my distraction back.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Trevor responded on a swallow as our eyes met. His mouth was turned upward in a half smile but it was clear to see the apprehension in his weakened stare. "If it starts to give you trouble again, just let me know and I can check it out."

I inwardly scoffed.

Nice guy shit.

That was Trevor. Always smiling and offering a helping hand to all the players, even if they didn't want it. It was nauseating. Granted, it was his job to "help" us, but even off the ice, away from the confines of the stadium, he would go out of his way to make sure everyone was straight.

The man rubbed me the wrong way from the very beginning. From our first encounter. It was obvious I wasn't like the rest of the guys. I wasn't open to shooting the shit or getting to know anyone on a personal level, but this guy… He made it his mission to try and peel back my layers.

Too bad there was nothing for him to see. I was hollow as this table here.

"Will do," I mumbled to myself, when seconds later a large glass of beer was being placed in front me.

"Here you go, big guy. Didn't know what you would want, so I got you my go-to drink."

"Thanks." I shot James a glance over my shoulder and brought the cool glass to my mouth. I wasn't much of a drinker these days, but to get through the next hour, I was going to need this fuckin' drink.

"Surprised to see you made the effort to come today," Vince rumbled over the brim of his drink, causing my heart rate to spike. Granted, I was already prepared for his commentary, I didn't expect it to be so early on.

"Oh, come on, Cap." James filled the space between us and laid an arm around both of our shoulders. "Give the man a break. He's here, that's all that matters."

My jaw set.

"What? I just said what everyone here is thinking."

The hand I had on the glass was tightening and soon, we had a small audience watching us.

"He's just fuckin' with you. No one is thinking that," James tried to reassure me, but I wasn't an idiot. I could read the room loud and clear.

No one wanted me here.

So much so that the energy had greatly shifted since I made my arrival.

Then taking a much-needed swig of my beer, I drank it down till it was nearly gone. Vince watched me closely.

"What are you doing here anyway? Don't have anything better to do?"

Our stares clashed head-on.

"Same reason as everyone else. And I have plenty of other better fuckin' things I could be doing, I just decided not to do them." I lifted my chin, refusing to back down from him.

Three years of being here and Vince still acted like I was the fucking dirt on his shoe. A headache, and not worth a second of his time. We clashed together more than anyone else on the team and everyone knew it.

"Everyone else is here because they wanted to be here. They actually give a fuck about the team."

My nostrils flared at his comment.

I did give a fuck. I gave a fuck about winning, wasn't that enough?

"Vince, let's just take it easy tonight, all right? He's here. That's gotta mean something, right?" James announced.

He was the only one who ever had my back.

Even when I didn't need it, he always seemed to be there.

On the tip of my tongue were words that I had been holding back ever since I sat down, but causing a scene was the last thing I wanted to do.

Vince eventually left me alone and focused his attention on some brunette who bravely sat down in his lap. Most of the team was single, but there were a few that were either married or in a relationship.

While everyone seemed to be engrossed in their own conversations, here I was nursing a beer while I people-watched.

Why the fuck was I even here?

No one wanted anything to do with me. No one bothered to talk to me or even ask how I was. I felt like the biggest fucking loser there was, so on a fed-up sigh, I rose to my feet and made my way to the exit.

It wasn't like anyone noticed that I was leaving.

"Hey! Mal, where you goin'?"

Of course James would be the one to find me leaving, it couldn't have been anyone else…

Stopping just beside the door, I spun around to face him.

"Going home," I grunted as his face had fallen in confusion.

"What? Why? You just got here."

The last thing I wanted to do was explain myself. All I wanted was to be at home. Away from everyone. Where I could finally breathe.

"Why the fuck would I stay when no one wants me here?" I laughed. "You heard Vince, so I'm just doing everyone a favor and leaving."

His shoulders dropped and sympathy filled his gaze.

An emotion I fucking hated.

"That's not true, Mal. He's just… being Vince. We do want you here. I want you here."

Shaking my head, I reached for the door handle.

"It's not a new development. The Wolverines didn't want me, and now the Orchids. I'm just better off alone, James."

Better off by myself.

He gave me one final look that I couldn't decipher, but he didn't stop me from leaving. He didn't tell me to stay, and for some unknown, frustrating reason, it bothered me.

To the point I almost turned right back around into the bar, but I didn't.

I refused to.

And instead, I drove back to the solitude of my home where no one could bother me.

Where no one could hurt me.