Page 5 of Redeeming the Villain (HEAU Hockey Legends #2)

“M alik, for the love of God, don’t do anything stupid.” Griffin Hawthorne—a HEAU Hockey Legends defenseman and my best friend—sighs, dragging his hand down his face.

“You do realize who you’re talking to, right?” Asher Kensington scoffs, laughing as he starts taking his sweaty clothes off from our workout.

Asher’s brother, Dean Kensington, chimes in, “Malik, stupid? Never .”

While the brothers have a lot of similarities, their differences lie on the ice, Asher being a forward and Dean being a defenseman.

“Why is everyone trying to get their ass kicked today?” I exhale through my words. “All I said was that I need to get some energy out.”

Griffin scoffs jokingly. “Yeah, and I’ve seen firsthand how destructive your energy can be.”

Twisting my face, I groan. “That’s not fair. I just happen to have a lot of it that regularly needs to be expelled. Sue me.”

Fisting my T-shirt behind my neck, I pull the sweat-soaked black Legends shirt off and toss it onto the bench beside me.

“Did you get more tattoos?” Asher chuckles, looking at my exposed inked chest and arms.

“No, smart-ass, no more than I had the last time you saw me.” Although I can’t quite blame him for asking because even I have lost count.

“What’s got you all riled up?” Griffin asks, changing into his sweats and hoodie. “You’ve been on edge the last couple of days, more so than usual.”

Those annoyingly pretty blue eyes and blonde hair flash in my mind, but I force the unwelcome imagery away.

“Nothing.”

“Are your teeth okay?” Asher asks, concern etched into his pinched brows. “I’ve never seen someone clench their jaw that tight before.”

“Ha-ha,” I deadpan.

“Seriously though, you know we’re here if you need to vent about shit,” Dean chimes in. “Better out.”

“Than what? In?“ Asher slaps the back of his head, scoffing. “Did you just fail to quote … Shrek ?”

Dean shrugs with his arms in the air. “What? It’s a great movie.”

“Shut up.” Asher winces, shaking his head in brotherly disappointment.

A beat of silence passes between all of us, and my heart starts to race because I know they are anticipating a response. But I’m not going to talk about her … not to them.

“Yeah, seriously, guys, I’m good. Thanks though.” Throwing my black Legends hoodie and joggers on quickly, I haul my backpack onto my shoulder and stride toward the exit. “I’ll see you at the house, Griff.”

When I lift my fist to his, he bumps it, and I repeat it again with Asher and Dean as I pass them.

Griffin looks at me like he knows there’s more I’m hiding. “Sounds good, man. I should be right behind you.”

Heading out of the locker room, I’m more annoyed than I was when I walked in, which is impressive, given I spent the last hour and a half weight lifting and pushing myself past the point of exhaustion.

But the built-up rage isn’t what’s suffocating me. It’s her . Her presence here.

She’s going to destroy the peace I’ve built for myself.

She’s the resurrection of my past, blending with my present, and it’s mind-fucking me. I hate it— all of it.

This school and team are my future. I buried the version of myself she knew, along with the pain, so deep inside of me that I’m scared of what will happen if it breaks free.

I spent the last year forcing Avandale and everyone in it out of my mind. Everyone but the three people I’ll never be able to forget.

My high school hockey coach, Darius, and his wife, Alicia—who took me in when I needed help most. They’re the only sense of family I have left in this world, aside from my team.

And my brother, Micah, who’s still trapped in that town, in the same urn that my blackened heart and soul lie in. The only person in this world I’ve ever let in beyond my thorny walls.

When he died, so did I. My mind and body are just stuck here to live in a hell without him. My uncle hid Micah’s remains from me, threatening to dispose of them if I ever opened my mouth about the truth of what had happened the night Micah died.

For now, I can live with that distance between us if it means he stays safe, even if it’s away from me. One day, I’ll get Micah back, if it’s the last thing I do.

I’d break into my uncle’s house if I knew Micah’s ashes were there, but he already told me that it would be a waste of my time. That the urn is being kept somewhere I’d never find on my own.

And I believe him.

I’ve been keeping my head down, focusing on my classes and hockey. I’ve been distracted, surrounded by new people and a new school that have helped me hide from the ghosts of my past.

Everything was going to plan until Alora showed up here. Now, it’s like every thought and memory I’ve spent running from are all rushing back to me. My head feels like it’s going to explode.

If it’s not visions of my uncle’s fist or belt, my little brother forever still, or the countless freezing nights spent sleeping under the stars, it’s of Alora. All haunting nonetheless.

Strolling out of the arena, I spot her walking away from me across the quad, with her dog on her heel.

Without thought, I do what I probably shouldn’t and take a step toward her and then another, until I’m following her into the music hall.

Music, really?

I wouldn’t have guessed Miss Nepo Baby would care enough about anything that took genuine skill and effort. If it didn’t make her money, I thought she wouldn’t pursue it.

Maybe she’s just cutting through the building to go somewhere else; it’s just part of her path.

Twisting my fingers tightly around my backpack strap, I stay behind her, keeping a significant distance so she doesn’t get spooked.

Why am I following her? I have no plan or smart-ass comment locked and loaded if she catches me. Although I’m not concerned that she wouldn’t quiver before me if I stood tall and sneered.

Even with doubt and Stop signs flashing in my mind, I push onward after her.

She approaches the steps and very slowly ascends one at a time, her golden retriever doing the same beside her. I have to come to a stop at the hedges around the corner so I don’t catch up with her.

Once she slips inside the double doors, I climb the steps behind her and hesitate for a second as my hand hovers over the handle, once more debating whether to turn around or go inside.

I pull the door open.

Whoa, this place is insane.

The lobby is gigantic, stretching upward by at least thirty feet. Giant skylights fill the open space with natural light, reflecting off the huge chandelier hanging from the highest point. The second and third floors are open to the foyer, separated by a tall railing.

A swoosh of blonde hair in the corner of my eye reminds me why I’m even here in the first place, drawing me from my stupor.

She disappears around a corner, and I dig my heel into the ground, my long strides carrying me down the trail of her strawberry and vanilla perfume. I breathe it in without thought.

Drifting behind her, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve completely lost my mind. Chasing after her and watching her, just like I did in high school. But I never once caught her in the music room. Although I was never near it myself.

This feels all too normal. But I didn’t care about anything back then. I had nothing to lose. But now? Now I can’t be as reckless as I once was.

I have a scholarship to the most prestigious school in the country and am on a path to go pro afterward. I can’t lose that because of her.

She steps through a door to her left and closes it behind her and her dog. A sign hanging on the wall above the doorframe reads Practice Room .

Slowing my pace, I cautiously approach the door, spotting a narrow window above the doorknob. What is she possibly practicing?

Students turn and shuffle down the hallway, heading this way.

I quickly dig my phone out of my pocket and casually scroll through the home screen, pretending like I’m not trying to peep through the window next to me.

They pass by me, all three girls glancing my way with variations of a flirty smile. When I nod at them, they blush and scurry away.

Breathing deeply, I take a step closer to the window. What is she doing in there?

But she answers my question without a word.

As if a switch was flicked, the room bursts with life as Alora begins to play the piano. She isn’t pecking the notes like a chicken, but like she has a thousand fingers, dancing through all of the perfect strokes.

Why has she been keeping this part of her a secret?

I’ve seen her social media accounts, stalked them intensely for years, and not once has she posted anything about this.

I didn’t know she was even musically inclined, let alone play like that . Inching closer toward the window, I hesitantly peek inside, leaning my cheek against the frame of the window.

My mouth dries, and my lips part at the sight before me. I don’t know what I was expecting, but being mesmerized wasn’t even close.

The piano sits perpendicular to the door, tucked against the right wall. Alora’s side is to me, giving me a perfect outline of her profile, just a few feet away.

She continues to play with vigor, her eyes sealed shut and lips slightly parted. She is a stark difference from the dark, haunting song flowing from her fingers. She’s completely transported into her music, swaying with the movements of her hands as they travel the keys by pure memory alone.

Through the small window, I watch her head tilt backward. Her wavy blonde hair falls from her face, further exposing the pained expression etched in her every feature.

So delicate, so fragile, yet … she looks so powerful .

Maybe this is her hockey , the one part of life where she feels most comfortable, where her true purpose lies.

The brief moment of empathy seizes my body, my muscles going rigid. A thrum of self-hatred blooms in my chest as I remind myself that she doesn’t deserve empathy.

This is something I could take away from her or turn against her if I wanted. I could make her hate the piano. Ridicule her to the extent that anytime she touched one again, she couldn’t help but think of me.

I should throw this door open and show her that no matter where she goes on campus, she isn’t safe from my reach.

But I don’t move. I’m frozen, my body weakened by the sight of her. Feeling helpless and under her control.

Add that to the list of reasons for my hatred. She was never supposed to have this power over me, to manipulate my wrath. It’s infuriating on a whole new level.

I’ve gone years hating her; that isn’t about to change now. But I have a feeling that my fascination with her won’t either.

Alora was always the object of my obsession, sitting at the center of everything I did back then. Even before I learned her last name.

She caught my eye the first day she walked into Avandale High. Drawing me in with that blue stare and pillowy lips. With her aura of warmth and gentleness. I wanted to feel the fragility crumble beneath my desire as she came apart around me.

Then everything changed when I heard the teacher mention who she really was. It was like a bomb went off in the room, destroying the reality I’d thought I was living. My lust transformed to an all-consuming hatred.

But as much as I’ve tried, that desire has never faded. It still tortures me with thoughts and feelings of the one girl I can never have, of the one girl I will never want to want.

Her fingers and movements slow, and I shift out of view of the window, flattening my back against the wall.

Suddenly, everything feels wrong.

My blood rushes through my veins, racing as my heart thumps faster and faster. My palms begin to sweat, and my clothes feel heavier and tighter than before.

What the fuck is happening to me?

I run my hand down my throat as my body warms a thousand degrees.

I need to get out of here.

Pushing away from the wall, I stride toward the door I came through, each step harder than the last, like gravity is weighing down more than before.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

Am I …

Am I having … a panic attack?

Shit . I haven’t had one of these in years.

She’s not just bringing memories back; she’s unleashing the literal pain I’ve managed to keep beneath the surface.

Crashing through to the doors and into the crisp fall air, I inhale deeply and race down the steps, heading toward the first thing I see to keep me upright.

Bracing my hands on the rough bark of the great oak, I squeeze my eyes shut as my mind works through the muscle memory of what to do. The same muscle memory my mind created from having countless attacks before.

Inhale for five. Exhale for ten.

Over and over.

I repeat it until my breathing begins to slow and I can feel myself finally gaining control again.

My phone rings in my pocket, granting me a much-needed distraction from the shadows in my mind.

Coach Darius Sherwood.

“Hello?” I answer, my voice cracking and shaky as I settle the phone against my ear.

“Are you all right?” His question is twisted with worry.

He may have only been my hockey coach, but he became much more than that when he found out I was sleeping in my car outside of the arena at night during my senior year. He and his wife opened their home to me without a thought. The only parental figures I’ve ever been able to look up to. I owe them everything.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just a … moment.” I brush it off. “What’s up?”

“Just checking in. You’ve been quiet the last week, and I wanted to see how you were doing. From what I can tell from our talk so far, I can tell you’re not great.” He chuckles softly, concern still evident in his tone.

Lifting my head up, I turn around and rest my back against the tree. “No, no. I am fine. Really.”

“Malik,” he sighs. “You know you don’t always have to keep the world shut out. What’s going on? Classes okay? Hockey? Need more money?”

“No,” I snap, instantly regretting the sharpness of my response. I just hate taking their money. Not after everything they’ve done for me. “That’s all going fine,” I continue.

The door of the music building swinging open draws my attention. Someone walks through, but it’s not her.

“So, what’s not fine?” he pushes.

“You remember …” I trail off, debating whether or not to keep going.

“Malik, what’s got you all up in a twist, huh? Just talk to me.” Darius’s comforting voice hums into my ear, a stark difference to his coaching voice that I used to know.

Darius is the reason I even graduated high school. The reason I had a roof over my head the second half of my senior year. The reason I have a scholarship to this school. He submitted the application on my behalf and surprised me with the acceptance letter.

I didn’t think I would get anywhere in life. And I don’t think I would have without him and Alicia.

So, the least I can do is give him a real answer.

“Alora Briarwood.” I mutter her name, and as if by magic, she appears through the doors of the music hall, pausing on the top of the stairs as she focuses on her phone.

“Oh.” He exhales heavily, instantly remembering. “Got it.”

“Yeah …” I trail off, uncertain of what to say next.

As if she can feel my gaze, she lifts her head, her eyes locking on to mine immediately, causing shivers to wrap around my spine.

“Well, just stay focus?—”

I cut him off, “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later. Bye.” I grind my teeth and start walking, away from the music hall.

“Soon!” he calls out as I end the call.

I jam my phone into my pocket, making a beeline to the parking lot my car’s in.

I need to get home, get on the ice, get anywhere but here. Racing down the cobblestone walkways toward my car, I wonder if this is what the next few years will look like with her here.

My anxiety and sorrow begin to blossom into anger, the kind that only exists for her and her family.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I’m sure it’s Darius, just sending a follow-up text, like he usually does after our call, telling me that he and Alicia miss me and to call again soon.

I don’t mean to be blunt with him. I owe them so much. But sometimes, my mouth gets in the way of my intentions, like the words lash out before I can choose the ones I mean to say.

Approaching my Corvette, I dig my keys out from my pocket and unlock it with the fob.

God, I have such a love-hate relationship with this car.

Once upon a time, it was my dream to have a Corvette—a black one, just like this. But how I got it will always tarnish its beauty.

Every time I slide into the driver’s seat of it, all I can think about is how my uncle took a bribe to cover up the murder of Micah.