Page 9 of Redeeming the Villain (HEAU Hockey Legends #2)

O ne day, I’m going to get out of this town. I’m going to take Micah with me, and we’re never looking back. We’re going to go far away from here and start anew together.

Opening the front door to the house, I enter first, keeping Micah positioned behind me in case my uncle swings the second we’re inside.

“You’re late,” my uncle grunts, waiting for me the moment I walk in the house. Arms crossed and fuming.

I shoo Micah to the side, encouraging him to go up to his room. He doesn’t need to see this. He sneaks away as I distract my uncle, stepping forward with my hands raised.

“I-I’m sorry. A road was closed, and we had to take a new path home.”

“What do I say about excuses?” His nostrils flare.

“They’re for weak people.” I repeat his words back to him.

“And what are you? Are you weak?” His voice is cold and steady, the calm before the storm.

He walks toward me, and I brace for impact, but nothing comes. Striding past me, he pushes the door shut behind me, closing us off from any potential onlookers.

And then he makes his move.

Grabbing the back of my neck, he whips me around and pulls me down, bringing his knee up at the same time.

Oh fuck, I wasn’t ready for head pain. He usually prefers my torso.

I take the blow, his kneecap colliding with my nose, hearing a crunch as excruciating pain erupts through my face.

Oh shit, I think he just broke my nose.

Blood gushes from my nostrils, spilling to the floor. I cup my nose with my hands as he shoves me down to the hardwood.

“Great. Look at the mess you made. Clean it up,” he snaps, smacking me in the back of the head, making the pain throb even more. “And if anyone asks, you got hit during a game.”

He walks around and crouches before me.

“And what should I tell my teammates?” I ask, immediately regretting opening my mouth. I know better. I’ve learned from previous mistakes.

He grabs my jaw, squeezing tightly. I struggle to keep my hands around my nose to contain the blood as he pulls my head forward.

His spit flies from his mouth with his next words. “Tell them whatever it takes to keep them from the truth. And if someone comes to me with concerns, then Micah will get a matching nose.”

“No one will say anything.” I avoid his gaze, looking anywhere but at him. “I promise.”

He lightly slaps my cheek a few times. “Good.”

He stands up and strolls off with ease, as if what just happened was absolutely normal. But I suppose when it comes to our house, it is.

When I turn eighteen, Micah and I are going to run far away from here. Only a few more years to go.

I fly up in bed, clutching my neck as ragged breaths tear through my throat, leaving it raw. “Fuck!”

These never get easier. The nightmares. I’ve had them for as long as I can remember, but they’ve been worse since Alora got here.

I thought I was doing better. I mean, I have been since last year, but I’m starting to think that I just got better at hiding my pain, even from myself.

Micah’s face appears in my mind. I really thought we were going to get out of that house together and never imagined that I would be leaving alone.

A framed butterfly in the corner of my eye catches my attention, the sunshine reflecting off the glass from my open window.

One of the few things I kept from that house and one of the few things I have left of my brother.

Sitting up taller in bed, I grab the frame from my nightstand, gently cradling it in my hands as I bring it into my lap. The blue butterfly is so fragile and beautiful.

I can’t help but feel immense guilt every time I look at these, but they deserve to be seen—they were Micah’s. His collection that he kept hidden from our uncle. The butterflies were his most prized possession, and I … I made fun of him for it.

Something I’ll never forgive myself for.

I wish I could go back to that time and tell him how cool these were and how unique each one was, just like him.

I would give anything to change his frown to a smile.

My punishment for being cruel to Micah all those years ago is to be forced to live without him, knowing that I can never change the bad things I said to him.

My stomach turns at the thought of him. God, some days, I wish I could just forget this pain, live life with ease and without the weight of the world crushing down on my chest. Deep down, I think I deserve this agony.

Honestly, it’s a miracle I’ve gotten this far without him. But I definitely couldn’t have done it on my own. If it wasn’t for Darius and Alicia taking me in, I would’ve joined him a long time ago.

But I won’t let them down. For some godly reason, they believe in me more than anyone ever has. Selfishly proving that not everyone in the world has an agenda when it comes to love and trust.

So, as much as I don’t want to get out of bed right now, as much as I want to stay here and get lost for hours, staring at the preserved butterflies, I throw the comforter off of my legs and set the butterfly back on my nightstand before heading to the bathroom to shower before practice.

We have a quick morning skate today in preparation for tonight’s game against the Royals. My body is eager for the exertion.

It’s always been my outlet, my one place to unleash the pit of anguish inside of me without catching a felony for beating someone to a pulp. When I do it on the ice, everyone cheers.

And I’m sure that someone tonight will be lucky enough to feel my wrath. We’re playing against one of our rivals, and I know they’ll be out for blood. We beat them our last five matchups, and they’re desperate to break that streak.

I quickly shower, trying to scrub the memory of my nightmare from my mind and my uncle’s touch from my skin.

But that bone-chilling fear that I once felt, staring into my uncle’s eyes, still sits at the base of my spine. The feeling of fight or flight constantly courses through my veins.

After quickly changing into Legends sweats and a T-shirt, I grab my backpack and head upstairs.

The most delicious scent of chocolate chip muffins fills my nose, and my stomach grumbles in response.

I’m not typically a breakfast guy in the morning. If I do eat, it’s usually a smoothie from the rink, but I’ll be leaving the house this morning with one of those delicious muffins.

Turning the corner into the kitchen, I find Blair and Griffin sucking on each other’s face.

I know this is more their place than mine. It is the Hawthorne Manor, but I can’t resist making a scene.

“For God’s sake, guys, you have a literal wing to yourself, and you can’t resist making out in the kitchen?” I roll my eyes as I approach the cooling rack filled with chocolate chip muffins, grabbing one and wrapping it in a paper towel as they peel away from each other.

Griffin laughs—no shame in his actions. “Just because you’re jealous that you don’t have someone to make out with early in the morning, don’t take it out on us.”

“Oh, fuck off. You know damn well that if I wanted to, I could have a new girl in here every morning, but out of respect for you and Blair, I’ve never brought anyone into this house.”

Griffin mockingly places a hand over his heart. “Oh, you’re so kind, Malik. So thoughtful. Everyone should learn to be as selfless as you.” He chuckles.

“God, you’re such a dick.” I laugh at his sarcasm. “I’m stealing one of these muffins, by the way.”

I turn my back to them, heading out of the kitchen with my free hand lifted in the air, flashing Griffin the bird.

Walking out of the front door and down the ridiculous amount of stairs, I slip into the driver’s seat of my Corvette, stowing the chocolate chip muffin in my cupholder as I rev the engine to life.

Rounding the fountain, I head down the driveway toward Grimm Street. The nice thing about living with Griffin is that he only lives about four minutes from campus.

My car purrs as I speed down the street, heading straight for the arena. This morning’s skate will last about an hour, and then I have one class—a new one before I’m free for the rest of the afternoon leading up to tonight’s game.

Pulling into the arena parking lot, I find a spot near the front and head inside.

I’m greeted by security, the staff kindly smiling, and I return the favor whether or not I feel that joy inside myself.

By muscle memory, I stroll to the locker room, my legs moving of their own accord, as they’ve done so many times before. But no matter how many times I’ve been in this building, every time, I’m struck by the facilities and money that went into this place.

State-of-the-art tech. The best of the best for the best of the best. And for some odd reason, I get to play here. I get to do the one thing I’ve always loved in a place I don’t always feel I belong. But I try not to question it. I try to take it as a blessing from Micah and from Darius and Alicia. They are who I live for.

I can hear the other guys chattering as I enter the locker room, immediately swatted in the back of the head from a towel.

Great. Everyone’s on bullshit today.

“The next person who hits me with a towel isn’t going to play in tonight’s game,” I threaten the room with a comical edge to my voice. But it’s more of a taunt. I’m dead serious.

“Oh, yeah? Do you think you hold that power?” Asher teases.

Lightly patting his cheek, I chuckle. “I don’t mean that I’ll get the coach to keep you out. I mean that you physically won’t be able to play.”

Elias Lancaster, one of my best friends, a center and our captain for the Legends, giggles in the corner. “Careful, everyone. Malik’s in a bad mood today.”

These little shits. I swear they are professionals at getting under people’s skin. Which is great when we’re on the ice, playing another team. But it’s awfully annoying when they’re using those skills on me.

“I’m about to be in an even worse one if you keep that up.” My stern facade breaks, my lips lifting into a slight smile as I start changing into my gear.

Griffin strolls into the room with a shit-eating grin on his face. It never ceases to amaze me how much of a difference Blair has made in Griffin’s life. He’s so much happier now. It's crazy that one person could come in and flip someone’s life completely upside down for the better. It sounds like the fairy-tale bullshit that I’ve never believed in.

I’m happy for them—I am. But I’m also bitter. Although I think that’s something that will always stay with me until I’m an old man.

“Let’s go, boys. Big game tonight!” Griff hollers. “You guys done bickering?”

Laughter breaks out among us as I finish getting changed. “I suppose.”

“Good. Because we have some ass to kick later. Not our own, preferably.”

We finish getting ready and take the ice, preparing for the battle ahead of us tonight. No matter what small bickering moments happen between us, we’re a team. A family. Tonight, we are going to destroy the Royals.

* * *

After running through a few different drills and lines, we’re dismissed.

The chilly air feels nice when I walk out of the arena with the boys as we head to our classes. It seems to be colder earlier this year than normal. But I’m not mad at it. I’ve always preferred it over the heat.

Blair and Lumi seem to appear out of nowhere, joining our group.

I’ve been waiting for Blair to scold me for scaring Alora off the night of the Kensington party. But the more time that goes by, the more I think that she hasn’t mentioned that incident to Blair. I don’t know whether to be grateful to Alora or not.

The wave of rage and jealousy that came over me when I saw her with Garrett … it surprised me, coming out of nowhere like a bolt of lightning to my body.

But what struck me even harder was how I felt when she was pressed up against me with her back to my chest. How good it felt. And how much I hated myself for feeling it.

But I’m a mess when it comes to her. Uncontrollable and raw. A tornado, wreaking havoc on everything around me. I don’t know how to change it or fix it.

All I know is that every time I’m near her, I feel like I’m touching a live wire. But I don’t know if it’s because she makes me feel alive like no one has before or if it’s because I feel like I’m being electrocuted to death.

Fuck, even thinking about her has my brain scrambled.

We head into Ivy Hall, Blair leading the way to the classroom—of course knowing the route by heart. It’s nice that we all have this class together—Blair, Lumi, Griffin, Asher, Dean, Finn, and Elias. I might not have any interest in history but at least we can suffer together.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

I can’t escape her if I try.

Sitting in the front row is none other than Alora with a golden retriever in the space next to her.

What’s with her in this dog? If she wanted one to flaunt around like an accessory, she could’ve at least gotten something smaller to be respectful to the people around her.

But I’ll save that taunt for another day.

Blair does the one thing that I was hoping she wouldn’t—beelines it straight to the seat next to Alora. Lumi goes to her left.

Griffin walks to the second row, all of us guys following suit, sitting behind the girls. And of course, Alora’s positioned directly in front of me.

If it wasn’t for Blair, we wouldn’t have been nearly as punctual, and maybe, if we had shown up later, these seats would have already been taken, and I wouldn’t have been forced to be near her.

She doesn’t acknowledge my presence or anyone else’s, except for Blair and Lumi. But I should’ve known that wouldn’t mean that the guys wouldn’t acknowledge her.

Asher leans forward, resting on the pull-up half desk that he flipped up over his lap. “Alora, I didn’t know we’d be blessed with your presence in this class.” He doesn’t skip a beat. “I’m sorry you weren’t feeling well and had to leave the party early. I was hoping to see more of you.”

“… see more of you.” I know exactly what parts he’s hoping to see, and something about the thought of them together has me wanting to storm out of here.

Knowing that he’s only doing this to push my buttons, I pinch the spot right above his knee and dig my fingers into his flesh. He sits back in his seat.

You know, I don’t remember Asher being as much of a pain in the ass last year. I worry that maybe I rubbed off on him.

Alora turns to face us, her blonde hair cascading down her back in loose waves as she tilts her head back.

She flashes a big smile at Asher … actively not looking my way.

“It’s okay. Malik was right about one thing: parties aren’t really my thing.”

I think those might be my favorite words I’ve ever heard her say. That I was right about something.

“Probably the only thing he’s ever been right about.”

The guys collectively gasp and burst out laughing at the second part of her comment. My jaw tics at her audacity.

What is she hoping to gain from this?

Is she just trying to provoke me?

Because it’s working.

Leaning back in my chair, I lift my arm and rest it around Asher’s seat as my stare drops down to her doe eyes—bright blue and wide with curiosity.

And absolutely stunning.

A flashback of them welling up with tears appears in my mind, and I can’t help but think of how beautiful she looks when she cries.

She holds my stare without saying a word, and I feel everyone looking her way, waiting for one of us to make a move.

But I’m not ready to have this conversation with all my friends, so I avert my gaze, looking straight ahead to where the professor is unloading his bag.

Asher mumbles something inaudible, and I glare at him from the corner of my eye.

I can feel Alora’s gaze still burning into me, but after another moment, she faces forward.

Griffin glances at me a few times, and I’m guessing he’s wondering if I’ll share any of this with him. But I remain silent, waiting for the class to begin.

And I remain silent for the next fifty minutes, until we’re dismissed.

The moment our professor signals us, I grab my bag and book it out of the room, hopping over Asher’s and Dean’s outstretched legs.

My chest feels tight, and my lungs are struggling for air. Something I desperately don’t need right before a game … another panic attack.

I need to get away from her .

A few of the guys call my name to get me to stop, but I ignore them and continue on until I’m out of the building and in the nice fresh air.

I stop only for a moment to catch my breath before I cross campus to my car and seal myself inside.

What is she doing to me?

She’s ruining everything .

Eventually, my heart calms down, and I know I’m safe from spiraling.

I should probably go home and suit up for tonight’s game, but there are still a few hours before I need to change.

So, instead, I head in the opposite direction of Griffin’s house, to a lookout with a walkway over the coast, where the waves lap against the rocks on the shore.

I haven’t been there in a few months. I haven’t really needed it. But I need it now more than ever because I feel like the seams that are holding me together are drastically deteriorating, and I’m scared what will happen when I fully fall apart.

My isolated safe space. The place where I go to clear my mind and think. Micah’s always wanted to go to the ocean, so listening to the waves makes me feel closer to him. It makes me feel grounded.

Which is exactly what I need right now.

* * *

Walking into the arena in my suit and tie, I feel the shy and nervous pieces of myself shift into the background, the confident persona taking over. The broken version of myself doesn’t win hockey games, so if only for tonight’s game, I’ll push everything back inside.

In the quiet moments when no one’s watching, Malik, the boy—who was abandoned by his parents, then given to his ungrateful uncle, who saw him more as a punching bag than a loved one—gets easily overwhelmed and has panic attacks; it’s a version of myself that no one will ever really know.

But here, at this arena, I am Malik Ravenwell, a legend. To any opponent who steps on the ice, I am the villain, their biggest threat.

I can’t let my past get in the way of my future. I have to make it to the pro league. And if I have to pretend to be okay in order to get there, I will. Every step of the way.

But that doesn’t mean that I won’t exert some of that built-up anger. After all, it’s expected of me. I’m a monster on the ice, doing anything and everything possible to win. Getting under other players’ skin is my favorite pastime. To agitate them. Score. Dominate.

Standing up for my teammates when they’re getting picked on is the easiest way to flip the switch inside of me. I become unglued, uncontrolled, and if anyone is going to bring that out of me, it’s going to be our rivals.

The photographer takes photos of us players as we file into the building, one by one, all pretending the camera doesn’t exist.

The second I breathe in the locker room air, my skin starts to tingle, excitement looming beneath the surface. The only time I truly feel comfortable in my own skin is on the ice, and I’m dying to get out there.

After gearing up, we head to the tunnel to hit the ice for warm-ups, and before we know it, the announcer is listing off the starters, and we’re lining up on the blue line.

Our center, Elias Lancaster. Our forwards, me and Asher Kensington. Then we have our defensive pair, Dean and Griffin. Between the pipes is a legend of his own making, the best goalie in collegiate hockey, Finn Rutherford.

The air is electric as we set up for puck drop at center ice. Readying to face off against the Royals, I huff out a breath and lock eyes with number fourteen, my lips tipping into a cocky smirk.

A second later, the ref drops the puck, and the game’s underway. Using my stick, I fling the puck back between my legs to Asher. Digging my skates in, I take off down the ice. Ash breaks into the zone, keeping the puck in front of him.

He dishes it over to Griffin and passes it back to me. Asher skates his way around the net, and I see the play in my mind before it even happens.

I pass the three defenders, and the puck finds Asher’s stick in the blink of an eye. He wraps it around the goalpost and tucks it in the corner of the net, and the arena erupts. His arms and stick fly into the air as he cheers.

“Off the first face-off? Let’s fucking go!” Griffin shouts as we race toward Ash, crowding around him in celebration.

The score may be one to zero, but we are just getting started. And if there’s anything I know about the Royals, it’s that they’re going to give us one hell of a fight. We are nearly identical in terms of skill.

The first period continues to fly by, every shift on the ice more gruesome than the last. But so far, they have been playing clean, which is a nice surprise, as I haven’t had to beat anyone’s ass yet. But there’s still time.

Adrenaline is flowing through my veins—my favorite feeling in the world.

When I glide over to the bench for the media time-out, long blonde hair catches my eye. My head whips that way, seemingly of its own accord, as if I’m desperate to see who it is.

Alora?

But it’s not her, and I don’t know why I expected it to be her. The last time she had come to one of my hockey games, I had her escorted out in front of the whole student body, claiming that she was stalking me, and the staff didn’t bat an eye.

For a split second, my heart sinks, a sharp burn stinging deep in my chest.

Was I hoping it was her?

God, that thought is confusing as fucking hell. But I push it away. Now is not the time to start dissecting that reaction.

There’s only a minute left in the first period, and the score hasn’t changed since the first goal. We’ve gone back and forth this entire time, but both goalies are on fire, not letting anything by.

Since everyone’s playing fair, there haven’t been any penalties either. But this could change in the blink of an eye. It takes one turnover, one bad pass, one steal to completely change the course of the game.

Skating into our defensive zone, I use my stick to try to intercept a pass, but it manages to get through to the other teammates. Not a moment later, one of their players slap-shots the puck toward the net. Our goalie catches it in his glove.

We reset on a dot, and another face-off resumes. Asher wins it, and we take off down the ice. Asher to Griffin. Griffin to Elias. Elias back to Asher, who’s flying through the slot. He catches the pass perfectly and cuts across the crease. With the flick of his wrist, the puck shoots over the goalie’s shoulder, landing in the back of the net.

The arena explodes as he scores with three seconds left on the clock of the first period. He skates around the net, gaining speed before dropping to one knee and pulling an imaginary bow and arrow.

As the horn sounds around us, we pile on Asher, patting his head and shouting our praise over the blaring noise.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Ash? Another one! Hatty watch, baby!” I scream as I palm his helmet with my glove and shake him with glee.

We skate toward the bench, Asher leading, followed by Elias, who got the assist. We bump gloves with our teammates before setting back up for the last face-off of the first period. And three seconds after the puck is dropped, the horn sounds again, ending the first twenty minutes with the score two to zero.

The second period and the first half of the third seem to go by in a blink of an eye, the Royals managing to get one goal on the board during a power play.

With ten minutes left on the clock, all we have to do is keep them from scoring. But we’d be lying if we said we weren’t trying to get Asher a hat trick tonight. Of course we are.

There’s a high chance that in the final couple of minutes, which are starting to dwindle away, the other team will pull their goalie to gain an additional player on the ice, leaving their net wide open. Which would be an easy opportunity for Asher to complete the three goals for his hat trick. An empty netter isn’t exactly the most exciting goal, but it’s still points in the book.

We set back up in our offensive zone, Asher taking the face-off. He wins it, dishing it over to me.

I get shoved from behind, the stick digging into my neck and whipping my head forward. When I crash forward onto the ice, the refs’ whistles go crazy as chaos ensues.

Bodies begin piling up above me, and fists are flying. Griffin begins to pummel the guy who checked me from behind. Getting to my feet, I decide to lend him a helping hand, but one of the other players steps in front of me first, clearly wanting to take the challenge for himself.

A gleam in his eyes answers the question in mine, and in a matter of a second, we flick our gloves to the ice.

I sigh, knowing how good this is about to feel.

Maybe I shouldn’t enjoy this part of hockey as much as I do. But I haven’t questioned it my entire career, and I’m not about to start now.

We grab the collar of each other’s jersey, our arms locked out between us. Cocking his arm back, he swings a right hook, but I dodge it, leaning my head out of the way.

I want to let him land a punch to trigger the ferocity inside of me. Which is the only reason his next hook lands.

Smiling through the pain in my jaw, I see the second absolute fear settles into his wide-set eyes. He knows I let him hit me, and this is the moment he realizes that he’s going to lose this fight.

Taking control, I cock my arm back and crack him right in the side of the head. Again and again, alternating between uppercuts and hooks.

Blood flies from his nose, decorating my knuckles and staining the ice.

He crashes to the ice, and I land on top of him. I could stop here, and I should. But I give him one more for the hell of it.

It’s kind of an unwritten rule to cease the fight when one of the fighters hits the ground. Well, if you want to avoid racking up extra penalties.

The refs pull me off of him, and I go willingly.

The crowd goes feral.

After the refs clean house, we’re put in the penalty box—Griffin, me, and the two Royals players involved. Although a moment later, the one I was fighting skates to his team bench and disappears into the tunnel—probably to get some medical treatment.

We watch the teams reset for face-off. Griffin and I have a front-row view, sitting side by side in the sin bin.

We win the face-off and take off into our offensive zone, looking to widen the gap of our lead.

One of our freshman players—an absolute rock star—leads the puck into the zone with Asher and Elias hot on his tail. The freshman takes the puck deep into the zone behind the goalie’s net. Elias dives through two defenders, catching the pass from the freshman, and dishes it to Asher.

He’s got this. The slot is wide open, and the goalie is out of place, having expected Elias to shoot it.

Asher pulls back and fires, and the puck flies into the back of the net. The horn sounds, and the rink vibrates from the noise of our fans.

Hats begin to fly onto the ice, tossed from fans.

Griffin and I jump up, smacking the glass with our sticks, gloves, anything we can use in celebration.

It’s Ashy baby’s first hatty with the HEAU Legends. Something to commemorate and definitely something to remember.

Our guys skate along the bench, bumping gloves as the ice crew skates out and collects the hats into a big bin. The puck is tossed to one of our coaches, set aside for Asher to keep.

With Griffin and me receiving ten-minute misconducts, we won’t see any more ice time this game.

But it doesn’t matter. Because when the clock runs out, we’ll have won three to one.

This is the high, the serotonin I’m always chasing that only this sport can give me.