Scarred (Bayside Bolts #2)

Cayden

ONE

The team is celebrating our win tonight, and, like always, I put on a fake demeanor, pretending I’m actually fucking enjoying this. Leaning back on the plush velvet chair, I take a sip of my bourbon and enjoy the burn as it slides down my throat, warming my insides.

The fame, the top-notch bottle service, the female bodies sheathed in tight little dresses practically begging you to take them home.

It should be enough.

It should make me feel something—anything other than this empty feeling that continuously wants to seep into my veins until I question whether I even exist anymore. Maybe I really did die that day two years ago, and I’m just stuck in this void until I’m snatched out of it.

“Can you believe this crowd tonight?” Hayes excitedly grins as he watches two blondes walk by before they look back over their shoulder, giving him the come and get me look. “I guess our win tonight really brought out the masses.”

Ever since Breakaway opened, the owner has made it known that he is a big fan of the Bayside Bolts, and any time we have a home game, he caters to our team with VIP seating and service.

It’s a close walk from the arena, so it’s become a routine for a lot of the players to socialize here after a game.

It’s quieter than most of the bars lining the streets, with a laid-back speakeasy feel and soft jazz music playing in the background.

Cozy booths line the walls on both levels, with curtains tied at each table for those who want a more intimate feel and high-top tables for those who want to be closer to the bar and mingle.

In the VIP section where we like to sit, sectionals and chairs are scattered about, giving us a comfortable area to wind down after a game and letting us have semi-privacy if we want it.

Hayes is right, though—tonight is a full house. I take in the packed atmosphere with a mixture of men and women in cocktail attire filling up the booths and tables surrounding our private area in the back.

“Appears that way,” I murmur, glancing at my watch and seeing only twenty minutes have passed since I walked in.

Usually, an hour is my limit. I stay just long enough to make it appear that I’m moving on and living again.

After that first year, I learned real quick that faking it is a whole hell of a lot better than seeing pity in every single pair of eyes that glance your way.

I’m so fucking tired of being looked at like I’m some project that needs to be fixed.

The number of times women have approached me, offering to ease my pain or ask me to let them take care of me, just pisses me off, to be honest. As if I can just flip a switch and pretend it never happened.

As if a random fuck is going to make everything better.

With my job comes a lot of fame, and unfortunately, it brings my personal life into the spotlight. It’s become a mission for numerous women to become the next Mrs. Cayden Blade, but I’ve got bad news for them. It’s never going to happen.

“Jesus, that redhead over there is giving you serious fuck-me eyes,” Hayes laughs, and I follow his gaze to the table of girls in the corner. The redhead smiles when my gaze lands on her, and there’s no mistaking the message in her eyes or her body language.

My whole career is built on reading body language and learning to anticipate the next move before it happens. It’s a gift I’ve honed in on, and it’s what made me the top NHL goalie in the league.

Her blue eyes scream at me to come over, but instead, I avert my gaze, feeling nothing more than indifference. It’s like every single emotion I’ve ever had towards the opposite sex has vanished into thin air. Not even a beautiful redhead can stir up the tiniest bit of desire within me.

“Nah, not my type,” I say, taking another sip of my drink.

“A beautiful girl is not your type?” Hayes’s eyes get lost in confusion as if he can’t even fathom the idea.

Jett Hayes is our left winger and came up from the minors at only nineteen.

We’ve been playing together for the last five years, so I’ve basically watched this kid grow up.

Even though I’m only five years older than him at twenty-nine, I’ve taken on the dad role, trying to keep him out of trouble as much as I can.

It’s easy to get sucked into the fame and money, losing yourself in the process. I’ve seen it happen many times, and I’ll be damned if anyone on our team loses what they worked so hard for.

“Just not feeling it,” I shrug. At least I’m being honest. I don’t feel it…

Ever.

“That’s a shame, old man.” He slaps me on the thigh and stands up. “I’ll be sure to take good care of her,” he grins before walking over to their table.

“Jesus, one of these days, his dick is going to fall off from overuse,” McCormick mutters on my left.

“It’s quite possible,” I chuckle, watching him interact with the girls who are now laughing and hanging on every word his pretty-boy head says.

“He does have that irresistible charm that works in his favor. The girls eat it up,” McCormick says, shaking his head in disbelief before bringing the amber liquid in his glass to his lips.

“Yeah, they do,” I agree as I watch Hayes whisper something into the redhead’s ear, causing her face to redden as she smiles into the straw of her drink. “I guess her fleeting interest in me is over,” I chuckle softly, not minding in the least.

“Gotta move fast. The attention span in here is seconds,” McCormick mumbles before his intense grey eyes scan the room.

“Looking for someone?” I ask, watching a frown form on his face before he shakes his head.

“Nope,” he says without hesitation, but his tense body language tells me something else.

Thane McCormick has always been hard to read. Outside of hockey, he mostly keeps to himself and never talks about his personal life. Even after playing with him for the past four years, I still don’t know much about him.

I’m not one to pry into other people’s business.

Lord knows how I hate it when people try to get into mine, so I’ve never pressed him when he diverts any question thrown his way.

All I need to know is that we have each other’s backs on the ice, and I can say with certainty that McCormick doesn’t leave the ice after a game unless every last ounce of blood and sweat is given.

Glancing up, I see Foxx and Kane weave through the crowd, heads above everyone else. To say that our starting lineup is intimidating is an understatement. All six of us dominate the ice with our size and appearance, making it nearly impossible to blend in with the crowd when we are all together.

“Where have you two been?” I ask, glancing at them as they both take a seat next to us.

“Coach made us stay late for interviews,” Kane sighs, loosening his collar and rolling up the sleeves of his black dress shirt, revealing dark ink underneath.

“Where’s Hayes?” Foxx asks, grabbing the bottle of bourbon on the table and pouring a small amount into two glass tumblers before handing one to Kane.

“Thanks.” Kane leans back in the chair and takes a strong pull of the drink.

“He’s over there,” I nod to the table where Hayes is.

“Well, shit,” he grins. “He started without me.”

Taking his drink with him, he walks over to join Hayes.

Settling back, I listen to Kane and McCormick discuss our upcoming game in a couple of days, but the conversation just washes over me without really hearing it.

Glasses clink, and laughter spills out around me in a distant haze in the background.

It’s like I’m sitting behind a thick glass wall, watching a life I no longer feel like I’m a part of.

My gaze drifts past the bar, past the women draped over the high-tops, and lands on one of the curtained booths along the wall with the fabric curtain tied back just enough to see inside.

A dark-haired guy sits with a brunette tucked by his side. She’s curled into him like she belongs there, and wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. A glint of a diamond shines briefly on her left hand, catching my eye as she raises the wine glass to her lips.

His fingers move absently along her bare shoulder as he leans down to whisper something in her ear, causing her face to light up in a smile.

Not a forced smile that I find myself doing often, but a real one.

One that can only be done out of pure happiness…out of love.

He presses a kiss to her temple, and my grip tightens around the glass.

Something in my chest shifts, not out of jealousy, but a memory.

And that’s so much fucking worse.

Downing my drink, I stand up, needing to get out of here and already feeling the weight of the past wanting to suffocate me. Not even the burn of the alcohol can cut through the heaviness spreading through my chest as the ghosts from two years ago find me.

“I’m going to head out.” I grab my jacket off the back of my chair and reach into my wallet, throwing a hundred on the table.

“Already?” Kane asks. “We just got here.”

“I told Mae I wouldn’t be out long tonight,” I say the lie with ease. “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

McCormick eyes me intently, sensing my sudden mood shift, but remains silent as I walk away, knowing it’s useless to get any more out of me.

Walking through the crowd, I push open the door and step outside. The cool air of February slams into me as I take big lungfuls, trying to keep my demons at bay.

Keeping my head down to avoid any recognition, I head straight to my black SUV parked on the other side of the parking lot and climb in, shutting the door and sealing myself in silence.

My hands curl tight around the steering wheel as I squeeze my eyes closed, bracing for it and having no way to stop what I know is coming, as images slam into me with brutal force.

Kissing her goodbye for the last time.

The warmth of our lips lingering like we had all the time in the world.

Feeling the love radiating off of her as she presses a soft kiss to our daughter’s newborn head while she sleeps in my arms.

Watching her long blonde hair gently blow in the breeze as she steps outside and heads to her car.

The storm that came through an hour later.

Hearing the sound of the rain pelting the glass from the ferocious wind.

The call moments later that made me drop to my knees.

Pain.

Anger.

Grief.

They circle around me now like predators, each one waiting for its turn to sink its teeth into me.

My phone vibrates in my jacket, dragging me back to the present. I loosen my grip and reach into my pocket, seeing Mae’s name light up the screen with a photo attached.

The second I open the text message, everything inside me shifts.

My breath starts to even out, and love begins to seep into the shadows, reminding me of why I need to keep going.

Blonde curls lay across her pillow as her little sleeping body rests on its side. She’s clutching Stormy, our dolphin mascot, to her chest. It was a gift I gave her the day she was born, although now it wears a pink tutu skirt across its tail fin.

My finger traces the screen over her long, dark lashes and cute button nose.

She’s the spitting image of Jules and the last reminder of how beautiful our life once was.

Because of her, I got through the darkest time of my life.

I had someone more important than myself who needed me, giving me both the strength and a reason to wake up each day and put one foot in front of the other.

A constant reminder that life goes on…that life needs to go on.

She’s the reason I can still smile…that I still laugh.

Because of her, my life still has a light left in it.

She’s the reason my heart still beats.

The only reason my heart still feels anything at all.