Page 1 of Scarred

ONE

CAYDEN

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.