Maybe I stare just a little too long because Malik grabs a napkin and wipes his face, still chewing the bite he just took. I go ahead and attack the corner of my sandwich, savoring the explosion of flavors in my mouth.
“You’re native to Pittsburgh, right?” Malik asks.
I nod, taking a sip of my Diet Coke before answering. “Born and raised. Moved away at eighteen, but I knew I’d come back one day. It’s home.”
“College?” Malik guesses. He takes another bite, content to listen.
“Yeah… in Ohio at Bowling Green. But I dropped out after my sophomore year to join the Army.”
Malik sucks in a surprised gasp. He proceeds to have a coughing fit as food enters his lungs. Taking a few sips of his drink, he clears his throat and studies me in wonderment. “Why would you drop out of college for the military?”
I shrug, picking a French fry out of my sandwich. “I liked college and all, but I really didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. It was getting to be time to declare my major, and I just didn’t know. It felt like a waste of time and money. So, I decided to try the military, and I ended up loving it.”
Malik shakes his head, a respectful gleam in his eye. “Just… wow. It’s impressive you had the guts to follow your… well, your gut instinct. And major respect for joining the military.”
Malik holds his fist out to me. Without thought, I reach across the table and bump mine against his.
“Why did you go into the Marines?” I ask.
I’m able to eat several bites of my sandwich as he tells me about his family’s mixed heritage. American mother who fell in love with Montreal and Malik’s father, so that’s where they chose to raise their family.
All the Fournier boys were into hockey, but Malik didn’t love it the way his older brothers Max and Lucas did. I found it touching Malik’s passion was in following in his American grandfather’s footsteps into the Marine Corps, to defend a country he wasn’t raised in but still had ties to.
“Still, I miss playing hockey,” Malik muses. “When I was active duty, I’d play on a local rec league if one was available.”
“And do you cheer for your brothers’ team?” I tease. “Or are your loyalties elsewhere?”
“As long as my brothers are with the Cold Fury, then that’s my number-one team.” The love and pride in his voice causes warmth to spread in my chest. As an only child, I don’t understand the tie of siblings, but I very much enjoy the way he lights up as he talks about his family. I imagine these are some of the good things he yearned for while a prisoner.
But that’s too heavy of a discussion, even though a deep part of me wants to talk to Malik about his time in Syria. It’s almost as if taking on his pain will help purge the hurt of losing Jimmy. I can’t describe it other than what happened in Syria has seemed to make Malik important to me.
Instead, I keep the conversation light. “Okay… I have to know… how much has Cage bothered you about your brothers?”
Malik’s head tips back as he laughs from deep in his gut. Despite the gauntness in his cheekbones still left behind from months of starvation, the pure humor radiating from his hazel eyes transforms him into a vision of beauty. I’d always thought him handsome, but he’s gorgeous in this moment. His hair was buzzed short when I’d first met him back in June, but it had clearly grown while he was in captivity. I imagine he also had quite the beard when they found him, which has been shaved clean, but he left his dark brown hair long and wavy. It curls around his ears, and almost brushes the collar of his shirt.
I’m so lost in his attractiveness that I’m actually startled when he proclaims, “That guy has got it bad for the Cold Fury. Since he’s from North Carolina, he’s like a zany fan.”
It takes me a moment to understand what he’s talking about as the realization I was just ogling another man—one who is not my husband—shames me. My cheeks heat up. Inside my heart, I immediately apologize. I’m so sorry, Jimmy. So very sorry.
“You know—” Malik continues, clearly not privy to the guilt that’s nearly drowning me right now, “—after they rescued me, one of the first things Cage asked me when we were on a transport plane over to Germany was if I could get him tickets to a Cold Fury game. I told him if he got me a cheeseburger as soon as we landed, I’d get him all the damn tickets he wanted.”
Malik chuckles at the memory, but his reference to wanting a cheeseburger after probably eating nothing but dirt and stale water for months hits me hard. I can feel the heat leave my cheeks. Malik must notice something because he asks, “Did I say something wrong?”