Delayed Penalty (13 page)

But sadly, I was left there wondering what she would think of me and if she wanted something more than a friendship eventually.

I wanted to know her, too. That was what got me. I wanted to
really
know her. I wanted to know everything about her, like what her favorite food was so I could order her dinner without blinking an eye or shopping for her without having to think long and hard about what she would like. I just wanted to know her.

Game 58 – Dallas Stars

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

I couldn't get Ami out of my head.

I would lay there in bed, think of her, get mad that I was thinking of her in ways I shouldn't, and then have to get up and work out just to focus on something else. A few things happened. I got in better shape, sure, but I also never slept. That right there wasn't good for me considering the focus I needed on the ice.

The worst part was I knew I shouldn't have helped her take that bath at the hospital the other night, and now I had all these naked images of her in my brain. The perverted part wanted to see more. A lot more. My first mistake and lack of judgment, that I blamed on the sleep deprived state I was in, was what I did after the game with the Stars.

Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline, but I always found myself amped after a game and well...horny. Not sure why, but it'd always been that way for me ever since my junior hockey days when hormones started.

When I got to the hospital that night and Ami was moving around with a bright smile and those starry eyes, I reacted when she hugged me. I kissed her.

It was our first kiss and that was how I did it. Pathetic. I was a charmer that night for sure. Bullshit. I was fucking lucky she didn't lay my ass out.

But…she surprised me when she smiled again, resting her forehead against mine, her eyes fluttering closed the instant my mouth found hers again.

This kiss wasn't as rushed, and I was able to feel her soft skin and mouth melting with mine, consuming me. Slowly, we let the kiss develop, never rushed as it deepened. I didn't push or use my hands; I just increased the pressure letting her know I wanted it.

My tongue traced along her bottom lip, asking, and she gladly let me. I'd like to say I remembered the kiss, but I was more caught up in the fact that I was kissing her than how it felt.

Eventually I pulled back, wondering if she was going to slap the shit out of me, but then she smiled instead of knocking me out. That was cool. I could work with that.

"That's an interesting way of saying hello." Her smile, God, that fucking smile, made me want to kiss her again.

"Sorry," I said, taking a seat next to the bed, afraid I actually would kiss her.

"It's okay." She seemed to fidget for a moment and then took to her bed again. "I didn't say it was bad. It was cool, just interesting."

Game 60 – Atlanta Thrashers

Saturday, February 13, 2010

(Home Game)

Times like this were my favorite to practice. I didn't mind the practices when fans watched, but empty ice was my favorite. It cleared my head.

I'd set the music to whatever I wanted, mostly Filter on mornings like this, but it varied.

The boys weren't here yet, so it left me some time to just skate and play the puck. I wasn't forced into drills and repetition of different shots. I could just skate and clear my head.

That was when Ami would come into mind.

If I closed my eyes, I could see her and picture that kiss and those pretty fucking starry eyes.

Fuck. Stop thinking about her.

I'd set an easy pace around the ice, building speed as I rounded the corner and then snagged a puck. I brought it to the end of my stick and balanced it there before juggling it and slapping it into the net like a baseball player would.

Then I thought of Ami again.

Damn it.

Thankfully, the guys made their way on the ice and our morning practice started.

Pushing pucks around, we slapped them at the net. Fans were there this morning watching. A young girl, maybe twelve, stood next to the glass trying to take a picture of Leo so I stuck my stick in the way.

She glared and then looked toward me, a leveling glare that gave way to a smile. Flushed cheeks appeared, so I smiled in return and hit the glass with my shoulder and skated away knowing that simple interaction made that girl's day.

"Jail bait," Remy chirped when I passed by and then made a siren sound.

"How are you and the ballerina doin'?" Dave asked, taking a shot at Leo with his stick when he came by.

"She's getting released soon," I said, circling a puck and then flipping it up onto my stick. "So I guess that's good."

"Does she remember?" he asked, watching Remy and Cage shove each other and then Leo getting in the middle of it.

"No. Nothing from that night."

"Glad she's getting better, man. We were all pulling for her." He gave me a wink and then Leo came back by, and Dave took off to send him flying into the boards.

Same shit, different day.

Dave had always been the guy on the team that made sure the guys were okay. If you were sick or running behind on the ice, he'd sit you down and ask what the problem was. He was always sort of the team psychologist. All of us felt comfortable going to him and talking about anything. Me included. After that night with Ami all the guys knew something was up with me. My attitude had changed on and off the ice.

That game against Atlanta was intense, mostly because Leo was getting into every other play with Atlanta's center.

That was when Joel gave a low hit on Leo and knocked him down hard into the boards.

Leo immediately jumped to his feet and chased after him. Apparently, he wasn't having any of it and shoved Sadler against the board, giving him a few words. Leo was smaller than me and most defensemen. He was your average size for any center, but he could give it when needed. That night he gave it.

I'd never gotten along with Joel Sadler. We played in the Major Juniors together.

If you were to ask the coaches back then, and people frequently did, they'd say we were at each other's throats most of the time. I didn't know if that was true, but we did have our fair share of time in the penalty box.

Joel took another cheap shot at Leo on the face off and popped him in the mouth with his stick when the ref returned.

Chewing on my mouth guard, racking up minutes in the box, a girl tapped on the glass. I gave her a nod but not much else. My attention was on the ice and how I was going to let Joel know that even though he'd gotten away with it this time, he wasn't going to soon.

Bottom line was, if someone picked on our boys, like they were doing that night, I'd lay them out. Funny enough, I started out playing goalie and then moved to right wing. When the coaches saw how much I defended the other players, they moved me to defense. With that came the fighting.

Some thought I loved to fight. And I wouldn't necessarily disagree with them, but I wasn't doing it just to fight.

Did I like fighting?

Not really, but I was good at it, and that was how I got to be a defenseman.

A few things cause a hockey player to drop his gloves and dance: retaliation or retribution. For example, a guy checks up from behind and skates away. Then as you're making your shift change, he whacks you on the back of the legs. This warrants dropping the gloves the next time you meet on the ice. Provoking some players would challenge the other team for the sole purpose of winning. It was all about gaining the mental edge in hockey. A good scrape swung your way could do that, and it got the whole venue on their feet.

Then there was the intimidation. It went hand and hand with fear. Most fans had no idea how much trash talking went on, and they'd be surprised how much of it was for intimidation. School yard bullies at their finest. You wanted the other guy to think you were going to kick the shit out of him and make him think you were serious. We did this a lot in junior hockey, and still do in the NHL, but we had way more fun with it back in the junior leagues.

It was all about sending a message, and sometimes that message was personal.

There were times when fighting was done to draw a penalty, too. It was designed to change the way of play, to break it up. If you had a guy out there scoring, it was a way to get him off the ice.

Most wondered how we fought. How did we let them know? Well, it was as simple as dropping your gloves. There were times when I resisted and told them, "Hey, pick up your fucking gloves, you pussy. I'm not fighting you."

Other times, no words were exchanged. You simply grabbed their shoulders, slashed their stick, pushed them from behind, a glove to the face, all effective ways of letting them know you were ready for them.

We ended up winning against Atlanta, and then we were off to Ohio, and then we'd have a few week break.

I spent my twenty-first birthday on a plane, sleeping next to Leo, on our way home from Ohio after winning the game in overtime. Feeling pretty good, on that adrenaline again, I went straight to the hospital to see Ami.

This time she was asleep. It was late, and part of me was glad. A little drunk and after a win, I wasn't sure what I'd do. Instead, I wrote her a little note next to the key chain of a ballerina I'd picked up for her at the airport. Eventually I left, but not before watching her sleep for a while.

She was so peaceful. Her cheeks were red, her blankets bunched up near her face like she was cold. Reaching for another blanket in the closet, I situated that one on her to add to the mountain of blankets she always had. She liked to be warm.

I left after that and went back home to celebrate the rest of my birthday with Leo, Dave, and Remy. Bad idea.

During our break in the schedule, from the time we played the Blue Jackets to the time we were set to play the Islanders, I got to know Ami even more. Thankfully, I kept my hands and my lips to myself, but it was nice to talk to a girl that didn't care that I was a hockey player.

Even though she struggled with a few infections, Ami was slowly coming around and making a full recovery. The doctors assured us that there wouldn't be any lasting effects on her, and that even though she had some internal injuries from the guy being so forceful with her, she would be able to resume sexual activity if she chose to.

The fact that she would be okay had me hopeful. The fact that they mentioned sexual activity while I was in the room, assuming we were together, made me slightly uncomfortable.

Ami didn't seem one bit fazed by it.

They even had a counselor come in and talk with her about her situation, being a rape victim. They described to her, and even me, that she might go through stages, especially during intimacy, where she may feel ashamed or depressed, maybe even powerless.

Until then I never thought about the lasting effects of her being raped. Would she ever have a normal relationship again? Would she want to?

They were all things I wanted to ask but didn't. It made me feel almost bad for kissing her. What if that made her feel powerless?

Regardless of what I thought or feared, I went off how Ami reacted. Never did she show any hesitation with our friendship, or flirting, or even that kiss. For a guy like me, those were all signs that indicated she was okay with it. Knowing the side of Ami that I did, if she didn't want it, she would certainly tell me.

The day she was released, Monday, March 1
st
, marked nearly ten weeks spent in the hospital. She was happy to be released.

First thing she made me do was stop and get her a hamburger.

Then we drove the seven hours from Chicago to Pittsburgh because Ami didn't want to fly. That I understood, and it was a fun drive, too. We took my new Audi and the seat heaters were her best friend. She liked to be warm after all. Not only did she have her seat heater on full blast, but she also had the heat cranked all the way up. I was dying. Half the trip I had my damn head out the window, trying not to burn alive in my own car.

When we got to my parents' house in Pittsburgh, it took everything I had to leave her there. I knew she was in good hands, but it wasn't just minutes away like she was at the hospital. Now she was a few states away.

We sat outside talking about my last game when every so often Caitlin would peek her head out the door and then throw her arms up, as if her patience was running thin. Ami had met my mom but had yet to meet my dad and sister. They were both excited to meet the girl that had captivated their hockey headed son and brother.

If you knew me before Ami, you'd understand what my life was. Hockey. I didn't date, I had sex, yes, but there was no dating and no bringing a girl home to meet the parents. I wasn't a player like Leo and Remy, but I just didn't have time for that sort of thing. I was living for hockey.

I handed Ami a cell phone I had bought. "Here, I programed my number in case you need to get in touch with me."

Ami hesitated for a moment and then took the phone. "Keeping track of me, are you?"