Delayed Penalty (23 page)

"So what made you realize Evan wasn't for you?"

"It's wasn't so much that I realized anything...it was just kind of out there in the open. I talked to him about it, and he told me that the feelings weren't there for him, and he didn't want to lead me on. Then, after a while, I realized that what I felt was just it being different from what I had with other guys. Evan was gentle and understanding, even if what we were doing was just sex, he made me feel special. Like my time with him was all that mattered."

That I understood because that was exactly how I felt about Evan and what drew me to him, like she said. What if his feelings were like the ones he had for Callie?

We were cool for a while, but then what happened if I got too close? Would he say I was just a friend?

Callie sensed the questions swimming through my head. "Hey, stop that. I'm not sure if he's said it or not, and frankly, it's none of my business, but he loves you. I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

Later that night, I glanced down at my phone, noticing it was almost time for Evan to be getting back to town. The thought sent my tummy flipping.

I hadn't seen him since last Tuesday. When he got home he asked, "Did you have fun with Callie?" He looked over the empty bottle of Jack Daniels next to his couch with his eyebrows raised.

"Callie is great. I really enjoyed her company." Evan gave me a nod with a soft smile. "She's a good friend."

He cleared his throat gently. "And what about me?"

Shit. Now what do I say?
"I thought you were more than a friend."

There was no questioning the look in his eyes, and I wasn't about to. Soon we were wrapped around each other on that all too comfy couch again.

I wanted to ask him a few more questions but never got around to it. He fell asleep before I had the chance.

Game 79 – Dallas Stars

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

I had dinner with Evan's mom and sister that night. They came over with take-out from
Girl and the Goat
, and we watched the Hawks play Dallas.

That was when his mom informed me that I was good for Evan. It seemed everyone was wanting to convince me these days. It must have been all over my face. Good for him in the sense that she didn't worry about him when he was with me. She often worried that her boy would get caught up in the lifestyle of being a professional athlete and become different. I had to remind her that would never be Evan. I could never see that happening to him.

"What the deal with you two?" Caitlin finally asked, someone had to ask it. The entire situation was strange. He saved me from dying and hadn't left my side. I was young, he knew that, but the fact that I had no one else made it seem, well, like some kind of rich pro saving the troubled girl. It was far from that, though. If you looked close enough when we were together, you saw it—felt it even. We had something neither of us could walk away from. But still, we weren't dating officially.

"I'm not sure. I like him a lot."

Caitlin laughed, as did Judy. They weren't buying my "
I like him a lot"
cop out.

"Ami, I may be his mother, but I'm not blind. I've seen the way you look at him and the way he looks at you. It's more than just friends."

"I just…" I hesitated a moment, the anxiety of admitting it out loud was terrifying. "I have this connection to him I can't explain, and I'm not sure I can do it justice with words. I lost my family. I lost everything I loved last summer, and then I come here and…" I had to stop and swallow, my mouth felt impossibly dry, admitting this to his family. "But I heard a voice when I was out of it. I thought it was my brother telling me not to give up. Then Evan Masen showed up at the hospital when I woke up, and it was him. He's the one that told me to fight. Begged me to hold on."

"What do you remember about that night?" Caitlin asked.

Judy nudged her. "Caitlin!"

"It's okay. I don't mind." And so I told them my story. "I was dancing at Ballet Chicago and met Blake Keldrick, my instructor. He let me stay with him and his wife, Sena. It'd been about three weeks since I had moved to Chicago, and Blake asked if I wanted to go to dinner with him. So I did. I didn't think anything of it. When his wife didn't come, I still didn't think anything of it. I was seventeen. What would a thirty-two year old man want to do with a seventeen-year-old? I remember him kissing me, and then I slapped him and left the restaurant. That's where my memory of the night ends." I looked at Judy and Caitlin, who had both grabbed each one of my hands. "There are a few images that come to mind, but nothing of substance aside from something that was said to me by whoever it was. I can picture his face sometimes. He had dark eyes."

"What do you remember him saying to you?" Caitlin asked, her eyes wide and glossy.

"You want it, don't you? I bet you like it rough."

"Are you're sure it wasn't Blake?"

"I don't know that it wasn't him, but I know he was questioned from what Evan and the detective told, me. His DNA didn't match the blood and…" I wasn't sure how graphic to be with Caitlin, though she was only two years younger than me. "…fluids he left."

It was a relief telling Caitlin and Judy about what happened. It felt like I had finally crossed a line. As if by me talking to people, like Evan and his family, I could be open and deal with it. I didn't need to keep this to myself and deal with it alone. I had a family again.

Beat the defense – to get by one or both the defensemen.

Game 81 – Colorado Avalanche's

Friday, April 9, 2010

When he got back that night from the game with the Colorado Avalanches, he was all smiles and ready for our date Saturday night. I knew we only had one night, and then they had their last game against the Detroit Red Wings before the playoffs started.

We both needed a distraction.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, taking me by the hand once we were out of the car, leading me through the doors of the restaurant. Bystanders on the street pointed at him, smiling, doing that forget-my-own-name stare when they realized it was a Chicago Blackhawk who they'd just seen.

I kind of laughed. "Yeah, I'm hungry," I said, attempting to be flirtatious. Not sure if it was taken that way, but he did smile at me.

He chuckled again when I tripped slightly in my high heels. I swore it was a hill in the floor, but it was merely a rock. Nudging me inside with our joined hands, the waiter showed us to our table in the back that Evan had apparently reserved.

"You definitely have some clout in this city, don't you?"

Evan smiled sheepishly and gave a tip of his head as if to say yes, but it wasn't something he was necessarily comfortable with.

After dinner we sat in a comfortable silence when I said, "I wanna know more about your world and what it's like."

Evan smiled, his eyes watching me, and then reached for my hand. "I'll show you."

Before I knew it, we were at the United Center and he was taking me inside. I'd seen a little of the United Center before, but I'd never walked in the way a Chicago Blackhawks player did. Through a few different doors, down a long hallway and to the left, was the entrance only players, the media, and coaches saw. Above the door was a sign that read:
One Goal
. Walking through the double doors, I tried to imagine what Evan must feel each time before a game.

I couldn't because I wasn't a player.

But as a fan the feeling was unbelievable to see what those boys did on the ice, and this was where they prepared for that.

Sneaking a glance up at Evan, he smiled, his eyes shining and his hand on the door. "Wanna go inside."

Of course I did. Through a series of locked doors he apparently had stolen keys for, we were inside the United Center in a place only the players and coaches saw.

Inside the locker room were benches with cubbies and the names of the players plastered above them.

On the floor was the Blackhawk Indian that Evan informed me you could
not
step on. Something about superstition, and I wasn't about to mess with it.

It was quiet, not what I was expecting, but it also wasn't swarming with players.

Behind a set of double doors, there was the players' lounge where only players were allowed, though Evan let me walk inside. Plush leather couches were situated around the television that hung on the wall. The individual players' stalls wrapped around that.

"So this is where you guys all walk around naked?" I felt my cheeks flush, thinking of Evan naked, before the words were even out.

Evan laughed, throwing his head back. "Yeah, we get naked in here. Remy gets naked everywhere, though."

I knew that already.

Sticks and gear were lined up in the stalls, ready for the players tomorrow night. I saw Evan's name above his stall and reached forward to touch his stick, stroking it just to mess with him. He groaned and then I took it in my hand, bringing my hand down, trying to hold it like a hockey player. Evan laughed again at my stance and the way I had the stick held out in front of me in my striking position. "Am I doing this right?"

He moved forward, his chest pressed into my back, his voice at my ear. "Yeah, but you gotta stop that."

Score.

Evan must have sensed that things were heating up, they always did between us, and he moved back about a foot.

"What's it like to walk onto the ice from here?"

His smile said a lot. He was waiting for me to ask that. I could tell that was what he really wanted to show me since this was the place his heart was.

Securing a pair of skates he found, which were four sizes too big for me, even with ten pairs of socks, I watched closely as he put a pair of pads over my shoulders. His hands were impossibly gentle given how aggressive he could be, tugging occasionally to tighten either the laces on the skates or the pads he insisted I wear.

Before long I was all decked out in gear, pads, and a helmet. He was also wearing his hockey gear. "Are you planning on knocking me around a bit?" I asked, laughing as he tightened the chin strap of my helmet.

"Safety first," he whispered, throwing a teasing look my direction, kissing my cheek. "Have you ever been on the ice?"

"No," I lied. It was an honest white lie and something I could use to my advantage tonight. What little advantage one could have on a guy like Evan Masen.

When we approached the long hallway to the ice, I wondered if he got a rush out of this or if he felt overwhelmed by it at times. What did he think when he made his way onto the ice?

Before we stepped onto the rink, Evan removed the skate guards and then helped me through the boards.

I skated forward slowly, but my legs were so weak and tense that I constantly felt like I was going to fall. I caught the ice a few times, pitching myself forward, but Evan was right there, his hands wrapped around my waist. "I've got you," he reassured me, still holding me close. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I said, nodded watching my feet.

Unwinding his arms and moving in front of me, he reached out and held my hands as he skated backward.

"There's something incredibly sexy about a man who can skate backward."

Evan raised his brow, watching me carefully. His fingers brushed over my cheek. "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah."

We continued to make our way around the ice, Evan lazily coasting backward as I tried to skate. I didn't tell him this wasn't my first time ice skating, but then I thought I could tease him a little. My strides became longer and smoother, and he looked at me when I skated past him. "You're such a little liar."

"Hey, I couldn't give away all my secrets." His eyes narrowed at me. "And I never said I couldn't skate. You didn't ask."

"Since you're so good on your feet, whaddaya say we play a game of one-on-one." I quirked an eyebrow at him, waiting for what he was going to say next. "Only I make the rules."

"What do you have in mind?"

He chuckled with mild amusement. "For every goal you score, I take something off, but for every one I block, you take something off."

"Is it safe?" I asked, clearing my throat as though I actually had to think about it.

"Are you afraid you can't get it past me?"

"No, I'm afraid some old dude on a Zamboni is gonna walk in and see me naked."

"We're all alone," he said playfully, skating over to the bench. He leaned over the boards and grabbed two sticks and a puck.

He let it fall to the ice, the sound echoing throughout the arena. Handing me one, he said, "Ready?"

I gave him a nod, unsure of how exactly to play the game, but I understood the general idea. Get the puck in the goal.

We stood there facing each other. He defended his goal and I stood in front of him with my most intimidating glare. It was all he could do not to laugh.

I tried to act like I had moves, and I didn't, but when I shot the puck at the goal, he let it go by. He didn't even try for it. His jersey came off with that goal.

I smiled, feeling confident, only I knew that one would probably be my one and only goal. I wasn't so sure he was going to let the other ones go as easily.