Delayed Penalty (30 page)

Clearing the zone – When a defending player sends the puck out of the opponent's attacking zone, all the attacking players must leave or clear the zone to avoid being called offsides when the puck re-enters the zone.

An awareness for the situation took over, and Callie cleared her throat, our arms intertwined, clutching each other at what we just witnessed.

I felt nauseous seeing Evan lying on the ice. I felt mentally drained and scared. I had no idea what happened out there or why they were fighting like that, but I knew it was for a reason. Evan wouldn't have let the fight go on like that if it wasn't personal. But Dave was his friend so that didn't make sense to me.

"What was that about?" I asked Callie. She shrugged and pointed behind her. "We should go. Leo just sent a text and said they're taking Evan to the hospital."

The medical personnel mostly hovered around Dave, who was still on the ice, blood pouring from his mouth and nose, but Evan had limped off with the help of the trainer and Remy, only to collapse once he was off the ice.

"We have to go," I pleaded, attempting to move from our seats. There was no moving. The crowd was still cheering and booing at the same time, beating their hands against the glass as another player from San Jose was in Coach O'Brien's face.

It was madness, nothing I had ever seen before.

After jostling our way through the crowd, we met Remy outside. He was the only one who managed to get away from the media, which were hovering in every corner. Leo was stuck talking with one trying to get them to focus on the game and not the fight.

None of us said anything, and I didn't ask what happened because I didn't think Remy even knew. He looked stunned just like us.

The slight chill in the air brought back a flash of memories from that night, words I hadn't remembered coming back to me.
"Where are you going all alone?"

The memory made me sick again. The rush of blood to my ears blocked out the conversation that just began between Callie and Remy about what hospital they took him to.

When we pulled up at the emergency entrance, there were about four cop cars surrounding the circle drive and a dozen more inside, each one looking at us as we rushed in. Remy asked the male nurse at the front desk where Evan was, and he said Evan was with the police.

What?

"Why would he be with the police?" I asked. My voice cracked, and Remy looked over at me. He wrapped his arm around me to comfort me.

Callie stepped to the desk, her hands resting on the counter, leaning in. "We just need to know if he's okay, and then we will have a seat and wait. That's his girlfriend." She raised her hand to touch my shoulder. "Can she at least see him for a moment?"

"No, sorry." The man looked at his clipboard. "But I will let you know when you can if you would please just have a seat over there."

Remy wasn't having it, but when a policeman stepped in between him and the nurse, he backed off.

Once inside, we sat there for two hours before we could see him. Two fucking hours.

When they finally did tell me that I could see him, they said he was asking for me.

It was a strange feeling being back in a hospital, both sickening and overwhelming as memories I hadn't had before kept looping in my head. The chill returned, and I found myself curling into my sweatshirt as I walked through the automatic doors into the emergency room. Each room had glass walls with a bed and monitors surrounding them.

Evan was in the one to the far left, sitting up on the bed in a gown with his feet dangling over the edge. His uniform had been removed and was in a pile on the floor. He was dressed in a white and light green hospital gown that was open in the front. Bruises and blood covered his chest. That was where my eyes went first and then to his face, but I couldn't see it. He wouldn't look up. Even when he heard the glass doors open, he kept his head down.

Then I noticed the man sitting in the chair beside him. Detective Paulsen. My detective.

"What are you doing here?" My case had been closed months ago.

"Give us a minute," Evan growled, his voice directed at the floor. He wouldn't look up.

The detective stood and moved to the door, and without looking at me, he left us alone.

Stepping to Evan, he flinched slightly when I touched his hand. "Broken," he said, confirming my thoughts when I noticed how swollen it was. I started to cry again, confused by everything and feeling bad that I had just touched his broken hand.

"I'm sorry."

Evan gasped, finally looking up at me, his body practically vibrating with an anger. He was breathing deeply through his nose.

My brow furrowed at my reactions. "What's going on, Evan?" I asked, ducking down to move in front of him since he wouldn't look at me. He lifted his head just enough to catch my eyes.

For a moment he didn't take his eyes away from mine, searching for the words that wouldn't come.

Another doctor walked in and looked at Evan's forehead where he had a large piece of gauze tinged with blood taped to his head. Evan's eyes remained on mine as the doctor examined him, poking and prodding. "Mase," the team doctor said, "we need to get that stitched up, but I'll give ya a minute." The doctor finally left the room, the glass door making a swishing sound as it closed behind him.

"Evan, what happened?" I begged him, reaching up to softly touch the raised skin over his cheek that was turning purple, trying to return his gaze to me so I could decipher what the fuck happened and what was running through his head. His hand shook, reaching toward me, and covered mine, pressing his cheek into my palm.

He seemed to fidget a bit, swallowing deeply and darting his gaze away from mine again. I reached my other hand up to cup his face, gently stroking over the ridge of his jaw just below his ears.

I would have laughed at his expression if the circumstances were any different. He looked tired but still angry. When he looked back at the floor, I understood whatever happened tonight wasn't going to be easy for him to say.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough, the sound making me tremble.

"Why was Detective Paulsen in here?" I couldn't stand seeing him look so angry and sad, but there was a lot about tonight I didn't understand. I wanted to understand.

Evan's shoulders hunched a bit compared to his normal strong posture. His face, which I placed my hand on trying to get him to look at me again, was covered in his playoff scruff, which could no longer be called scruff with how thick it had grown in. My fingers scraped against it.

"Dave…" Evan gasped again, his head shaking with a dejected anger, and then he tried to swallow, but it looked like he was swallowing sand. "He was the guy who…" His eyes found mine, glossed over and heavy. He was holding on by a thread, rapidly blinking back tears. "Raped you."

I watched his mouth move, and I heard the words but didn't react. Everything felt like it was in slow motion.

It was like that feeling you got when someone told you something but you weren't sure if what you heard was what he or she really said. Your mind kept repeating the phrase, trying to make sense of it. Then you asked, "What?" Even though you had heard them. You knew exactly what they said, but your mind rejected the words as if they were wrong. They had to be wrong.

Evan swallowed again, and I wanted to hand the poor guy water. He was struggling.

"Dave is the guy," he repeated, his brow furrowed as he searched my eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry that I didn't…I didn't know it was him."

The fight replayed in my mind. I saw it all clearly now. The way Dave looked at me when he skated by the glass. Him winking at Callie and the total disgust she had for him. The way Evan checked him at center ice and never looked back was his first warning to Dave. And then he'd dropped his gloves, defending me.

He had nothing to be sorry for. He protected me, he stood up for me when no one else did. My stomach dropped when a memory hit me: dark, intense eyes, controlling and hovering over me, hands forcefully pulling at my clothes.

I swallowed, trying to gain focus, pushing the memory away. Holding my breath, I felt like my lungs were going to burst, but then again, what if I breathed now?

Would I feel the memory again? Would everything come crashing back? For so long I didn't remember a lot, and I thanked my mind for that. I didn't want to remember.

I couldn't even imagine what Evan must have been feeling when he knew it was Dave. For months, Evan had been carrying around the anxiety of not knowing who it was and that people like that were all around us. It didn't sit well with him. And then to find out it was a friend of his, someone who had given him a place to stay his first season, someone he trusted, he had every right to feel what he was feeling.

He reached out, circling his arms around my waist and pulling me forward to rest against him, my head on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," Evan said in a dejected voice, his fingers rubbing circles on my back.

"Stop, don't be sorry," I said firmly, his eyes snapping back to mine. "You weren't the one that did it. This wasn't something you could have controlled. Dave did what he did because, well, he's a fucker.
You
have nothing to be sorry for."

"I feel so fucking helpless. I couldn't stand back. I lost it when I heard him say…what you remembered." His arms lowered, and he slumped against me, resting his head on my shoulder and clinging desperately to my waist. "And he was my fucking friend. I trusted him and then he…I just can't believe he could do something like that to you. So hateful, so brutal, so unthinkable."

"Mase," I whispered, my fingers tightening on his face to focus his attention on me and my words. "I love you."

His lips curved into a soft smile, his fingers trailing down from my wrists over my forearms to hold my elbows, bringing me closer between his legs and wrapping his arms around my waist. He bent his head forward, resting against my shoulder again.

"Ami," he whispered, his face serious again. "You're worth it." His fingers stroked along my cheek, his words shaking. "You are so fucking worth it."

I gazed up at him, and the intensity of the look in his eyes left me no room for doubt.

Leaning back just slightly, he stared deeply into my eyes, lowering his face to mine and rubbing the tip of his nose gently against my own. My breath caught in my throat at the intimate gesture. He pulled back, a content smile on his face.

"Are you okay?"

He didn't speak, barely even nodded, just gave on dip of his chin to answer me. His eyes locked on mine, and his mouth was just barely open. I leaned in, as if I was going to kiss him, and his eyes fluttered close. Then I kissed him on his swollen lip, the taste of blood present on my tongue from where his lip had been split open.

Evan broke down when he told me. I could see that now, but I was also grateful that it was him, the voice I needed, telling me the truth even though it broke him.

Barely a breath away, for a moment, he lived inside my heart and saw my soul, and I didn't have to tell him. He knew.

"Ask me," he urged in a passionate whisper, dipping his face low so that it was level with my own. "Ask me why I did it."

"Why?"

"Because whatever it was that made me walk down that alley drew me in, and I'm never letting go." He paused, then imploring me with his eyes to trust him, believe him, and understand him. This wasn't something he could walk away from.

"Don't let go. I need you," I said, feeling like given the circumstances, he needed to know that.

He froze, his eyes wide, his mouth slack. When I smiled, he came back around.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice low and full of emotion.

I swallowed once, needing my voice to be clear and strong. "Don't let go. I need you." Tears fell down my cheeks only to be rubbed away by his thumbs.

I would have said more, I wanted to say more, but his lips crashed to mine instead, and I lost myself in emotion. For so long I didn't want to rely on anyone anymore out of fear that they'd be taken away from me. But with Evan, I had no choice. He was there, giving his heart, begging me to love him. Something about him and that boyish grin and big heart made me fall, when I had no business falling for anyone, let alone a guy like Evan. But I did, and I didn't regret it.

Evan had to get stitched up and needed a splint put on his hand so I stepped out. Suddenly, looking at Callie, I was flooded with the memory of her telling me about a hockey player she hooked up with being rough and her ending up with a black eye. Now it made sense.

"Callie..." Tears streamed down her red cheeks, knowing what I was going to ask. "Was Dave the guy who knocked you around?"

Callie nodded, unable to speak. My heart hurt for her, letting guys treat her like that and
not
saying anything. Callie didn't sleep around to be a slut, though it appeared that way. She just liked hockey boys. There was nothing wrong with that. Just because she slept with a few different ones at a time, she never committed and played the ice. But to be hurt by one, physically, wasn't something she should allow. Callie was wise enough to understand that, and she stuck up for herself in some ways, but she also didn't say anything about Dave because she thought she could handle it. I know that if she knew Dave was the guy who attacked me, she would have spoken up.

"I'm sorry." My arms cradled around her, trying to ease her pain. Callie was my best friend, and I didn't want her crying over this. Dave didn't deserve her tears.

"I'm sorry that I didn't say anything," she began, trying to brush her tears aside. She straightened her posture, squaring her shoulders. "If I would have known that Dave was the same guy who…well, I would have said something a long time ago. I feel so…angry that I didn't say anything. I…I could have…I never realized, until now, how badly I could have been hurt. He almost killed you, Ami, he could have if it wasn't for Evan, and knowing that…" Callie shook her head, tears flowing more freely to the point she could barely speak. "I hate him, and I'm ashamed at myself at how careless I was, how easily I blew it off."