Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(12)

"Oh." Remy looked chastised.

"Yeah, don't be a dick," Leo said, reaching for the tape in my hand. "Leave his girl alone."

"She's not my girl," I said, throwing my stick and walking away. "She's just a girl."

I thought maybe when warm-ups began the boys would drop the questions surrounding Ami, those that knew at least, but they didn't.

"Honestly, man, have you heard anything?" Leo asked, nudging me forward in the line we were waiting in, each one of us taking shots at the goal.

I shrugged. "No." I took my turn at a shot during warm-ups and then circled around the back of the line. Leo did the same and then came up behind me. "I called the hospital when we landed and no word yet."

"You still hung up on her?"

"I wouldn't say I'm hung up on her. Just concerned."

"She's in your zone." His mood shifted, we looked up and saw Cage shove Remy away from him. Instead of trying to shoot the puck for practice, Remy took his stick and waited around the back side of the net. When guys would go for the shot, he'd smack Cage in the back of the head. "Oh man..." He took the end of his stick and jabbed my ribs. "...I forgot to ask you, how was that girl after the Bruins game. She looked wicked."

"Man," I groaned, looking over my shoulder as I remembered the raven haired beauty I took home a few weeks back. "Seriously, five times that night she wanted to go. I finally had to tell her to leave."

With Leo's shit-eating grin and Remy leaning over the boards like he couldn't look at me, I knew something was up.

I looked at Leo. Leo looked at me.

"Are you mic'd up?" I finally asked, taking a shot, unamused. This wasn't the first time Leo had done that shit to me. He once got me talkin' shit about Sid Holgrove, a defenseman with the Boston Bruins, only to find out we were filming a commercial together the next day. I had some explaining to do.

"Yep." He beamed, twirling around as though he was a figure skater. I followed his head tip toward the monitors. "Gotta love ESPN."

"You know..." I shoved him against Remy who approached us, knocking them both into Travis. "...both of you are *s."

"Mase!" Leo gestured to the camera pointed at us. "Keep it PG-13 for the kids."

I wanted to say so much more but didn't.

Coach was eyeing us so calmly; horsing around was done.

When the game started, my mind was focused, but there was always a piece that was going back to Ami. The fact that I couldn't get her out of my head was pissing me off.

Action brought me back to the game. Play was focused in the crease, and it was my job to defend our goal.

My job as a defensemen was to stop an incoming play at the blue line. I broke the plays up, blocked shots, covered forwards, and cleared the puck in front of the goal. If someone was roughing up our forwards, I was also in their face answering the bell.

Offensively speaking, I got the puck to the forwards and followed play into the attacking zone, staying around the blue line at the points.

I wasn't a high scorer since it wasn't my job. My job was to defend and protect with my own style. And I had my own style. Starting out as a forward in junior hockey, I learned speed and accuracy. Then they moved me to a defender position when they saw how forceful I was with the puck.

Turns out it was a good fit for me.

I tended to play with speed and force where guys like Leo would control the puck and slow the plays down, but he had crazy stick skills. It was what we needed and exactly why he was our captain.

I got Leo the puck, and he got the goal. I scored, too, just not as often as the forwards did.

My first NHL goal actually came in game two this year from an assist off Leo.

Play was in the Predators zone at the blue line, quickly moving forward. The puck rolled to Harding, the Predators' goalie, who covered it with his catching glove. Everyone stopped, except for me. I raced for Harding, stopping inches from him, throwing a spray of snow in his face, hacking at his glove again and again. Getty, their left wing, shoved me back, and Harding rolled the puck to another defenseman to my right, and play started back the other way.

This happened every possession change.

A quick pass to Noel, then Foster with the Predators, and it was two-on-one at our blue line with only Travis hanging back. Leo, with his speed, shot up ice and hooked the puck away and followed through onto bare ice.

A shoving match broke out at the crease again. This time it was Remy and Hunt.

For someone with his obvious talent, Remy seemed remarkable. He believed what he said and f*ck if he didn't practice it. He was tough, too. That motherf*cker would knock your teeth out as soon as you turned your back.

"Oh, I'll catch ya with your head down, all right!" Remy shouted back, commotion all around him and Nashville's rookie center.

Nashville called a timeout after that. We stood huddled around the bench, Leo humping his stick and poking it into Ryan's ear. Ryan Shaw, another rookie on our team, sat on the bench with a still fuming Remy.

When play resumed, action moved quickly end to end. No scoring, just fast aggressive play.

Shift changes with the four lines moved freely, everyone taking their turn to spin the game our direction or gain the jump on Nashville.

When you were on the bench you saw the game differently. You saw it for what it was: adrenaline, desire, commitment, heart, sweat, and even ruthlessness at times. You could see the plays, the shit your team was f*cking up, and you could see the skill in players you never noticed before.