Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(14)

Game 38 – Nashville Predators

Sunday, December 27, 2009

(Home Game)



The boys and I were tired during the morning skate. We skated around, passing pucks between ourselves, ignoring O'Brien in the corner. Every so often he'd shout something at us, but we would ignore him just for the hell of it. We liked to piss him off sometimes. Coming off a win last night, we tested our luck. Had we lost, there would have been a different mood on the ice.

Finally, O'Brien blew the whistle and our unwanted drills began. We skated to the cadence of his relentless chatter, sprinting in between the blue lines, coasting through the corners, and then sprinting again; it continued for several minutes. We practiced more than we played, but doing so we worked toward one goal: becoming a team. We focused on power plays, face-offs, fore-checking, breakout putters, practicing, and conditioning. We never enjoyed it, but we understood where it led us.

The whistle blew again, followed by more words of instructions, and then we teamed up by our jersey color into line rushes: two-on-ones and one-on-ones.

We couldn't control our energy from the win, Remy and Leo especially. Each bad play became more entertaining and amusing than the last. When Ryan's pass to Leo crashed against the underside of a seat, five rows into the stands, O'Brien blew his whistle and called for a scrimmage.

Leo got in line. "I wanna shove that f*cking whistle up his ass," he remarked, skating by.

I chuckled, the thought not far from my mind either.

Scrimmage didn't go any better. At first, he stopped the play with each mistake he saw, but eventually he gave up. It turned into a game of us messing around, breakaways, and countless goals. We celebrated in a suggestively vulgar manner we were unable to do when twenty thousand fans were watching.

After practice, Leo and Remy were hunting. They found a Gatorade Ryan left in his locker while he was in the shower, so they unscrewed the cap and taped his shoes together. Leo left and I checked my phone, looking for any indication the hospital might have called to tell me Ami was awake. Maybe then I'd stop thinking about her. I had it in my head that if she would wake up, I'd know that she would be fine and could finally move on.

Ryan came back from his shower and turned on the television and then took a seat next to me. He lifted the Gatorade to put it in his bag. A wash of red liquid went all over his clean pants.

"Fucking Leo!"

Laughter broke out in the shower.

Most of the time I would leave right after the morning skate, but sometimes I lingered around the players' lounge a little longer before we ate lunch. Comfortable around my boys, I found it a place to unwind and think about what the night would bring. The players' lounge became our refuge. When restaurants, streets, and basically any public place were no longer options, when the team plane, buses, and even the locker room were cluttered with press, we had this room. For an hour and half before the games, there were no coaches, no press, no friends, no fans, and no family. It was just us boys, the Chicago Blackhawks, uniting, getting along, and turning the team into a family.

Resting my head against the side of my cubby, one thought was never far from my mind: the girl.

After the morning skate and lunch, I reached inside my wallet and pulled out the business card Detective Paulsen gave me. I dialed the number and waited for him to answer. When he didn't I left a message asking if he had any leads, knowing he wouldn't call me back. It was probably against whatever rules they had, seeing how I had no ties to Ami.

Instead of taking a nap like I usually would, I went back to the hospital to check on Ami.

Wendy was there smiling when I walked up to the third floor. Gloating over her night with Leo, I asked her some more personal questions about Ami. She divulged a few details I didn't know.

She told me that a man came to see her, Blake Keldrick. I recognized the name as her dance instructor the detective said he questioned.

"He's kinda weird," she said, her attention on her paperwork, feet propped up on her desk. There was a moment of silence, and then Wendy cautiously asked, "Do you even know this girl?"

"Weird how?" I leaned against the same desk, avoiding her question, overly curious as to who this Blake guy was and why he was visiting Ami. I knew who he was, but why would he need to see her?

Look at me. Already jealous of her visitors. Fucking pathetic.

Wendy shrugged. "Just weird. He seemed bothered that we wouldn't let him in to see her. It was almost as if he had to see her. The whole situation struck me as odd. He wanted to know who brought her in, if they said anything, if she said anything, and he kept at it until Dr. Dagger asked him to leave. Then he was pissed."

"He didn't go in her room?" The thought that I was the only one that had seen her reassured me. Crazy I know.

"Yep." She winked. "No visitors allowed."

It made me feel better to know that I was the only one allowed in there. I didn't like the idea of this Blake guy hanging around either. I needed to meet this guy for sure.

I didn't go inside her room, out of fear maybe, but it was enough that I was within a few feet of her room. For now.

I had a game. I gave Wendy my cell number and told her to call me if there was any change in Ami's condition. She said she would and asked me to tell Leo to call her.

I would have told Leo, but I doubted he'd even care. Maybe he might call her again, though usually he didn't. He and Remy were the same way. It was like a f*cking contest between Leo, Remy, and Dave to see if they could f*ck every girl in Chicago. I had a feeling they were close to that goal already. Just as I was leaving the hospital, guess who came back?