Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(15)

Yep. Blake. I knew it was him by the way he walked. Dancers had that way about them, especially male dancers. That wasn't what confirmed it for me; it was when he told the nurse at the counter his name.

"She's not allowed any visitors right now," the nurse told him.

I smiled, knowing I'd just been outside her room and could have gone in if I wanted.

Blake groaned, running his hand over his face. "Listen, I just need to talk to her. It'll only take a few minutes. I need to know that she's okay. I'm worried about her."

The nurse took a more abrasive approach. "You can't see her right now, and you certainly cannot talk to her. She's in a coma. No visitors allowed."

I didn't know much about Blake, but it was apparent Blake was worried about something. Why else would he be pushing to see her this much?

As he was leaving, I decided to have a little chat with him. "Blake?" I followed him out the doors of the emergency room and to his car.

Surprised, he turned around to face me with assessing eyes. "Who are you?"

My tone and smirk were condescending and they were meant to be. "I'm Evan Masen." I let my name sink in for a moment. He knew right then I was a hockey player. If my size and defensive edge didn't give it away, my name did. Blake swallowed. He knew exactly who the f*ck I was, and it wasn't just off the name. He'd seen me before. Here. We passed in the hall the other night. Now that I had a face to go with the name, I knew just how often he'd been coming here. "I'm actually the guy that brought Ami into the hospital the night she was attacked. I saved her." I let that part sink in for a moment, too. He swallowed again, knowing where I was going with this. "Why do you keep coming back here?" That was when it got interesting because his mood went from I-don't-know-you-or-what-you-want to I'm-hiding-something.

He shifted his stance, fidgeting with his keys. "Ami was staying with me. When I heard what happened, I wanted to…see if she was okay."

I snorted and looked at him, only him. "She's not okay. She's had three surgeries on her brain and had her spleen removed. Her lung was punctured, and there isn't an inch of skin that doesn't have a bruise on it." I watch his reaction closely, and then added, "And she was raped."

That was when he flinched, and once again, his mood changed and he got defensive. "It wasn't me. I had dinner with her that night, and I told the detective that. But that's when our night ended."

"What were you doing having dinner with her anyway?"

"She lived with me," he said, as though the reason they were having dinner should have been obvious.

"And you're married, yes?" I knew he was married when the detective let it slip the last time I spoke with him.

Blake gave me this dumbfounded look and then swallowed. "I'm not talking to you about this."

I shrugged. "Fair enough. I hope you have a lawyer."

"I hope you do, too." His dark brown eyes gave me the once over he'd been dying to do since I approached him. It was the once over that screamed, "I know you think you're hot shit, but you're not." It was a look a lot of guys dished out, especially to athletes. "It'd be a shame to lose that $5.7 million contract over a rape charge."

He played that one to his advantage, didn't he?

Yeah, well, I can play, too. He missed the part when I stripped the puck from his stick. "You own that dance studio, don't you?" I wasn't dumb. As soon as I found out about Blake Keldrich, I looked into that Ballet Chicago and knew everything there was to know about him. If he thought I couldn't play dirty, he was wrong.

Blake turned and clicked the button on his remote to unlock his car. "Have a nice day, Mase."

I still wasn't letting him get to that puck. No way. There was one thing about my defensive skills that some underestimated. It was a furiously frightening thing that could sneak up on you when you least expected it.

I didn't get over that conversation quickly, but being surrounded by twenty thousand screaming fans had the ability to take your mind off a lot of things. Thankfully, it worked for me that night, for the few hours I was there. The lights, the music, the adrenaline, and aggression had a way of taking over.

Play was rough; it seemed Nashville was looking for some redemption, and Remy and their center were at it again.

Remy was never afraid to stand up and defend the line when needed. Most wingers were after the puck, but Remy...he'd do it all. A few penalties later we were rewarded with a power play.

The shot was smothered by their goalie and play stopped at the crease when the whistle blew for hooking, which drew the Predators into a penalty.

As is started back up, we moved back into their zone. Travis Sono was along the boards with the puck when the Predators were called for off-sides again.

Forehand, backhand, you just had to put the puck where you could, and we were doing that despite the penalties.

One of Nashville's defenseman, Scott Bunten, also known as one of the most aggressive enforcers—guys that play strictly to f*ck you up—started getting in Leo's face after each play.

Sometimes enforcers were just there to make a point, change the game.

Well, they needed to know we weren't going to stand for it. Whenever they did that, I'd go after one of their guys because I wasn't going to let them pick on Leo like that and neither was Dave. I could see him fuming beside me, ready to pounce on Scott given the chance. Any time Dave or I were out there, they pulled Scott, knowing what we'd do.