Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(29)

Then there was the intimidation. It went hand and hand with fear. Most fans had no idea how much trash talking went on, and they'd be surprised how much of it was for intimidation. School yard bullies at their finest. You wanted the other guy to think you were going to kick the shit out of him and make him think you were serious. We did this a lot in junior hockey, and still do in the NHL, but we had way more fun with it back in the junior leagues.

It was all about sending a message, and sometimes that message was personal.

There were times when fighting was done to draw a penalty, too. It was designed to change the way of play, to break it up. If you had a guy out there scoring, it was a way to get him off the ice.

Most wondered how we fought. How did we let them know? Well, it was as simple as dropping your gloves. There were times when I resisted and told them, "Hey, pick up your f*cking gloves, you *. I'm not fighting you."

Other times, no words were exchanged. You simply grabbed their shoulders, slashed their stick, pushed them from behind, a glove to the face, all effective ways of letting them know you were ready for them.

We ended up winning against Atlanta, and then we were off to Ohio, and then we'd have a few week break.

I spent my twenty-first birthday on a plane, sleeping next to Leo, on our way home from Ohio after winning the game in overtime. Feeling pretty good, on that adrenaline again, I went straight to the hospital to see Ami.

This time she was asleep. It was late, and part of me was glad. A little drunk and after a win, I wasn't sure what I'd do. Instead, I wrote her a little note next to the key chain of a ballerina I'd picked up for her at the airport. Eventually I left, but not before watching her sleep for a while.

She was so peaceful. Her cheeks were red, her blankets bunched up near her face like she was cold. Reaching for another blanket in the closet, I situated that one on her to add to the mountain of blankets she always had. She liked to be warm.

I left after that and went back home to celebrate the rest of my birthday with Leo, Dave, and Remy. Bad idea.





During our break in the schedule, from the time we played the Blue Jackets to the time we were set to play the Islanders, I got to know Ami even more. Thankfully, I kept my hands and my lips to myself, but it was nice to talk to a girl that didn't care that I was a hockey player.

Even though she struggled with a few infections, Ami was slowly coming around and making a full recovery. The doctors assured us that there wouldn't be any lasting effects on her, and that even though she had some internal injuries from the guy being so forceful with her, she would be able to resume sexual activity if she chose to.

The fact that she would be okay had me hopeful. The fact that they mentioned sexual activity while I was in the room, assuming we were together, made me slightly uncomfortable.

Ami didn't seem one bit fazed by it.

They even had a counselor come in and talk with her about her situation, being a rape victim. They described to her, and even me, that she might go through stages, especially during intimacy, where she may feel ashamed or depressed, maybe even powerless.

Until then I never thought about the lasting effects of her being raped. Would she ever have a normal relationship again? Would she want to?

They were all things I wanted to ask but didn't. It made me feel almost bad for kissing her. What if that made her feel powerless?

Regardless of what I thought or feared, I went off how Ami reacted. Never did she show any hesitation with our friendship, or flirting, or even that kiss. For a guy like me, those were all signs that indicated she was okay with it. Knowing the side of Ami that I did, if she didn't want it, she would certainly tell me.

The day she was released, Monday, March 1st, marked nearly ten weeks spent in the hospital. She was happy to be released.

First thing she made me do was stop and get her a hamburger.

Then we drove the seven hours from Chicago to Pittsburgh because Ami didn't want to fly. That I understood, and it was a fun drive, too. We took my new Audi and the seat heaters were her best friend. She liked to be warm after all. Not only did she have her seat heater on full blast, but she also had the heat cranked all the way up. I was dying. Half the trip I had my damn head out the window, trying not to burn alive in my own car.

When we got to my parents' house in Pittsburgh, it took everything I had to leave her there. I knew she was in good hands, but it wasn't just minutes away like she was at the hospital. Now she was a few states away.

We sat outside talking about my last game when every so often Caitlin would peek her head out the door and then throw her arms up, as if her patience was running thin. Ami had met my mom but had yet to meet my dad and sister. They were both excited to meet the girl that had captivated their hockey headed son and brother.

If you knew me before Ami, you'd understand what my life was. Hockey. I didn't date, I had sex, yes, but there was no dating and no bringing a girl home to meet the parents. I wasn't a player like Leo and Remy, but I just didn't have time for that sort of thing. I was living for hockey.

I handed Ami a cell phone I had bought. "Here, I programed my number in case you need to get in touch with me."

Ami hesitated for a moment and then took the phone. "Keeping track of me, are you?"

"No, just wanted you to have a way to get a hold of me. We talked every day in the hospital. You might miss me." I expected Ami to give me a smile or a smart aleck line, but she didn't. That was when I noticed something was wrong.