Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(33)

I nearly lost it looking at that picture. It was everything I could do not to cry thinking of Andrew and how hard he worked for that chance…only to have it taken away.

Thankfully, Sam didn't notice and went on. "When Mase would start the game, it would sell out." Sam's distant stare caught mine, his voice proud. "He was always faster than everyone else, but he was on defense by that point. He could still score, swing left or right, and defend the goal and boys on the team. His energy on the ice was captivating and pulled the crowd in."

Evan was mesmerizing on the ice, and it wasn't even live. I couldn't believe how he was everywhere all at once.

"If he happened to be caught up ice, and the other team had an odd man rush, that's when you'd see his speed."

I had no idea what Sam was referring to, but I watched a younger Evan, seemingly everywhere at once, on the screen. His skating and stick handling at that age was impressive. I'd seen similar skill with Andrew when he was younger. You usually knew when a kid was going to be a star someday. You could see their talent, their shine, early on.

It was definitely there with Evan.

"His speed got him the puck, and he could still snag the net, even for being on the defense."

I watched a few of his games from this season that his dad had recorded, and I was in awe. One of my favorite parts was watching the way he moved on the ice. With grace, naturally, but the way he'd shift his hips when he swung at the puck and how aggressive he had been was a major turn on.

And I was next to his dad. And then I felt weird about being turned on by Evan with his dad right there. I could literally feel the burn in my cheeks and other places.

I had just turned eighteen and had been through something horrible, but I still had hormones. Thankfully, Sam talked so much about Evan that I didn't have to worry about him seeing my cheeks flushing.

I knew nothing about hockey, but being in the Masen household I started to learn. While the violence of the sport was a little shocking, the passion of the game drew me in. It reminded me of the love Andrew had for baseball.

It took a lot of dedication to do what those boys did between training, practicing, traveling, all of it, and Evan had been doing it since he was old enough to hold a stick. I understood why. My brother was the same way.

There was a lot to learn about hockey that I didn't realize. I wanted to ask, but I was scared his family would see how into him I was and then they'd tease me. They were like that. And damn if I wasn't into him.

Sam and I spent the better part of the day on that couch watching hockey and then eventually watching Evan's game against the Islanders. Seeing him on live television was even harder on my hormones. He was just as aggressive as he had been on those videos, with boarding guys and fighting every play, but he was different. Maybe more mature, focused, patient. He was would wait, stalk his opponents almost, and then he was there stripping the puck and setting up the play for their front man, Leo Orting.

I hadn't met Leo yet, but from Evan's frequent mention, I felt like I already knew him. Apparently, they were best friends, grew up in the same Major Junior league playing for different teams.

The Blackhawks ended up losing to the Islanders by two goals. Sam seemed disappointed and blamed the loss on the refs.

Their family went various directions after the game, and I practically floated into Evan's bedroom, feeling so much closer to him now. Kicking off my shoes, removing my clothes, I changed into the comfy pair of Chicago Blackhawks sweatpants and sweatshirt Evan had gotten me as a leaving the hospital gift. I looked over my body while I was naked. I'd lost a considerable amount of weight since the attack, and none of my clothes fit. I also noticed the scars, scars that reminded me of what I went through.

With a deep breath, I pushed the thoughts away.

When my head flopped against the pillow, the cell phone Evan gave me started ringing. When I looked at the screen, it flashed with the number, and above it said, "Mase." I smiled, remembering him telling me his friends only called him that. I loved the pride in his dad's voice every time the name left his mouth and the closeness it made me feel to his family knowing he wanted me to call him that if I wanted.

"Hey," came the throaty voice I remembered. I felt a little giddy that he not only texted me today, but also decided to call. There was something about his voice that I loved. I could have listened to him talk for hours with the East Coast accent combined with the touch of that Canadian "eh" he threw in every once in a while.

"Hey," I answered, settling into his bed.

"What are you doing?"

Looking around his room, I had to laugh. It didn't look like anything had changed since he was a kid, complete with his Transformer sheets. "Lying on your bed."

Dead silence. Not even breathing.

Eventually, he cleared his throat. "So you got my messages?"

"Yeah, I got them." My reply was meant to be evasive, but I wasn't sure he took it that way. All day long he had sent me text messages, but with his dad right there, it seemed inappropriate to be checking the phone every few minutes.

"You know, typically when someone sends you a text message, you should respond. It's good friend behavior."

"Sorry. Your dad kept me pretty busy going through your entire Major Junior career and first NHL season."

"Are you kidding me?" he asked seriously. I paused, worrying I said the wrong thing. Maybe he didn't want me to see him play. And then he laughed. "And you didn't fall asleep?"