Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(52)

"What do you remember him saying to you?" Caitlin asked, her eyes wide and glossy.

"You want it, don't you? I bet you like it rough."

"Are you're sure it wasn't Blake?"

"I don't know that it wasn't him, but I know he was questioned from what Evan and the detective told, me. His DNA didn't match the blood and…" I wasn't sure how graphic to be with Caitlin, though she was only two years younger than me. "…fluids he left."

It was a relief telling Caitlin and Judy about what happened. It felt like I had finally crossed a line. As if by me talking to people, like Evan and his family, I could be open and deal with it. I didn't need to keep this to myself and deal with it alone. I had a family again.





Beat the defense – to get by one or both the defensemen.



Game 81 – Colorado Avalanche's

Friday, April 9, 2010




When he got back that night from the game with the Colorado Avalanches, he was all smiles and ready for our date Saturday night. I knew we only had one night, and then they had their last game against the Detroit Red Wings before the playoffs started.

We both needed a distraction.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, taking me by the hand once we were out of the car, leading me through the doors of the restaurant. Bystanders on the street pointed at him, smiling, doing that forget-my-own-name stare when they realized it was a Chicago Blackhawk who they'd just seen.

I kind of laughed. "Yeah, I'm hungry," I said, attempting to be flirtatious. Not sure if it was taken that way, but he did smile at me.

He chuckled again when I tripped slightly in my high heels. I swore it was a hill in the floor, but it was merely a rock. Nudging me inside with our joined hands, the waiter showed us to our table in the back that Evan had apparently reserved.

"You definitely have some clout in this city, don't you?"

Evan smiled sheepishly and gave a tip of his head as if to say yes, but it wasn't something he was necessarily comfortable with.

After dinner we sat in a comfortable silence when I said, "I wanna know more about your world and what it's like."

Evan smiled, his eyes watching me, and then reached for my hand. "I'll show you."

Before I knew it, we were at the United Center and he was taking me inside. I'd seen a little of the United Center before, but I'd never walked in the way a Chicago Blackhawks player did. Through a few different doors, down a long hallway and to the left, was the entrance only players, the media, and coaches saw. Above the door was a sign that read: One Goal. Walking through the double doors, I tried to imagine what Evan must feel each time before a game.

I couldn't because I wasn't a player.

But as a fan the feeling was unbelievable to see what those boys did on the ice, and this was where they prepared for that.

Sneaking a glance up at Evan, he smiled, his eyes shining and his hand on the door. "Wanna go inside."

Of course I did. Through a series of locked doors he apparently had stolen keys for, we were inside the United Center in a place only the players and coaches saw.

Inside the locker room were benches with cubbies and the names of the players plastered above them.

On the floor was the Blackhawk Indian that Evan informed me you could not step on. Something about superstition, and I wasn't about to mess with it.

It was quiet, not what I was expecting, but it also wasn't swarming with players.

Behind a set of double doors, there was the players' lounge where only players were allowed, though Evan let me walk inside. Plush leather couches were situated around the television that hung on the wall. The individual players' stalls wrapped around that.

"So this is where you guys all walk around naked?" I felt my cheeks flush, thinking of Evan naked, before the words were even out.

Evan laughed, throwing his head back. "Yeah, we get naked in here. Remy gets naked everywhere, though."

I knew that already.

Sticks and gear were lined up in the stalls, ready for the players tomorrow night. I saw Evan's name above his stall and reached forward to touch his stick, stroking it just to mess with him. He groaned and then I took it in my hand, bringing my hand down, trying to hold it like a hockey player. Evan laughed again at my stance and the way I had the stick held out in front of me in my striking position. "Am I doing this right?"

He moved forward, his chest pressed into my back, his voice at my ear. "Yeah, but you gotta stop that."

Score.

Evan must have sensed that things were heating up, they always did between us, and he moved back about a foot.

"What's it like to walk onto the ice from here?"

His smile said a lot. He was waiting for me to ask that. I could tell that was what he really wanted to show me since this was the place his heart was.

Securing a pair of skates he found, which were four sizes too big for me, even with ten pairs of socks, I watched closely as he put a pair of pads over my shoulders. His hands were impossibly gentle given how aggressive he could be, tugging occasionally to tighten either the laces on the skates or the pads he insisted I wear.

Before long I was all decked out in gear, pads, and a helmet. He was also wearing his hockey gear. "Are you planning on knocking me around a bit?" I asked, laughing as he tightened the chin strap of my helmet.