Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(64)

The less noble side was very convincing.

I turned my head to the right to see who was beside me. Leo. His face frozen with apprehension.

Circling around during warm-ups, I saw Dave coming at me. He gave me a head nod, as if to say "Hey," but I didn't look up. Instead, I dropped my shoulder and checked him right on the red line. He knew that was my warning.

I skated past without a look, let alone a word. Not acknowledging him was easy. It was not laying his f*cking ass out, beating him senseless, and jerking the truth out of him that was difficult. That side won out.

The sports broadcasting station and fans were all over that.

Honestly, though, it was my only way of getting away from him. I thought for sure if I was out of the game I couldn't act on what I so desperately wanted to do.

I wanted to kill him.

As harsh as that sounded, friend or not, if I was right and it was him that did that to my girl, he was done.

"Sit. The. Fuck. Down," Coach said, shoving me down where I belonged—on the bench.





Trailer – A player who follows his teammate on the attack seemingly out of the action but actually in position to receive a backward or drop pass.




The night of the first game in round one of the Stanley Cup playoffs was against San Jose. I originally wasn't going to go, but Callie and Evan talked me into it, and we made the trip with the team. Evan, being in playoff mode, he was quiet and frigid.

By the time we got to the arena the night of the game, Callie was drunk because she said she couldn't stand how moody the boys were being. This was my first road trip with their team and also my first time flying since the accident with my family. Surprisingly, I did well with the help of some adult beverages from the flight attendant who felt bad for me. I made it.

Once at the arena in San Jose, Callie offered me some more alcohol, her flask tucked safely in her bra again, but I declined. I was too nervous to drink.

"What's wrong with Evan?" I noticed his appearance was completely off when he took the ice. Never looking up, he circled center ice. "He's been weird since we left Chicago, but now he seems…almost pissed."

"It's playoffs." Callie watched him for a minute and then looked down, concentrating on adding the booze from her flask to the open 7-Up bottle in her hand. "They all get moody. Drink?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Hey, is that Dave Keller who used to play with the Blackhawks?" I asked Callie when I saw him come onto the ice and skate past the glass in front of us. His eyes seemed different tonight, darker, angry even, or maybe familiar? It wasn't something I could place.

"Yeah, he's an ass." Her tone said more than calling him an ass. It was clear that she hated him. "I'm glad he got traded."

I gave her a nod, not really understanding the strange expression she gave him when he tapped the glass and winked at her.

Callie rolled her eyes, throwing back her flask again. "Like I said, he's an ass."

It was a playoff game, and everyone would be out for blood. But there was something different going on. Evan seemed to be gunning for Dave when they were on the ice during warm-ups, and then finally, when Dave's eyes were down, focused on the puck, Evan clotheslined him. I saw the hit coming a split second before it happened, as did Callie.

Dave got to his feet quickly, but surprisingly said nothing, and neither did Evan, but the glare Evan delivered to his ex-teammate over his shoulder told me something else was meant by that hit. There was no apology in Evan's stare as he scowled at Dave. By the way he ignored the shouts and stares, it made me realize this was something more than just the playoff moodiness Callie spoke of.

O'Brien wasn't happy and pointed at Evan, who skated back to the bench, head down. "What the f*ck was that?" he screamed at Evan. We could hear it even across the ice.

"Oooh, this is going to be a fun game. Your boy is pissed about something."

I turned to Callie. "Maybe I'll take you up on that drink."

She handed it to me, and I took one long swig, feeling the burn and instantly relaxing.

"Oh hey, easy there, tiger..." Callie swiped the flask back. "...I said one drink."

Something was different about him. From the moment the puck hit the ice, I found it hard to catch my breath, knowing something was wrong with him. Every moment he was on the ice, he was fumbling, falling, checking guys into the board harder than before, and avoiding Dave. He'd come near Evan on the ice, even if the puck was in his zone, and he'd fall away and go to the bench. Usually when I watched Evan, he was always a passionate player. He was powerful, always strong and focused, always present, but tonight I saw none of that. He seemed distracted.

Just when he seemed to get his game together, he'd get called for off-sides and roughing. Then, right out of the box, he was back in there for a five minute major for instigating. That time when he slammed the door to the penalty box, it shattered.

Callie and I kept looking at each other. We both knew something was up.

And it seemed, though neither of us were completely sure, that it had something to do with Dave.

His eyes were burning when he looked up the ice at Dave, the fire smoldering. He was ready for a fight. He was out for blood.

There was this anger I had seen deep within Evan for a long time, something I knew was always there, and I often saw glimpses of it on the ice and in the fights he got into. I couldn't do anything but stand there and absorb it, knowing that what he was about to do wasn't going to be good.