Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(65)

Two minutes into the third period, Evan was back on the ice as they set up for a face-off in the Sharks' zone.

All around us people were jumping up from their seats and shouting. My first thought was we scored but there was no foghorn, no music, and no lights.

My eyes flickered to the left of the Sharks' goal, searching for the cause, just in time to see Evan drop his gloves. He discarded his stick before lunging at Dave, who'd already done away with his own stick and gloves.

"What happened?" I asked Callie, trying to see over the fans pounding on the glass in front of us.

"I don't know," Callie answered, though I didn't shift my focus from Evan. I whimpered when Dave threw a solid punch to his stomach. It looked like Evan didn't even register the blow as he steadily advanced on him again.

The refs hung back, watching for any signs either had enough, but no one stepped in. Players from both sides started confronting each other, trash talking and getting in each other's faces, and a few started throwing punches.

The crowd went wild.





Penalty shot – A free shot awarded to a player who was illegally interfered with, preventing him from a clear scoring opportunity. The shot is taken with only the goalie guarding against it.




Against his better judgment, Coach played me in that game. It was probably the worst mistake he'd ever made.

My mouth was dry. I kept drinking water as though it would help, but nothing would. Not feeling like myself, I kept tripping and even dropped my stick a few times. I was probably the most aggressive I had ever been on the ice. It could have been my body's reaction to stay away from Dave, knowing that if I got near him, I would have killed him. I should have been ejected.

Dave's shifty gaze throughout the game confirmed my suspicions. I thought back and everything about that night finally made sense.

"What's with you?" Leo shoved against me as we shuffled down the bench. I grunted a response but didn't speak. I wasn't sure if I could.

"Where the f*ck were you?" Coach smacked the back of my head. "When he crosses over like that, you gotta f*cking nail him! Goddamn it, Mase! Get your shit together!"

I nodded, only speaking in sighs and blinks and nods, pretending I heard him, but I heard nothing. I wasn't there. I wasn't anywhere but lost in my own f*cking thoughts. No sensation, no sight, no sound, only f*cking anger. When the numbness swallowed me whole, I knew I was about to react.

I had no idea where the game was at, who was leading, or any other stat I usually always knew. Instead, I had one focus, one thought, one outcome.

On the ice again, with a minute left, we faced off on the line together. My hands were shaking, my stomach clenching. If I had anything left in my stomach I would have lost it on the ice. I knew when Dave looked up at me during that face off, he knew that I knew.

I couldn't see straight; anger was feeding me with adrenaline, pumping blood through my veins, a deadly combination. Every bone in my body ached, my muscles clenching and strangling. The beat of my heart was loud, drowning, and suffocating. I swallowed back the bile rising up my throat.

I blinked.

I tried to breathe.

I tried to be numb.

Leaning forward in a crouched position, I rested my arms against my thighs, my gaze caught Ami staring at me, her hand over her mouth. She knew something was wrong. She saw me now. She felt me now. She knew me.

I blinked.

I tried to f*cking breathe.

Being numb wouldn't work. Too much about this girl was inside of me. Too much anger. Too much guilt. Too much heart.

I blinked. This time, the motion exaggerated.

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

"How are you and the ballerina doin'?"

The warning chirp of the whistle brought me back. Leo was nudging Bomber with his stick, one eye on me, his head turning to the ref and then me again. Leo knew. His jaw clenched, and his eyes were wild.

My eyes flickered to Dave, gritting his teeth. Sweat mixed with the blood from earlier and it streamed down my face, hot against my cool skin. I blew out a breath.

Anger pulsed through my body; my hands clenched inside my gloves.

Those images returned.

When the whistle blew, the puck dropped, the sound of plastic scraping over the ice rattled, but everything was still for me.

I blinked.

I tried to breathe.

I tried to be numb.

Dave stood from his crouching position, and I followed his action. I was famous for fighting with my heart. Ask my parents. Ask my friends. Ask Ami. Right now, it was all I had, fighting with my heart.

My breath hitched as I let my stick and gloves fall to the ice. The sound, so loud, so defining because this was it. This was me giving in.

Closing my eyes, I took in one deep breath, the action strangled. My lungs filled with evil; it was forced and shallow.

He circled me.

The part that got me the most was not only was he my friend, my teammate, my boy, but he took something from a girl in such a brutal f*cking way, something she could never get back.

"Why?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

He heard me, his head angled to the sound of my voice. He shrugged, a bitter laugh. "It wasn't personal, Mase. She's just a girl."

"Just a girl?" I choked, trying to swallow.

"Yes. Just a girl. To anyone else she was just another puck bunny who got frisky."