Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(67)

All this time, for months, I thought for sure it was Blake and that he just had a good f*cking lawyer. Even with that, someday I knew he'd pay for what he had done. Now that it was Dave, I still felt the same way. He needed to pay.





Clearing the zone – When a defending player sends the puck out of the opponent's attacking zone, all the attacking players must leave or clear the zone to avoid being called offsides when the puck re-enters the zone.




An awareness for the situation took over, and Callie cleared her throat, our arms intertwined, clutching each other at what we just witnessed.

I felt nauseous seeing Evan lying on the ice. I felt mentally drained and scared. I had no idea what happened out there or why they were fighting like that, but I knew it was for a reason. Evan wouldn't have let the fight go on like that if it wasn't personal. But Dave was his friend so that didn't make sense to me.

"What was that about?" I asked Callie. She shrugged and pointed behind her. "We should go. Leo just sent a text and said they're taking Evan to the hospital."

The medical personnel mostly hovered around Dave, who was still on the ice, blood pouring from his mouth and nose, but Evan had limped off with the help of the trainer and Remy, only to collapse once he was off the ice.

"We have to go," I pleaded, attempting to move from our seats. There was no moving. The crowd was still cheering and booing at the same time, beating their hands against the glass as another player from San Jose was in Coach O'Brien's face.

It was madness, nothing I had ever seen before.

After jostling our way through the crowd, we met Remy outside. He was the only one who managed to get away from the media, which were hovering in every corner. Leo was stuck talking with one trying to get them to focus on the game and not the fight.

None of us said anything, and I didn't ask what happened because I didn't think Remy even knew. He looked stunned just like us.

The slight chill in the air brought back a flash of memories from that night, words I hadn't remembered coming back to me. "Where are you going all alone?"

The memory made me sick again. The rush of blood to my ears blocked out the conversation that just began between Callie and Remy about what hospital they took him to.

When we pulled up at the emergency entrance, there were about four cop cars surrounding the circle drive and a dozen more inside, each one looking at us as we rushed in. Remy asked the male nurse at the front desk where Evan was, and he said Evan was with the police.

What?

"Why would he be with the police?" I asked. My voice cracked, and Remy looked over at me. He wrapped his arm around me to comfort me.

Callie stepped to the desk, her hands resting on the counter, leaning in. "We just need to know if he's okay, and then we will have a seat and wait. That's his girlfriend." She raised her hand to touch my shoulder. "Can she at least see him for a moment?"

"No, sorry." The man looked at his clipboard. "But I will let you know when you can if you would please just have a seat over there."

Remy wasn't having it, but when a policeman stepped in between him and the nurse, he backed off.

Once inside, we sat there for two hours before we could see him. Two f*cking hours.

When they finally did tell me that I could see him, they said he was asking for me.

It was a strange feeling being back in a hospital, both sickening and overwhelming as memories I hadn't had before kept looping in my head. The chill returned, and I found myself curling into my sweatshirt as I walked through the automatic doors into the emergency room. Each room had glass walls with a bed and monitors surrounding them.

Evan was in the one to the far left, sitting up on the bed in a gown with his feet dangling over the edge. His uniform had been removed and was in a pile on the floor. He was dressed in a white and light green hospital gown that was open in the front. Bruises and blood covered his chest. That was where my eyes went first and then to his face, but I couldn't see it. He wouldn't look up. Even when he heard the glass doors open, he kept his head down.

Then I noticed the man sitting in the chair beside him. Detective Paulsen. My detective.

"What are you doing here?" My case had been closed months ago.

"Give us a minute," Evan growled, his voice directed at the floor. He wouldn't look up.

The detective stood and moved to the door, and without looking at me, he left us alone.

Stepping to Evan, he flinched slightly when I touched his hand. "Broken," he said, confirming my thoughts when I noticed how swollen it was. I started to cry again, confused by everything and feeling bad that I had just touched his broken hand.

"I'm sorry."

Evan gasped, finally looking up at me, his body practically vibrating with an anger. He was breathing deeply through his nose.

My brow furrowed at my reactions. "What's going on, Evan?" I asked, ducking down to move in front of him since he wouldn't look at me. He lifted his head just enough to catch my eyes.

For a moment he didn't take his eyes away from mine, searching for the words that wouldn't come.

Another doctor walked in and looked at Evan's forehead where he had a large piece of gauze tinged with blood taped to his head. Evan's eyes remained on mine as the doctor examined him, poking and prodding. "Mase," the team doctor said, "we need to get that stitched up, but I'll give ya a minute." The doctor finally left the room, the glass door making a swishing sound as it closed behind him.