Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(68)

"Evan, what happened?" I begged him, reaching up to softly touch the raised skin over his cheek that was turning purple, trying to return his gaze to me so I could decipher what the f*ck happened and what was running through his head. His hand shook, reaching toward me, and covered mine, pressing his cheek into my palm.

He seemed to fidget a bit, swallowing deeply and darting his gaze away from mine again. I reached my other hand up to cup his face, gently stroking over the ridge of his jaw just below his ears.

I would have laughed at his expression if the circumstances were any different. He looked tired but still angry. When he looked back at the floor, I understood whatever happened tonight wasn't going to be easy for him to say.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough, the sound making me tremble.

"Why was Detective Paulsen in here?" I couldn't stand seeing him look so angry and sad, but there was a lot about tonight I didn't understand. I wanted to understand.

Evan's shoulders hunched a bit compared to his normal strong posture. His face, which I placed my hand on trying to get him to look at me again, was covered in his playoff scruff, which could no longer be called scruff with how thick it had grown in. My fingers scraped against it.

"Dave…" Evan gasped again, his head shaking with a dejected anger, and then he tried to swallow, but it looked like he was swallowing sand. "He was the guy who…" His eyes found mine, glossed over and heavy. He was holding on by a thread, rapidly blinking back tears. "Raped you."

I watched his mouth move, and I heard the words but didn't react. Everything felt like it was in slow motion.

It was like that feeling you got when someone told you something but you weren't sure if what you heard was what he or she really said. Your mind kept repeating the phrase, trying to make sense of it. Then you asked, "What?" Even though you had heard them. You knew exactly what they said, but your mind rejected the words as if they were wrong. They had to be wrong.

Evan swallowed again, and I wanted to hand the poor guy water. He was struggling.

"Dave is the guy," he repeated, his brow furrowed as he searched my eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry. I'm so f*cking sorry that I didn't…I didn't know it was him."

The fight replayed in my mind. I saw it all clearly now. The way Dave looked at me when he skated by the glass. Him winking at Callie and the total disgust she had for him. The way Evan checked him at center ice and never looked back was his first warning to Dave. And then he'd dropped his gloves, defending me.

He had nothing to be sorry for. He protected me, he stood up for me when no one else did. My stomach dropped when a memory hit me: dark, intense eyes, controlling and hovering over me, hands forcefully pulling at my clothes.

I swallowed, trying to gain focus, pushing the memory away. Holding my breath, I felt like my lungs were going to burst, but then again, what if I breathed now?

Would I feel the memory again? Would everything come crashing back? For so long I didn't remember a lot, and I thanked my mind for that. I didn't want to remember.

I couldn't even imagine what Evan must have been feeling when he knew it was Dave. For months, Evan had been carrying around the anxiety of not knowing who it was and that people like that were all around us. It didn't sit well with him. And then to find out it was a friend of his, someone who had given him a place to stay his first season, someone he trusted, he had every right to feel what he was feeling.

He reached out, circling his arms around my waist and pulling me forward to rest against him, my head on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," Evan said in a dejected voice, his fingers rubbing circles on my back.

"Stop, don't be sorry," I said firmly, his eyes snapping back to mine. "You weren't the one that did it. This wasn't something you could have controlled. Dave did what he did because, well, he's a f*cker. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I feel so f*cking helpless. I couldn't stand back. I lost it when I heard him say…what you remembered." His arms lowered, and he slumped against me, resting his head on my shoulder and clinging desperately to my waist. "And he was my f*cking friend. I trusted him and then he…I just can't believe he could do something like that to you. So hateful, so brutal, so unthinkable."

"Mase," I whispered, my fingers tightening on his face to focus his attention on me and my words. "I love you."

His lips curved into a soft smile, his fingers trailing down from my wrists over my forearms to hold my elbows, bringing me closer between his legs and wrapping his arms around my waist. He bent his head forward, resting against my shoulder again.

"Ami," he whispered, his face serious again. "You're worth it." His fingers stroked along my cheek, his words shaking. "You are so f*cking worth it."

I gazed up at him, and the intensity of the look in his eyes left me no room for doubt.

Leaning back just slightly, he stared deeply into my eyes, lowering his face to mine and rubbing the tip of his nose gently against my own. My breath caught in my throat at the intimate gesture. He pulled back, a content smile on his face.

"Are you okay?"

He didn't speak, barely even nodded, just gave on dip of his chin to answer me. His eyes locked on mine, and his mouth was just barely open. I leaned in, as if I was going to kiss him, and his eyes fluttered close. Then I kissed him on his swollen lip, the taste of blood present on my tongue from where his lip had been split open.