Delayed Penalty (Crossing the Line, #1)(8)

"I was walking home," I told him, trying to keep my cool. I wanted to yell at him for questioning my motivations. I saved her life, yet they acted as though I had something to do with her injuries.

"Who was with you?"

"I was alone when I found her." I took a deep breath, managing to keep my anger under wraps.

"What were you doing out so late?" he asked.

"Getting dinner with one of my teammates."

"Where were your other teammates?"

"It's a big city. I have no clue. Probably at one of the local bars."

"So it was just you walking around at two in the morning?"

By then I was pretty annoyed, and he was about to find out just how much. "I'm an NHL hockey player. I just got back from Detroit and was hungry and had dinner with a teammate, Shelby Wright. After dinner I was on my way home, alone."

"What time was that?"

"Fuck, I don't know…late?"

"So you're telling me you were walking around at two in the morning on your way home? You're sticking to that story?"

"What are you saying?" I was instantly defensive after everything I'd been through over the last day. This girl and this situation were doing a number on me.

"Well, if you think your lawyer can defend you against a crime such as rape just because you're a professional athlete, you've got another thing coming." He snorted, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair.

I did have a good f*cking lawyer. Too bad I hadn't contacted him yet.

I leaned forward, intending on making my next words sink in. Either that or I was about to punch a cop. "I. Didn't. Do. It!"

He gave me a nod, finally accepting the truth or possibly just humoring me.

"Do you have any leads?"

"We have a few, but nothing has panned out yet. A few witnesses came forward. She was walking home from Ballet Chicago where she was at her class. She's enrolled there, and her class lets out at seven. We assume she must have been walking home, but she lives on South Lake Shore. That's a long walk. Like I said, we don't have a lot of details."

From what that detective said, she lived at Regents Park in the Indian Village, which was located on South Lake Shore. Ballet Chicago was on North State Street. I actually passed by it on my way home. All the details just didn't add up. Why would she be walking that late at night when her class got out at seven? I found her at nearly two in the morning. Had she been out there that long?

"Have you spoken with her dance instructor?"

The detective looked over at me, deciding whether or not to answer me after I got so testy with him. "He's being brought in for questioning, along with a few others that were spotted in the area at the time of the incident."

I called my lawyer after that. He didn't pick up, but I left him a message letting him know I might need his services really soon.





Since it was Christmas Eve, and I still hadn't been home yet, I decided I would leave for a little while and at least take a shower.

After I showered and crawled into bed for the night, I tried not to think about that girl, but f*ck if she wasn't in every thought. I knew myself well enough to know I wouldn't be able to walk away from her. This wouldn't be the end, even though I wanted it to be. I didn't want to go back to that hospital. I saved her. That should have been enough. Being attached to a girl like that was not what I needed right now.

As I tried to sleep, the way she looked, the tests she endured, her attack, all the vivid memories clung to my mind. Visions of her blood spilled over white snow, her pale face, and helpless state…f*ck.

I groaned, throwing my legs over the side of my bed around two that morning, and headed to down the hall to where my weights and treadmill were.

Working out seemed to do the trick for a while, but she was never far from my thoughts. Just like in a game, play had stopped against the boards for me. I was frozen, waiting for it to get loose, and play to start again.

When I got back to my room, my pile of bloody clothes caught my attention, and I had to get rid of them. I wondered if he felt bad for what he did. I wondered what he was doing right now.

Was he staring at a pile of bloody clothes, too?

Was he feeling any regret?

Was he wondering if she made it?

Did he think she was dead?

The gaps my mind filled in were the worst part for me, especially after seeing what I had. I imagined her walking alone and then some guy attacking her. I imagined her screaming, fighting for her life, frantically trying to get him off her, and then her just taking it, knowing she had no chance.

The images were enough to make me physically sick, and they did. I couldn't even eat. So I couldn't sleep, couldn't focus, and now I couldn't eat. I was f*cked.

As far as I was concerned, it didn't matter if this guy was sorry for what he had done. That didn't mean a goddamn thing to me anymore.

Why?

Because while I was throwing out those bloody clothes, and that girl was fighting just to make it another day, that motherf*cker was free right now. No f*cking way I was settling for that.





Zone – Three areas made up by the two blue lines. The attacking zone is the area farthest from the goal a player is defending. The neutral zone is the central area. The defending zone is the area where a player's goal is and where the team's goalie is stationed.