Delayed Penalty by Shey Stahl
2. Freeze the Puck
This happens when the puck is held against the boards with the skate or stick in order to stop play briefly or gain a face-off.
Evan
“Seventeen-year-old female rape victim... right pupil dilated... BP 80/60... skull fracture....”
Those are the words that rattle around my head, and I’m not sure what to think or feel for someone I don’t know. It’s unimaginable, particularly when I find out her age. Seventeen. Seventeen fucking years old. She’s just a child. Someone’s daughter. Someone’s sister, maybe.
I think about Catelyn. My own sister and how I’d feel if someone did that to her, and the reaction is predictable. I’d kill them, regardless of the consequences.
After they kick me out, they discovered her ID in her jeans. Her name is Ami Sutton, moved here from Lebanon, Oregon, three weeks ago. Both parents are dead. She’s completely alone in a city where no one knows her, no grudges I assume, probably no friends and now this happened?
“Welcome to Chicago,” is my first thought. Talk about some bad fucking luck to have.
“Sir?” a younger nurse calls my name, her eyes guarded as she watches the door where the police are standing. I know at any moment they will be questioning me. “Are you waiting for Ami Sutton?”
Am I?
Well, yeah, I am. Clearing my throat, I stand from my place. “Yes, I am.” I nod, making my way over to the nurses’ station. “I’m the one who brought her in.”
“The doctor called and said he’s taking her into surgery now. We can call you when she’s out if you’d like to head home.”
“I think I’ll stay.” I glance down at my phone to see it’s now five in the morning on Christmas Eve. What a horrible way for her to spend Christmas.
“Suit yourself.” The nurse stares at the clipboard in her hands. “Can I get a phone number and a name in case you’re not around when she’s out?”
“I said I’ll be here.” I motion to where I’d been sitting. “I’ll be sitting right over there... waiting.”
“Your name then?”
I roll my eyes, knowing she isn’t going to let me get away. “Evan Masen.”
Her eyes do that shocked, recognition, fluttering thing as she looks from me to the clipboard in front of her. “As in Evan Masen, hockey player for the Blackhawks?”
“Yeah.”
Living in Chicago and having the reputation I do, I get this shit all the time. They know the names and see my face all over the billboards surrounding the United Center.
“I’ll keep you posted.” The nurse gives me another nod but at least this one isn’t one of distaste. She’s probably intrigued with how I ended up here, or thinking I had something to do with this.
It takes me the better part of the morning, as the sun’s rising over the city, to wrap my mind around what I want or should do. I have a flight scheduled today and my parents and Catelyn are waiting for me, and I know I’ll catch shit from them if I don’t come home.
But I can’t leave Ami here all alone. Anytime I tell myself I will, I stay five more minutes.
Five more minutes and I’ll hear something.
Five more minutes and I’ll call my parents and break the news.
I push it out longer and longer, staring at the wall, numb from what I’ve witnessed.
Every minute that passes without any word about her condition adds to the churning in my stomach. I can’t leave. I have to know she’s okay.
I give a statement to the police, buy a shirt in the gift shop because my other one was ruined, and at some point, I doze off in the chair only to be woken by a little boy poking my shoulder.
I blink, looking around. The sun is up now, reflecting off the fresh snow. “What are you doing?”
He stares at me. “Hey,” he says, smiling.
Sitting up straight, I dig my palms into my eyes with a yawn. “Hey, yourself.”
His smile grows a little wider. “You’re Evan Masen, huh?”
Raising my hand to my hair, I scratch the top of my head. “Last time I checked I was.”
“Is that blood on your pants?”
I glance down. “I suppose it is.”
“Cool!”
From then on he’s a whole mess of words that I can’t catch, but I nod and agree. I end up signing his jersey for him and taking a few photos with him.
“Do you know Leo?” he asks, curious eyes and brighter smile than before.
“Yeah, he’s on the team.” I don’t go into detail.
“So like, you play with him?” he then asks, barely able to stand still. I’m not sure if he has to go to the bathroom or if kids normally move around this much. I feel like I should put my hands on his shoulders to keep him from making me dizzy.
“Yes, he’s on the team so yeah, I play with him.”
“Cool. Can I meet him?” He moves around again, tipping his head from side to side. He reminds me of a drug addict looking for his next hit. “Can you call him to come over here so I can meet him?”
I frown. “No, I’m not calling him. Where are your parents?”
The boy glances over his shoulder and then uses the arms of the chair next to me to hold himself steady as he jumps up and down. “Over there somewhere. My grandma fell making mashed tatos.”
Mashes tatos? I’m assuming he means mashed potatoes. “Then why aren’t you with them?”
“You’re cooler,” he replies, leveling me a serious look. “And they argue.”
Ah, okay.
That’s about the time the doctor finally comes out to deliver the news.
“You need to go back to your parents,” I tell him, turning him toward who I think are his parents.
“Okay, but can you tell Leo that Benson said hi?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you,” he yells, too loud for a waiting room though I appreciate his manners.
I make eye contact with the doctor in the distance, hoping he sees me and realizes I’m the one who’s been waiting here for hours. My heart kicks wildly in my chest, anticipating his words. Is he going to tell me she didn’t make it? He stops at the nurses’ station. She points to me, and then he walks over to the window where I’m sitting. I stand, not knowing what else to do but wanting to be respectful to the man who saves lives for a living.
“You’re here waiting for Ami?”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m her boyfriend,” I lie, knowing the only way he’s going to tell me anything is if I say I’m related, which he’s going to know I’m not based on the information the police already gave him. So I go for the next best answer. Boyfriend.
“She’s stable, but it’s going to be a long road for her.” Tired and worn, he rubs his scrub hat and swallows. “There was a lot of internal bleeding, and we had to remove her spleen.” Jesus Christ. Can you live without your spleen? I don’t ask this for two reasons. In fear he’s going to think I’m stupid for not knowing what organs you can live without, and he’s talking and I don’t want to interrupt him. “The head trauma is severe enough that we’re keeping her in an induced coma so she can heal.”
My chest constricts, my breathing heavier than before. I blink, attempting to follow his words. “What does that mean?” I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the next to keep from swaying, from both exhaustion and nerves.
“It means that she needs time and then we’ll take her off the medication, slowly.”
“So she might not wake up?” He doesn’t say that, but from my experience, it’s a possibility. I played junior hockey with a kid who took a nasty hit on the ice. Head trauma and for a week we waited, until the bleeding and pressure was too much and he died. I remember him being in an induced coma and never coming out of it.
“It’s hard to say,” says the doctor, looking over his notes once more. “We’re transferring her to Northwestern where she can get better care.” He’s right. She will get better care at Northwestern. I also like the fact that it’s only four minutes from my condo, and I can get to her faster.
Shit. Now you’re thinking about travel time? What’s wrong with you?
My plan had been to make sure she was alive, and then leave. And now here I am planning out travel times and wondering if I can go home, shower, and get back here before anything else changes.
The doctor pats my shoulder, his expression reassuring. “I’ll have the nurses give you her room number. She’s going to be there a while.” I thank him and then he gives me a smile. “Good game last night.”
Usually a win is on my mind every minute following the game, but since I saw Ami in that alley, it’s the first time hockey’s crossed my mind. Being noticed for the third time since I stepped foot in the hospital isn’t surprising either. It happens. It’s rather hard to avoid when my face is plastered all over the city, but it also feels good. Like I’ve made it to the highest level. And I have. Unfortunately for me, none of that matters because a feeling of dread has settled over me. My mind keeps going back to when those doors closed and the feeling that took residence in the pit of my stomach. Even though she’s stable, I’m uneasy.
I went from celebrating a victory to pacing the waiting room in a matter of twelve hours. How else am I supposed to feel?
I walk back over to the nurse, get the room number, and then head over to Northwestern Hospital.
On my way out, I call my parents to tell them some bullshit about the snow and an early morning practice the day after Christmas. I know they don’t believe me, but they also don’t push. I get a few text messages from Catelyn telling me I’m an asshole for not coming but then another one telling me she loves me.
I’m only at my apartment a few minutes when the hospital calls and tells me I can come over.
I do. Right away, without regard to what I’m going to do once I’m there.
Will I talk to her? Will I check on her and then leave?
I have my answer when I walk into her room for the first time.
My heart sinks instantly. I want to rush to her and hold her, only I don’t understand why that is, so I stay pushed back against the wall, trying to understand this connection to her. She’s covered in a thick white blanket from the neck down. Her left arm rests over it, and the right is tucked inside. Her head is bandaged, and the skin under her eyes has turned black and purple. She’s swollen to the point that her face doesn’t look normal. It’s evident that whoever did this to her punched her more than once. Raised red patches of skin, cuts and scratches are scattered everywhere.
She looks awful and I’m ready to kill whoever did this to her. It festers deep inside me, a need to make them pay for their actions. Remember when I said I was a protector? I wasn’t lying, and this girl, this beaten and helpless girl needs someone to defend her. No, it’s more than that. I want to guard her from anything bad ever happening to her again.
Though the circumstances are different from our first interaction, I fight the urge to hold her again like I did in the cab. I want to take care of her.
I reach out and touch her hand. Battered and fragile, her skin is cool to the touch. It’s like there’s no life left in her, but something happens when I touch her hand. Pride surges through me, knowing I got her here and gave her the chance to fight for her life.
The doctor goes over the list of her injuries with me when I arrive. They confirm she’s seventeen, and she has, in fact, been raped. She has a fractured skull, a broken hand from fighting the guy off, and internal bleeding. Most of which is under control, but she isn’t out of the woods yet. And that first doctor is right. She has a long recovery ahead of her.
A sense of helplessness takes over as I watch the machine keeping her alive. I think about my parents and how angry they probably are that I’m not spending Christmas with them, but I can’t think of anywhere else I want to be besides right here with this girl. It’s astonishing for me, being drawn to a stranger. I find myself watching her again, the machines and her breathing. I stare at her bruises and wonder how she ended up that way. What led an underage girl to an alley near a bar?
As she sleeps, I wonder what she’s like.
Maybe that’s what makes me stay.
What draws me to her so much? Why her?
The doctors don’t leave me alone in there. They’re busy performing tests, checking vitals, making notes.
When something happens to you, good or bad, the sudden impact of the situation isn’t the most damaging. You know what is? When your body and mind continue to relive the trauma of what happened over and over again until it stops.
The problem is it won’t stop for me. My mind is constantly turning, constantly replaying the images and the scenario in my head as I watch her. It’s an endless loop. Just when I think it will stop, my mind pushes Play. It repeats, just as infuriating as it was the first time.
I’m glad when the doctors finally kick me out because I need to clear my head. At least then maybe I can push Pause and stop.
I stand outside the nurses’ station, giving them my contact information, completely unapproachable with my shoulders tense and my teeth grinding in frustration. That’s when a detective manages to find me. My mind is still in that room, still questioning everything I’ve seen, and still reliving that moment when I walked down that alley.
“You’re Mr. Masen, correct?”
I nod, but don’t say anything.
“Let’s talk.” The detective nods to a private room near the door.
I knew this was coming. I gave a statement to the police but they were going to want more details for sure. You can’t bring a girl into the hospital who was left for dead and not be questioned. I’m actually surprised they’ve waited as long as they have.
He’s tall, probably close to six foot two, and completely bald, though it’s clear it’s by choice and not genetics. His head is shiny, almost like he’d rubbed some kind of oil over it. Maybe he has. I’ll tell you something else. I don’t trust him already.
He’s also younger than any detective I’ve ever seen and dressed casually in jeans and a polo shirt. I’m no expert on detectives but shouldn’t he be wearing a suit?
“Evan, I’m Detective Paulsen.” He speaks in a low voice, the tone catching me off guard, never offering me a handshake or anything, all business. “Can I speak to you in private?”
“Yeah, sure.”
He shuts the door and then takes a seat. I do the same. “What were you doing in an alley?” he demands, more accusing than questioning.
Blowing out a breath, I think about why I had been in that alley last night. “I was walking home,” I tell him, trying to keep my cool. I want to yell at him for questioning my motivations. I saved her life for fuck’s sake, yet they’re acting as though I had something to do with her injuries.
He maintains eye contact with me. “Who was with you?”
“I was alone when I found her.” I take another deep breath, managing to keep my anger under wraps.
“What were you doing out so late?”
I guess, to some, it might be weird that I was walking around the city at two in the morning. “Getting dinner with one of my teammates.”
“Where were your other teammates?”
“It’s a big city.” I snort. “I have no clue. Probably at one of the local bars.”
He eyes me and then a note pad he’s writing on. “So it was just you walking around at two in the morning?”
By now, I’m fucking annoyed, and he’s about to find out just how much. “Hey, man, 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, when I came across Ami in the alley.”
“What time was that?”
“Fuck.” I throw my hands up and then let them fall in my lap with a slap. “I don’t know... late? It’s not like I was looking at my phone when I found her in the alley to check the exact time.”
“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 the fuck is wrong with this guy? “What are you saying?” I’m instantly defensive after everything I’ve been through but damn it, I think I have a right to be. This girl and this situation are 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 crosses his arms and leaning back in the chair.
Lucky for me, I do have a good fucking lawyer. Too bad I haven’t contacted him yet. Stupid maybe, but up until now, I had no idea I even needed a goddamn lawyer for saving someone. Leaning forward, I intend on making my next words sink in. Either that or I’m about to punch a cop. I’m still not sure what’s going to happen next. “I. Didn’t. Do. It!”
He gives me a nod, finally accepting the truth or possibly just humoring me. Not sure which one.
“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.” He shrugs and closes his note pad, pocketing it. I want to rip it from his hands and know everything he does. I want details, leads, descriptions of anyone who saw anything. And I have no idea why. I’ve never been so invested in something other than what skates I like better. “Like I said, we don’t have a lot of details.”
From what that detective said, she lives at Regents Park in the Indian Village, which is located on South Lake Shore. Ballet Chicago is on North State Street. I actually passed it on my way home. All the details don’t add up. Why would she be walking that late at night when her class got out at seven? I found her at around two in the morning. Had she been out there that long?
“Have you talked to the dance studio?”
The detective eyes me, probably trying to decide if I’m trustworthy enough to give private information to. Or, it might have something to do with how much of an ass I’m being, but who knows. His jaw works back and forth, his breathing light and easy. “No, but the owner is being brought in for questioning.” He stands and reaches for the door handle. “Along with a few others who were spotted in the area at the time of the incident.” He levels me a heavy glare. “You should call your lawyer.”
Fuck. Really? The last thing I need is to be in the news over this.
The second I’m out the door, I call my lawyer. He doesn’t pick up, but I leave him a message letting him know I might need his services real soon.
After being questioned, I head back to my apartment, shower, and then crawl into bed for the night.
I lie here wide awake. I don’t even know why I thought I could sleep after the night I had. My thoughts immediately go to Ami. I wonder if she’s feeling any pain or scared. At least she’s in a coma at the moment, free from worry and healing.
And then I think, how the hell did I get myself wrapped up in this? Scrubbing my hands over my face, I sigh. I fucking knew when I found her in that alley, I wasn’t gonna be able to walk away from her. I don’t have it in me.
Does that make me a pussy?
I fight with myself—I won’t go back to that hospital and that’s the end of it. I have a life and it doesn’t include her. I have hockey. I need to keep it like that. Right? Tell me I’m right here.
I saved her.
I did my job.
That should have been enough. Being attached to a girl isn’t what I need.
As you can tell, I’m struggling with this decision.
I try to sleep, maybe then everything will be clear, but I can’t. My mind spins, flashing through images of her face and body. The way she looked, what could have happened to her, all the vivid memories cling to my mind. Visions of her blood spilled over white snow, her pale face, and helpless state... fuck.
Groaning, I throw my legs over the side of my bed. I squint and try to make out the clock. It’s around three on Christmas morning. On the edge of my bed, I glance out the windows overlooking the city. I used to love this view. Now I see a city that got the best of an innocent young girl in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m angry. Fucking pissed all over again because this kind of bullshit happens all over the world, every minute of every day. But why this girl? Why’d I have to be the one to find her?
Wanting to clear my mind, I head down the hall to where my weights and treadmill are.
Working out seems to do the trick for a while, but that girl is never far from my thoughts. Just like in a game, play has stopped against the boards for me. I’m frozen, waiting to get loose, waiting to get that puck and play to start again.
Back to my room, my pile of bloody clothes catches my attention. I can’t look at them any longer. I have to get rid of them. Leaning over, I pick them up and right then I have a flash of the guy. His face blank. It’s the first time I think about the guy who did this to her. I mean, I’ve thought about him but this time it’s in detail. What’s he doing right now? Is he freaking out that he might get caught? Does he feel guilty?
Is he staring at a pile of bloody clothes?
Is he wondering if she made it?
Does he think she’s dead?
I’ll never understand what goes through someone’s mind when they rape someone. They’re taking something so personal from a woman, a piece a woman choses to give to a man, and that decision should never ever be taken from them. Never in my life could I think of doing that.
The gaps my mind fill in are the worst part for me, especially after seeing what I did. I imagine her walking alone and then some guy attacking her. I imagine 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 are enough to make me physically sick, and they do. I can’t even eat. So, I can’t sleep, can’t focus, and now I can’t eat. I’m fucked. Over a girl I don’t know.
As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t matter if this guy is sorry for what he’s done because while I’m throwing out those bloody clothes and that girl is fighting to make it through the night, that motherfucker is free right now.
No fucking way am I settling for that.
