Delayed Penalty by Shey Stahl

19. Delayed Penalty

When a penalty is called, the referee will raise his or her arm to indicate that one is being called, but, if the team who committed the infraction is not in control of the puck, no whistle will be blown until a player from the offending team controls the puck.

Conference Finals (Game 1) San Jose Sharks

Evan

Ami came to California with me. I couldn’t have her staying at my place alone. Or I’ve become needy. Either way, she’s here.

Only problem is, ever since the other night, my self-control is wavering. I want her, physically, and I don’t want to hold out any longer.

Tonight. I’m thinking of doing it tonight. I mean, why not, right? Why wait?

My mind wanders as I tape my stick—trying not to focus on anything in particular and thinking about the situation with Ami and me. So much about our relationship, still technically undefined, is complicated. Will sex complicate it even more? We have a strong friendship and both understand that it’s so much more than that, and has been since the very beginning. We have a bond. And in hockey, a bond is what you need. As weird as it sounds, I can see myself with Ami forever.

I want to be with her forever. I’m twenty-one. She’s eighteen. Is that too soon? Are we too young? Again. Will this complicate it even more?

“Look what the cat dragged in!” Leo yells beside me, throwing my tape I’m using.

“Dick.” I steal his from him.

I look up to see Dave, our old teammate, step inside the locker room, the same high that always surrounds him present. No one knows the reason why he was traded to the Sharks, and if you ask him, he doesn’t know either. I will tell you this. He never got along with O’Brien, so it’s understandable for the most part.

He smiles at me. “What’s up, Mase?”

I nod to Dave, my focus on my stick. “Hey.”

He knocks his foot to mine. “Bring the D-man skills tonight.”

“Me?” I crack a smile.

Remy makes his way over to us. “This pussy needs some competition tonight.”

“So what’s with you and Natalie the other night?” Leo asks Dave, knowing he took out the pediatrician from Northwestern. Pretty much all of us have been with her at one time or another. “She let you take a dip?”

“Fuck yeah.” Dave laughs, nodding arrogantly. “She wanted it.”

Remy chuckles beside me, stroking his stick. “I don’t doubt that. She’s a good time.”

I don’t pay much attention to their conversation because Dave is always bragging. I smile too, missing the banter between all of us.

Dave sighs, shaking his head. “Oh yeah, she was down for anything, eh? Liked it rough too.” And then he makes a motion like he’s slapping someone’s ass.

For a moment, those words mean nothing from Dave. He always says shit like that. I’ve heard them before. Then they fester and sit inside me. They dig down deep and wait for the realization. The familiarity, but then they hold onto me like a noose around my neck tightening.

Memories flash in my head.

And then her face. The blood, the snow, her whimpers when I found her.

“You want it, don’t you? I bet you like it rough.”

I stare into Dave’s dark eyes. While conversation flows around us, he stares back at me. He’s still talking, his mouth moving, but I can’t hear anything else. I’m frozen in time. Stuck in a minute and unable to look away from him. I drop my tape to the ground and look down at it.

No. No, this can’t be. I’m imagining this. I have to be.He wouldn’t, right?

I lift my eyes to Dave again.

I never noticed how black his eyes are. Maybe it’s my mind trying to place him as the guy. I don’t know but dread washes over me and leaves me shaking. What if he’s the guy?

I think about the time Ami met him. Her reaction. It’s nothing she said, just a confused look. I don’t even think she was conscious of it at the time.

“How are you and the ballerina doin’?”

The phrase jolts me like an electric current again.

How would he have known? I never said she was a dancer. Maybe it was on the news. Or Leo told him. I don’t know. I can’t think straight.

Blood rushes in my ears, ringing and drowning out every other noise.

Nausea rolls through me and my stomach rises. I look at Dave again. His posture stiffens and he steps back, his demeanor completely different. He’s agitated. Nervous. He shifts his feet, ending the conversation before it’s over and nods. “Good luck, fellas.”

Leo hits my knee and reaches down for his tape. “What’s wrong with you?”

I can’t answer him. I run out of the locker room and into the hall, half-dressed, gasping for breath. When I get near the wall, my hands splay out, supporting me as my head hangs, staring at the floor.

I try to breathe and swallow and... just fucking breathe... but it hurts. Physically fucking painful to draw in a breath.

“Come on, man…,” I tell myself, shaking my head. “Jesus Christ. Get it together. Get your fucking shit together. You don’t know that it’s him.”

But I do know. I feel it. I know in my gut that it’s him. There’s no question.

I grip the edge of the trash can tighter, struggling, straining every raw nerve ending just to hold on. And then I think of Ami, sweet Ami and those starry blue eyes and innocent smile, and my fucking heart skips a beat. She’s inside every beat of my heart. My girl. My beautiful girl. How could he?

He was my fucking friend, and he did this?

A thousand different memories and visions flash before my eyes, from the moment I found her now. The look of her lying in that bed, unconscious, supported by a machine. The look on her face when I first officially met her. Our first kiss.

All these memories, all these visions of what our life has been like for five months. Her nightmares. The time I found her checking the locks in the middle of the night. Her inability to sleep alone.

Suddenly, I can barely breathe again. I don’t want to believe it’s Dave. I don’t, but what if it is? What does this mean? Will he admit to it? Can I handle it if he does?

“Dude...” Leo comes into the hall. “You pregnant or something?”

I don’t have time to answer him before I’m throwing up again.

I’m a fucking mess. It can’t be him. Please don’t let it be him.

When I’m finally on the ice for warm-ups, my skates feel constraining, like they’re shackles. I wish they’d hold me in place. Will me not to react. They don’t. I’m jittery and unpredictable.

Leo skates next to me. “What’s going on with you?”

I try to answer him, but every time my voice catches in my throat, the fight in me raging. Two sides of me warring against one another, each one with their own distinct voice.

There’s the moral side, the one my parents raised to do the right thing, and then there’s the less noble side. The side that saw first-hand what he’d done to her and the side that wants to kill that motherfucker for ever laying a hand on her.

The less noble side is very convincing. Someone bumps me from behind.

I turn my head to the right to see who’s beside me. Remy. His face frozen with apprehension. “Dude, you okay?”

I don’t answer.

Circling around during warm-ups, I see Dave coming at me. He gives me a head nod, as if to say “Hey,” but I don’t look up. Instead, I drop my shoulder and check the fucker on the red line. He knows that’s my warning.

I skate past without a look, let alone a word. Not acknowledging him is easy. It’s not laying his fucking ass out, beating him senseless, and jerking the truth out of him that’s difficult.

The sports broadcasting station and fans are all over that check, predicting the game. And I’m benched during warm-ups.

Honestly, though, it’s my only way of getting away from him. I think for sure if I’m out of the game I can’t act on what I so desperately want to do.

I want to kill him.

“Sit. The. Fuck. Down,” Coach says, shoving me down where I belong—on the bench.

As I sit there, I look up to see Dave. He eyes me once more, his expression guarded as he picks his helmet up off the ice.

Do you see the look? Do you feel the nerves feeding off him?

He knows I know.