"I love you," I whispered, situating myself between her knees. I didn't say anything more for a long moment, letting the words sink in. I wondered if Josh had told her he loved her. I wondered what her reaction was. Was it the reaction she was having now, staring at me, giving me a look that told me she felt what I had just said to her?

It was the first time I had said it to a girl that wasn't family and it was natural, like everything else with her. Sure, I felt like there was a wild animal clawing at my heart, and every other piece of my chest, but I said it and she didn't run from me.

My palms were on her stomach, pushing her shirt up. I touched her b.r.e.a.s.t.s over her bra. My touch excited her; I could see it in the way her cheeks were glowing and her heavy breaths against my neck and shoulders. My words were what crept deep inside her. I could see it in those bright blues staring back at me and her parted lips, desperate to speak.

My voice, the need to say more, hear more, was trapped in my throat.

Eventually, I said what I needed to say. "Tell me you love me..." I kissed down her arm, bringing her hand to mine, intertwining our fingers together.

"I love you." Her voice was small and unsteady, as if saying it would mean nothing. She wanted to show me. "Show me, Evan. Make it real. Don't say it without making me feel it."

I couldn't meet her eyes, I wanted to, but couldn't out of fear of taking her right then. It was out of my control, so I tried to concentrate on her skin, touching everywhere I could, in hopes that eventually we would be together in the ways we wanted to.

How do I make this real?

When she touched my chest, I shook.

"Please, don't stop, Mase..."

f.u.c.k, she called me Mase again.

I slid her hand away from my chest to press my body flush with hers. She rubbed her palms across my lower back, holding me against her.

My eyes were closed now, my eyebrows scrunched together, my lips swollen and red, matching hers.

I whispered words to her, goose b.u.mps spreading over any place my lips touched. She touched my arm and shoulders, focusing on the way my muscles moved beneath her hands.

I gripped the sheets beside her head, groaning, carefully nibbling on sensitive skin. "I'm so f.u.c.ked. You have me so f.u.c.ked up." My nose swept from her throat to her jaw bone, hoping she understood what that meant this time.

Her skin felt abnormally warm. It burned to touch and was tempting to kiss. My lips found the spot where her pulse was the strongest. "Your heart is beating so fast," I whispered quietly.

I released the sheets and touched her face, letting her see I was just like her, trembling skin and chattering bones.

When I settled between her legs, we both shifted and began breathing heavier.

"You're my girl," I said, trickling my fingers down her ribs. "You know that, right?"

Her legs were open now, wrapped around me.

"Mase," she whispered, searching my eyes.

"Be still." My self-control was gone.

"Please," she begged again. "I want you."

I put a finger to her lips and whispered, "Not yet, not now. We have time. Let's just take it slow. They'll be time for that later." The one time we had gotten close, Ami was too scared. Ever since then, she kept saying she was ready, but I just couldn't do it.

Although confused, she didn't argue. It'd be so f.u.c.king easy to get carried away. Her body, her words, her starry blues told me she was ready, but I knew she wasn't. And despite how badly I wanted her, I wanted to preserve this a little longer. I played along. Every once in a while I teased, I whispered something obscene into her ear just to see how far I could push. That was just me; I teased and she let me.

I hitched her leg over my waist, giving her open mouthed kisses, and I wanted to push myself against her but didn't. I ached for her so f.u.c.king badly, but I didn't trust myself to move. Instead, I kissed her.

"Please." She tried again, desperately reaching to unb.u.t.ton my jeans.

I groaned against her lips, stopping her hand. "Don't ask me that right now." My entire body shivered, fighting what was right from wrong. If she asked me one more time, I would do it. I would f.u.c.k her right here, give in and feel the connection we were starved for.

Her lips were warm, full of love, her center pushed into mine, hot and deep. I cried out against her when she wiggled, arching into me. With only our jeans separating us, I pushed against her again. My body reacted to the heat, and I felt my f.u.c.king knees go weak.

Her hands gripped my sides, urging me forward each time I moved. Tipping her head back with my fingers, I kissed her, tasting her love heavy on my tongue.

There would never be anything but this, right here.

Eventually our movements stopped; we couldn't go further and we knew it.

I smiled with closed eyes, kissing her one last time, twice, three times, before pulling away. "I love you," I whispered again, tenderly worshiping this girl, exhaling against her skin.

I dropped the gloves. I finally told a girl I loved her, and f.u.c.k if I wasn't ready to dance.

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.

Sunday, May 16, 2010.

My mind was wandering as it usually did, taping my stick-trying not to focus on anything in particular and definitely not the situation with Ami and me. So much about our relationship, still technically undefined, was complicated. We had a strong friendship and both understood that it was so much more than that and had been since the very beginning. Ami and I had a bond. And in hockey, a bond was what you needed. As weird as it sounded, I could see myself with Ami forever.

I also knew it wouldn't be much longer before we finally had s.e.x. The thought was both comforting and terrifying.

Dave Keller, our old teammate, stepped inside the locker room, the same high that always surrounded him present. No one knew the reason why he was traded, and if you asked him, he didn't know either. He never got along with O'Brien, though, so it was understandable for the most part.

"What's up, Mase?" I gave Dave a nod, my focus on my stick.

"So what's with you and Natalie the other night?" Leo asked Dave, knowing he'd taken out the pediatrician from Northwestern. Pretty much all of us had bagged her at one time or another. "She let you take a dip?"

"f.u.c.k yeah, she wanted it." Remy chuckled beside me. Dave was always bragging. I smiled too, missing the banter between all of us. "Oh yeah, she was f.u.c.king pretty, eh? She liked it rough, too."

For a moment, those words meant nothing from Dave. He always said s.h.i.t like that. Then, though, the words really meant something to me.

Until my mind went back to what Ami remembered about that night.

"You want it, don't you? I bet you like it rough."

A flash of remembrance came to mind as I looked into his dark eyes. Dave stared back at me. He was still talking, his mouth was moving, but I couldn't hear anything else.

We exchanged a look. I never noticed how black his eyes were. Maybe it was my mind trying to place him as the guy?

Feelings of dread washed over me and left me shaking. What if he was the guy?

That was when moments from the past came back, things he said, the way Ami reacted to him the first time she met him. It was nothing she said, just a confused look. I didn't even think she was conscious of it. Then there was his appearance before we left for Nashville, right after Ami's attack. He had scratches he hadn't gotten in the game.

The phrase jolted me like an electric current.

"How are you and the ballerina doin'?"

I ran out of the locker room and into the hall, half-dressed, gasping for breath. When I got near the wall, my hands splayed out supporting me as my head hung, staring at the floor.

I tried to breathe and swallow and...just f.u.c.king breathe...but it hurt. "Come on, man..." I told myself, shaking my head. "Get it together. You don't know that it's him."

But I did know. I felt it.

I heard my voice break apart when I spoke, the pain, the guilt, breaking me apart. I gripped my hands tighter, struggling, straining every raw nerve ending just to hold on.

And then I thought of Ami, sweet Ami and those starry blue eyes and innocent smile, and my f.u.c.king heart skipped a beat, and I felt her in every beat.

He was my f.u.c.king friend, and he did this.

A thousand different memories and visions flashed before my eyes, from the moment I found her to right before the game; the doctors doing the rape kit on her, taking pictures of every cut, scratch and bruise; 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; watching her at my first game.

All these memories, all these visions of what our life had been like for five months. What this girl went through and what she overcame in five short months.

But the thing was, the part that made me physically ill was that none of that s.h.i.t would have happened if he hadn't done this to her.

Suddenly, I could barely breathe.

I didn't want to believe it was Dave.

"Dude..." Leo came into the hall when I vomited into the trash can. "You pregnant or something?"

I didn't have time to answer him before I was throwing up again. I was a f.u.c.king mess.

When I was finally on the ice for warm-up, my skates felt constraining, like they were shackles. Leo kept asking me what was wrong, but every time my voice caught in my throat, the fight in me raging. Two sides of me warred against each other, each one with their own distinct voice.

There was the moral side, the one my parents raised to do the right thing, and then there was the less n.o.ble side. The side that saw firsthand what he had done to her and the side that wanted to kill that motherf.u.c.ker for ever laying a hand on her.

The less n.o.ble side was very convincing.

I turned my head to the right to see who was beside me. Leo. His face frozen with apprehension.

Circling around during warm-ups, I saw Dave coming at me. He gave me a head nod, as if to say "Hey," but I didn't look up. Instead, I dropped my shoulder and checked him right on the red line. He knew that was my warning.

I skated past without a look, let alone a word. Not acknowledging him was easy. It was not laying his f.u.c.king a.s.s out, beating him senseless, and jerking the truth out of him that was difficult. That side won out.

The sports broadcasting station and fans were all over that.

Honestly, though, it was my only way of getting away from him. I thought for sure if I was out of the game I couldn't act on what I so desperately wanted to do.

I wanted to kill him.

As harsh as that sounded, friend or not, if I was right and it was him that did that to my girl, he was done.

"Sit. The. f.u.c.k. Down," Coach said, shoving me down where I belonged-on the bench.

Trailer A player who follows his teammate on the attack seemingly out of the action but actually in position to receive a backward or drop pa.s.s.

The night of the first game in round one of the Stanley Cup playoffs was against San Jose. I originally wasn't going to go, but Callie and Evan talked me into it, and we made the trip with the team. Evan, being in playoff mode, he was quiet and frigid.

By the time we got to the arena the night of the game, Callie was drunk because she said she couldn't stand how moody the boys were being. This was my first road trip with their team and also my first time flying since the accident with my family. Surprisingly, I did well with the help of some adult beverages from the flight attendant who felt bad for me. I made it.

Once at the arena in San Jose, Callie offered me some more alcohol, her flask tucked safely in her bra again, but I declined. I was too nervous to drink.

"What's wrong with Evan?" I noticed his appearance was completely off when he took the ice. Never looking up, he circled center ice. "He's been weird since we left Chicago, but now he seems...almost p.i.s.sed."

"It's playoffs." Callie watched him for a minute and then looked down, concentrating on adding the booze from her flask to the open 7-Up bottle in her hand. "They all get moody. Drink?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Hey, is that Dave Keller who used to play with the Blackhawks?" I asked Callie when I saw him come onto the ice and skate past the gla.s.s in front of us. His eyes seemed different tonight, darker, angry even, or maybe familiar? It wasn't something I could place.

"Yeah, he's an a.s.s." Her tone said more than calling him an a.s.s. It was clear that she hated him. "I'm glad he got traded."

I gave her a nod, not really understanding the strange expression she gave him when he tapped the gla.s.s and winked at her.

Callie rolled her eyes, throwing back her flask again. "Like I said, he's an a.s.s."

It was a playoff game, and everyone would be out for blood. But there was something different going on. Evan seemed to be gunning for Dave when they were on the ice during warm-ups, and then finally, when Dave's eyes were down, focused on the puck, Evan clotheslined him. I saw the hit coming a split second before it happened, as did Callie.

Dave got to his feet quickly, but surprisingly said nothing, and neither did Evan, but the glare Evan delivered to his ex-teammate over his shoulder told me something else was meant by that hit. There was no apology in Evan's stare as he scowled at Dave. By the way he ignored the shouts and stares, it made me realize this was something more than just the playoff moodiness Callie spoke of.

O'Brien wasn't happy and pointed at Evan, who skated back to the bench, head down. "What the f.u.c.k was that?" he screamed at Evan. We could hear it even across the ice.

"Oooh, this is going to be a fun game. Your boy is p.i.s.sed about something."

I turned to Callie. "Maybe I'll take you up on that drink."

She handed it to me, and I took one long swig, feeling the burn and instantly relaxing.

"Oh hey, easy there, tiger..." Callie swiped the flask back. "...I said one drink."

Something was different about him. From the moment the puck hit the ice, I found it hard to catch my breath, knowing something was wrong with him. Every moment he was on the ice, he was fumbling, falling, checking guys into the board harder than before, and avoiding Dave. He'd come near Evan on the ice, even if the puck was in his zone, and he'd fall away and go to the bench. Usually when I watched Evan, he was always a pa.s.sionate player. He was powerful, always strong and focused, always present, but tonight I saw none of that. He seemed distracted.

Just when he seemed to get his game together, he'd get called for off-sides and roughing. Then, right out of the box, he was back in there for a five minute major for instigating. That time when he slammed the door to the penalty box, it shattered.

Callie and I kept looking at each other. We both knew something was up.

And it seemed, though neither of us were completely sure, that it had something to do with Dave.

His eyes were burning when he looked up the ice at Dave, the fire smoldering. He was ready for a fight. He was out for blood.

There was this anger I had seen deep within Evan for a long time, something I knew was always there, and I often saw glimpses of it on the ice and in the fights he got into. I couldn't do anything but stand there and absorb it, knowing that what he was about to do wasn't going to be good.