Two minutes into the third period, Evan was back on the ice as they set up for a face-off in the Sharks' zone.

All around us people were jumping up from their seats and shouting. My first thought was we scored but there was no foghorn, no music, and no lights.

My eyes flickered to the left of the Sharks' goal, searching for the cause, just in time to see Evan drop his gloves. He discarded his stick before lunging at Dave, who'd already done away with his own stick and gloves.

"What happened?" I asked Callie, trying to see over the fans pounding on the gla.s.s in front of us.

"I don't know," Callie answered, though I didn't shift my focus from Evan. I whimpered when Dave threw a solid punch to his stomach. It looked like Evan didn't even register the blow as he steadily advanced on him again.

The refs hung back, watching for any signs either had enough, but no one stepped in. Players from both sides started confronting each other, trash talking and getting in each other's faces, and a few started throwing punches.

The crowd went wild.

Penalty shot A free shot awarded to a player who was illegally interfered with, preventing him from a clear scoring opportunity. The shot is taken with only the goalie guarding against it.

Against his better judgment, Coach played me in that game. It was probably the worst mistake he'd ever made.

My mouth was dry. I kept drinking water as though it would help, but nothing would. Not feeling like myself, I kept tripping and even dropped my stick a few times. I was probably the most aggressive I had ever been on the ice. It could have been my body's reaction to stay away from Dave, knowing that if I got near him, I would have killed him. I should have been ejected.

Dave's shifty gaze throughout the game confirmed my suspicions. I thought back and everything about that night finally made sense.

"What's with you?" Leo shoved against me as we shuffled down the bench. I grunted a response but didn't speak. I wasn't sure if I could.

"Where the f.u.c.k were you?" Coach smacked the back of my head. "When he crosses over like that, you gotta f.u.c.king nail him! G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Mase! Get your s.h.i.t together!"

I nodded, only speaking in sighs and blinks and nods, pretending I heard him, but I heard nothing. I wasn't there. I wasn't anywhere but lost in my own f.u.c.king thoughts. No sensation, no sight, no sound, only f.u.c.king anger. When the numbness swallowed me whole, I knew I was about to react.

I had no idea where the game was at, who was leading, or any other stat I usually always knew. Instead, I had one focus, one thought, one outcome.

On the ice again, with a minute left, we faced off on the line together. My hands were shaking, my stomach clenching. If I had anything left in my stomach I would have lost it on the ice. I knew when Dave looked up at me during that face off, he knew that I knew.

I couldn't see straight; anger was feeding me with adrenaline, pumping blood through my veins, a deadly combination. Every bone in my body ached, my muscles clenching and strangling. The beat of my heart was loud, drowning, and suffocating. I swallowed back the bile rising up my throat.

I blinked.

I tried to breathe.

I tried to be numb.

Leaning forward in a crouched position, I rested my arms against my thighs, my gaze caught Ami staring at me, her hand over her mouth. She knew something was wrong. She saw me now. She felt me now. She knew me.

I blinked.

I tried to f.u.c.king breathe.

Being numb wouldn't work. Too much about this girl was inside of me. Too much anger. Too much guilt. Too much heart.

I blinked. This time, the motion exaggerated.

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

"How are you and the ballerina doin'?"

The warning chirp of the whistle brought me back. Leo was nudging Bomber with his stick, one eye on me, his head turning to the ref and then me again. Leo knew. His jaw clenched, and his eyes were wild.

My eyes flickered to Dave, gritting his teeth. Sweat mixed with the blood from earlier and it streamed down my face, hot against my cool skin. I blew out a breath.

Anger pulsed through my body; my hands clenched inside my gloves.

Those images returned.

When the whistle blew, the puck dropped, the sound of plastic sc.r.a.ping over the ice rattled, but everything was still for me.

I blinked.

I tried to breathe.

I tried to be numb.

Dave stood from his crouching position, and I followed his action. I was famous for fighting with my heart. Ask my parents. Ask my friends. Ask Ami. Right now, it was all I had, fighting with my heart.

My breath hitched as I let my stick and gloves fall to the ice. The sound, so loud, so defining because this was it. This was me giving in.

Closing my eyes, I took in one deep breath, the action strangled. My lungs filled with evil; it was forced and shallow.

He circled me.

The part that got me the most was not only was he my friend, my teammate, my boy, but he took something from a girl in such a brutal f.u.c.king way, something she could never get back.

"Why?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

He heard me, his head angled to the sound of my voice. He shrugged, a bitter laugh. "It wasn't personal, Mase. She's just a girl."

"Just a girl?" I choked, trying to swallow.

"Yes. Just a girl. To anyone else she was just another puck bunny who got frisky."

"You nearly killed her!" I barked, Leo was near me now, skating by and trying to push me back. Shoving Leo backward, I didn't even look to see if I did damage. I finally had that numbness. "You knew what you did, didn't you? You knew when I said I had taken a girl to the hospital that night, didn't you? f.u.c.king admit it."

"I knew. What do you want me to say?"

His casualness p.i.s.sed me off. I had these memories. They haunted me. And now, staring at him, it was like they were real again. They were happening now. I could smell the blood, feel the chill of that night, hear her moan, watch her wrenching in pain, and now I see him standing over her.

My fist clenched again at the memory, my knuckles white. The memory was not a memory any longer; it was a f.u.c.king nightmare.

"She was virgin..." I gasped, trying to hold on. I sounded desperate, and I was. "Did you know that?"

I watched him. I wanted a reaction out of him. Something that told me he was sorry or that he never meant to hurt her the way he did. I got none of that because you couldn't get a reaction out of someone who didn't give a s.h.i.t.

"Oh, come on!" Dave rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disgust. His teammates began circling, and refs got in between, shoving us backward. "Why does it even matter?"

"It matters!" I shouted, struggling to get to him. I was livid and wanted revenge. In an aggravated motion, I ripped my helmet off. It skidded to the boards. "It f.u.c.king matters, and you know it!"

"Why?" He sounded offended, annoyed, and restless. He knew where this was going and from the look in my eyes, I was sure he knew how it was ending. "Is it because you didn't get a chance at the cherry?" He laughed bitterly. "That's it, isn't it?"

I found numbness.

I lunged for him, throwing punches I wasn't landing at first, but then once I started connecting, every f.u.c.king memory was told through my fist. It was like I stopped seeing what was in front of me and lived inside a memory instead.

"She walked away, man." Dave snorted, completely missing the point, struggling to get me off of him. "Get over it."

I had no idea what was going on around me, just that refs, coaches, and teammates were all shouting around us, but I couldn't stop, not until I couldn't lift my arm.

When I couldn't move, when he was lying on the ice, bleeding, a vision just like Ami, I stood or tried to at least. "Walk away from that, you son of a b.i.t.c.h."

I wanted to f.u.c.king kill him, but there was a bigger message here.

This time, my message, the message our sport so clearly sent sometimes, was a personal one: You f.u.c.k up, you pay for that s.h.i.t.

I was escorted to the locker room and started ripping away my gear, throwing the best I could given my condition. The trainers were there, and I was told I needed to head to the hospital. When I felt the blood pouring from my face and the pain in my chest, I decided maybe it was a good idea.

I wondered if she knew. We knew things about each other, s.h.i.t we never had to say. She knew me, deeper than bones and deeper than soul.

I knew from the first touch; the same pa.s.sion flew through both of us. As livid as I was, and I still felt inside, I couldn't help but think it wasn't all about me. I flinched at my thoughts and her reaction.

There was a girl about to know the truth, the truth that just might rip those stars from the sky.

Staring at my hands, b.l.o.o.d.y and broken, I was disappointed, too. I was disappointed that I didn't use my head, and that here we were in playoffs and I let the team down. I also knew had any one of my boys known what I knew, they would have reacted that way, too.

"So what's going to happen to Dave?" I asked, once at the hospital, my voice shaking in fear that the answer would be nothing.

"If he is the one, he will be arrested," Detective Paulsen said. I had Leo call him as soon as they sent me to the hospital. He met me at the hospital. "He will be questioned, I a.s.sure you."

I heard the pitch in his voice when he got here, his breathing, his eyes-it all told me what I needed to know. He knew all along it was Dave. How I missed it this long was disturbing. Now everything made sense. The way he acted the next day, the way Paulsen asked questions about the guys on my team that day. The way he blew off any tip I gave him and the way Blake was so easily forgotten about. Paulsen had known all along.

"You guys better do something about him or you'll have the entire Chicago Blackhawks team in jail in about an hour," Leo warned the detective, moving from the chair and standing beside him, knowing we'd all go after Dave again if it came to that. His scowl deepened when the detective said nothing, and I realized I had never seen Leo so upset. I'd never seen him so intense, so angry, and well, so protective of a girl. Ami had that way about her.

Detective Paulsen rolled his eyes. "Like I said, he'll be questioned."

Leo started pacing the room, his hands in his hair. "I was with him that night. I was f.u.c.king with him!" A look of realization came over him. "And I had breakfast with him that morning. Oh, for Christ's sake! I even knew he'd been with a girl that night. He told me." I could understand Leo's frustration and betrayal. We trusted Dave. He was our friend, and now it was like we didn't even know him. Dave was the last person I would ever think could do something like that to another person. Sure, he f.u.c.ked around, but trying to kill a woman? No. Never did I think he would have been the one.

All this time, for months, I thought for sure it was Blake and that he just had a good f.u.c.king lawyer. Even with that, someday I knew he'd pay for what he had done. Now that it was Dave, I still felt the same way. He needed to pay.

Clearing the zone When a defending player sends the puck out of the opponent's attacking zone, all the attacking players must leave or clear the zone to avoid being called offsides when the puck re-enters the zone.

An awareness for the situation took over, and Callie cleared her throat, our arms intertwined, clutching each other at what we just witnessed.

I felt nauseous seeing Evan lying on the ice. I felt mentally drained and scared. I had no idea what happened out there or why they were fighting like that, but I knew it was for a reason. Evan wouldn't have let the fight go on like that if it wasn't personal. But Dave was his friend so that didn't make sense to me.

"What was that about?" I asked Callie. She shrugged and pointed behind her. "We should go. Leo just sent a text and said they're taking Evan to the hospital."

The medical personnel mostly hovered around Dave, who was still on the ice, blood pouring from his mouth and nose, but Evan had limped off with the help of the trainer and Remy, only to collapse once he was off the ice.

"We have to go," I pleaded, attempting to move from our seats. There was no moving. The crowd was still cheering and booing at the same time, beating their hands against the gla.s.s as another player from San Jose was in Coach O'Brien's face.

It was madness, nothing I had ever seen before.

After jostling our way through the crowd, we met Remy outside. He was the only one who managed to get away from the media, which were hovering in every corner. Leo was stuck talking with one trying to get them to focus on the game and not the fight.

None of us said anything, and I didn't ask what happened because I didn't think Remy even knew. He looked stunned just like us.

The slight chill in the air brought back a flash of memories from that night, words I hadn't remembered coming back to me. "Where are you going all alone?"

The memory made me sick again. The rush of blood to my ears blocked out the conversation that just began between Callie and Remy about what hospital they took him to.

When we pulled up at the emergency entrance, there were about four cop cars surrounding the circle drive and a dozen more inside, each one looking at us as we rushed in. Remy asked the male nurse at the front desk where Evan was, and he said Evan was with the police.

What?

"Why would he be with the police?" I asked. My voice cracked, and Remy looked over at me. He wrapped his arm around me to comfort me.

Callie stepped to the desk, her hands resting on the counter, leaning in. "We just need to know if he's okay, and then we will have a seat and wait. That's his girlfriend." She raised her hand to touch my shoulder. "Can she at least see him for a moment?"

"No, sorry." The man looked at his clipboard. "But I will let you know when you can if you would please just have a seat over there."

Remy wasn't having it, but when a policeman stepped in between him and the nurse, he backed off.

Once inside, we sat there for two hours before we could see him. Two f.u.c.king hours.

When they finally did tell me that I could see him, they said he was asking for me.

It was a strange feeling being back in a hospital, both sickening and overwhelming as memories I hadn't had before kept looping in my head. The chill returned, and I found myself curling into my sweatshirt as I walked through the automatic doors into the emergency room. Each room had gla.s.s walls with a bed and monitors surrounding them.

Evan was in the one to the far left, sitting up on the bed in a gown with his feet dangling over the edge. His uniform had been removed and was in a pile on the floor. He was dressed in a white and light green hospital gown that was open in the front. Bruises and blood covered his chest. That was where my eyes went first and then to his face, but I couldn't see it. He wouldn't look up. Even when he heard the gla.s.s doors open, he kept his head down.

Then I noticed the man sitting in the chair beside him. Detective Paulsen. My detective.

"What are you doing here?" My case had been closed months ago.

"Give us a minute," Evan growled, his voice directed at the floor. He wouldn't look up.

The detective stood and moved to the door, and without looking at me, he left us alone.

Stepping to Evan, he flinched slightly when I touched his hand. "Broken," he said, confirming my thoughts when I noticed how swollen it was. I started to cry again, confused by everything and feeling bad that I had just touched his broken hand.

"I'm sorry."

Evan gasped, finally looking up at me, his body practically vibrating with an anger. He was breathing deeply through his nose.