Delayed Penalty by Shey Stahl

off Ami's medical bills last week and he asked how I had that kind of money. "I'm a hockey player. I was on a six game road trip these last two weeks."
    "Like in the NHL?" I nodded and she smiled. "That's really cool. Who do you play for?"
    "Chicago Blackhawks."
    "What number are you?"
    That one I hesitated with. I was the same number as her brother would have been, and I didn't want to bring her down. Not tonight. She waited, though, so I finally caved. "Number five."
    "I had a feeling you were." Eyes downcast, a soft smile slowly disappeared into what I knew was coming—sadness. I distracted her with just talking.
    We continued to talk, enjoying the food I brought, our conversations ranging from music we both liked, to movies, to restaurants in Chicago. She had only been here three weeks before the attack but had fallen in love with a few restaurants, most of which were my favorites, too. I made mental notes of a few, wanting to sneak in take-out for her again.
    I learned what drew her into ballet. She claimed she never grew out of the princess phase as a child and loved to dance. She told me a story about her wearing a princess crown for three months straight until her mom bought her ballet slippers for her fifth birthday. That was when she learned to dance. All through school, and up until her family died, she danced ballet. That led her to Ballet Chicago. "It's not like I want to do it as a profession," she paused, looking over at me. "I just love to dance. It's therapeutic almost. I would actually never consider doing it for a career. It's what relaxes me. Like yoga."
    I could definitely understand that. Every hockey player I know had something other than hockey that relaxed them. Leo, he loved to ride his street bike. Unfortunately for him, he had limitations because of his contract with the Blackhawks. Our contract prohibited us from doing anything dangerous. That included riding street bikes.
    Remy, he liked to fight— in a game, in a bar—that was just him.
    I understood needing something therapeutic. Me? I worked out.
    As with any relationship with the opposite sex, whether you're friends or lovers, the conversation eventually ended up intimate. "Do you have a girlfriend? I can't imagine she'd be too happy with you coming here every day."
    "No." I laughed. "No girlfriend."
    "So what about you? Any boyfriends that I need to worry about coming in here?" I asked, suddenly very intent on the television. I didn't know why I asked that fucking question. Stupidity again. She had already told me about her deal in Oregon with her last boyfriend, but I still asked.
    "No, you're safe," she said dryly.
    "Really?"
    "I only just moved here and before that I was in a long relationship. He left after my family…well, you know. He was a pussy. When I got here, I immediately started working at Ballet Chicago and then met Blake Keldrick, one of the dance instructors who allowed me to take classes while I worked. I didn't do much but clean-up after and train the younger girls. Blake was helping me get back on my feet. He wasn't my boyfriend or anything, but I lived with him and his wife, Sena."
    You could see the confusion in her eyes trying to remember anything about that night, but she couldn't; the memories just weren't there. When I saw the tears, I tried to think of anything I could to change the subject, mentally smacking myself for the slip-up. She didn't need this shit right now.
    "Listen," I said quietly, leaning forward to touch her hand that was near the edge of the bed. Her fingers curled around mine. "I'm sorry I brought that up. Let's talk about something else."
    She seemed to brush the thoughts and tears away quickly, a glimmer of a smile was there. "Tell me about hockey."
    I leaned back in the chair before I spoke, wanting to give her a feel for the sport. Choosing my words carefully, I explained why I loved it through the sights, smells, actions, and more importantly, the heart that went into the sport. Through all