"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.
My brow furrowed at my reactions. "What's going on, Evan?" I asked, ducking down to move in front of him since he wouldn't look at me. He lifted his head just enough to catch my eyes.
For a moment he didn't take his eyes away from mine, searching for the words that wouldn't come.
Another doctor walked in and looked at Evan's forehead where he had a large piece of gauze tinged with blood taped to his head. Evan's eyes remained on mine as the doctor examined him, poking and prodding. "Mase," the team doctor said, "we need to get that stitched up, but I'll give ya a minute." The doctor finally left the room, the glass door making a swishing sound as it closed behind him.
"Evan, what happened?" I begged him, reaching up to softly touch the raised skin over his cheek that was turning purple, trying to return his gaze to me so I could decipher what the fuck happened and what was running through his head. His hand shook, reaching toward me, and covered mine, pressing his cheek into my palm.
He seemed to fidget a bit, swallowing deeply and darting his gaze away from mine again. I reached my other hand up to cup his face, gently stroking over the ridge of his jaw just below his ears.
I would have laughed at his expression if the circumstances were any different. He looked tired but still angry. When he looked back at the floor, I understood whatever happened tonight wasn't going to be easy for him to say.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough, the sound making me tremble.
"Why was Detective Paulsen in here?" I couldn't stand seeing him look so angry and sad, but there was a lot about tonight I didn't understand. I wanted to understand.
Evan's shoulders hunched a bit compared to his normal strong posture. His face, which I placed my hand on trying to get him to look at me again, was covered in his playoff scruff, which could no longer be called scruff with how thick it had grown in. My fingers scraped against it.
"Dave…" Evan gasped again, his head shaking with a dejected anger, and then he tried to swallow, but it looked like he was swallowing sand. "He was the guy who…" His eyes found mine, glossed over and heavy. He was holding on by a thread, rapidly blinking back tears. "Raped you."
I watched his mouth move, and I heard the words but didn't react. Everything felt like it was in slow motion.
It was like that feeling you got when someone told you something but you weren't sure if what you heard was what he or she really said. Your mind kept repeating the phrase, trying to make sense of it. Then you asked, "What?" Even though you had heard them. You knew exactly what they said, but your mind rejected the words as if they were wrong. They had to be wrong.
Evan swallowed again, and I wanted to hand the poor guy water. He was struggling.
"Dave is the guy," he repeated, his brow furrowed as he searched my eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry that I didn't…I didn't know it was him."
The fight replayed in my mind. I saw it all clearly now. The way Dave looked at me when he skated by the glass. Him winking at Callie and the total disgust she had for him. The way Evan checked him at center ice and never looked back was his first warning to Dave. And then he'd dropped his gloves, defending me.
He had nothing to be sorry for. He protected me, he stood up for me when no one else did. My stomach dropped when a memory hit me: dark, intense eyes, controlling and hovering over me, hands forcefully pulling at my clothes.
I swallowed, trying to gain focus, pushing the memory away. Holding my breath, I felt like my lungs were going to burst, but then again, what if I breathed now?
Would I feel the memory again? Would everything come crashing back? For so long I didn't remember a lot, and I thanked my mind for that. I didn't want to remember.
I couldn't even imagine what Evan must have been feeling when he knew it was Dave. For months, Evan had been carrying around the anxiety of not knowing who it was and that people like that were all around us. It didn't sit well with him. And then to find out it was a friend of his, someone who had given him a place to stay his first season, someone he trusted, he had every right to feel what he was feeling.
He reached out, circling his arms around my waist and pulling me forward to rest against him, my head on his shoulder.