Page 25 of Across the Boards

I laugh out loud, drawing curious looks from teammates still changing nearby.

Not at all. My ankle and I will absolutely be ready for fish tacos at 6pm tomorrow.

Good. That’s good. For the tacos’ sake, of course.

Of course. The tacos will be relieved.

I’m smiling again, can’t help it. Even after a hard-fought game, even with my ankle throbbing, all I can think about is seeing her tomorrow.

“Good game, Carter,” Coach says as I’m leaving the arena. “That block in the third was a game-saver. Ice that ankle tonight.”

“Will do, Coach. Thanks.”

As I limp slightly to my car, I realize I’ve played through pain plenty of times in my career. But this is the first time I’ve been genuinely glad I did, just so I wouldn’t have to cancel plans for fish tacos.

* * *

By Thursday evening,my ankle is swollen but functional, wrapped tightly in a compression bandage hidden under my jeans. The bruise is spectacular—a Rorschach test of purple and blue spreading from ankle to mid-calf—but nothing I haven’t dealt with before.

I stand on Elliot’s doorstep at exactly 5:55pm, trying not to put too much weight on my right foot. When she opens the door, any lingering pain immediately fades to background noise.

She’s wearing jeans and a simple green blouse, her hair loose around her shoulders, and she’s smiling—a real smile that reaches her eyes.

“Wow, you’re actually on time,” she says, checking her watch. “I thought hockey players operated on a different time zone. Hockey Standard Time. Always fifteen minutes late.”

“That’s rock stars,” I correct. “Hockey players are pathologically early. Coach fines us if we’re less than ten minutes early to practice.”

“So I should have expected you at 5:45, is what you’re saying.”

“I restrained myself. For your sake.”

She laughs, grabbing her purse. “How gallant. And the ankle?”

“Functional,” I reply. “Ugly, but functional.”

“Show me.”

“My ankle? Right here on your doorstep? Scandalous, Elliot.”

She rolls her eyes. “Your injury, Carter. I want to make sure you’re not going to collapse on me halfway to the taco truck.”

“I don’t collapse that easily. I’ve been told I’m quite sturdy.”

“By whom? Your mother?”

“Among others.” I wink, pleased by her eye roll. “But seriously, it’s just a bruise. Impressive colors, limited functionality. Like a contemporary art installation.”

“If you say so.” She glances at my car in the driveway. “Are you sure you can drive?”

“Positive. It’s my right ankle, but I’ll use my left for the brake.” At her alarmed expression, I add, “That was a joke. I can drive perfectly fine.”

“In that case, let’s take my car,” she says, producing her keys. “Your giant SUV guzzles gas like it’s getting paid for it.”

“My ‘giant SUV’ is a practical vehicle for a professional athlete who lives in snowy cities half the year.”

“Phoenix gets approximately two snowflakes annually.”

“I’m planning ahead for the apocalyptic climate shift,” I joke. “But fine, we’ll take your sensible adult car.”

---