Page 86 of Across the Boards

“Pathetic, Carter,” I mutter to myself as I walk the short distance to my own door. But I’m still smiling.

Inside, I hang my keys on the hook and check my phone, which I’d deliberately left at home to avoid distractions. Multiple texts from Tommy (all variations on “how’s the date going?”), one from Jensen (reminding me about our pre-game meeting time), and one from the team’s equipment manager confirming something I’d arranged earlier.

I reply to Jensen and Tommy, then open my closet, where a package sits waiting—a brand new Carter Phoenix jersey in women’s sizing. The ultimate hockey girlfriend gesture, sending your jersey for her to wear. A public claiming that says “she’s with me” to everyone in the arena.

Is it too much? Too soon? Probably. But something about seeing Elliot tonight—her determination to face Jason on her terms, her refusal to hide—makes me think she might appreciate the symbolism.

It’s a risk. She might see it as presumptuous, might be annoyed at the implication. But something tells me she’ll understand the gesture for what it is—not a claim of ownership, but an offer of alliance. A visible sign that she’s no longer facing the hockey world alone.

I arrange for a morning delivery, then get ready for bed, mind already shifting to tomorrow’s game. Miami on home ice. Jason Martinez potentially looking to start trouble. And Elliot watching from the stands.

17

ELLIOT

My alarm goes off at 6:30 AM, though I’ve been awake since just past 5, staring at my ceiling and replaying last night’s kiss on loop. The way Brody lifted me onto the railing. The heat in his voice when he confessed he’d thought about me for three years. The mortifying interruption by Mrs. Abernathy.

“Just a kiss,” I remind myself as I shuffle to the kitchen to start coffee. “A very good kiss, but still just a kiss.”

The doorbell rings as I’m measuring coffee grounds, making me jump and spill some on the counter. Who’s at my door at 6:45 in the morning?

When I peek through the peephole, I see a delivery person holding a large flat package. Not Brody, then. Both relief and disappointment wash through me.

“Delivery for Elliot Waltman,” the courier says when I open the door. “Signature required.”

I sign for the package, curious and slightly wary. I haven’t ordered anything, and it’s too early for most standard deliveries.

Back in the kitchen, I examine the unmarked box while my coffee brews. No return address, just my name and address in typed print. I slice through the tape carefully and pull back the cardboard to reveal tissue paper and a folded note on top.

No pressure to wear this. But if you want to make a statement, this says it all. Either way, I’m honored you’re coming. - B

Beneath the tissue paper lies a Phoenix home jersey. I lift it out, already knowing whose name and number will be on the back before I turn it over.

CARTER. 43.

“Oh,” I breathe, running my fingers over the stitched letters.

This is significant. It’s a public declaration, a claiming. Wives and girlfriends wear their partners’ jerseys to games as proud displays of allegiance. I used to wear Jason’s—first as his girlfriend, then as his wife—until the day I found evidence of his infidelity on his phone and threw it in the donation bin on my way home.

I haven’t worn a jersey since.

Setting it down, I pour my coffee and try to process this development with my still sleep-fogged brain. Is Brody being presumptuous, assuming I’ll want to wear his jersey after one date? Or is this thoughtful, giving me the option to make a statement if I choose to?

The Miami game. Jason will be there. Of course.

This isn’t just a jersey; it’s a gauntlet. A declaration of where—and with whom—my allegiance now lies.

My phone buzzes with a text from Sarah.

Good morning! Picking you up at 5 for pre-game dinner. Black dress code still in effect?

I stare at the jersey spread across my kitchen island. For three years, I’ve avoided the hockey world. Avoided Jason’s teammates and their wives. Avoided being Elliot Martinez, hockey WAG turned cautionary tale.

If I show up at the game in Brody’s jersey, there’s no hiding. Everyone will know. Everyone will talk. Jason will see.

Dress code TBD. Will confirm later.

Intriguing! Something changed after your date?

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