Page 94 of Across the Boards

“Classic Jason,” I say, the old familiar bitterness rising. “He always knows exactly where to hit for maximum damage.”

“And Brody just defended your honor like some knight in shining hockey pads,” Sarah adds, still looking shellshocked. “That’s... actually incredibly hot.”

Despite everything, I laugh. “Only you would find a hockey fight romantic.”

“Are you saying you don’t?” Her knowing look cuts through my pretense.

“It was completely unnecessary and professionally reckless,” I maintain, though there’s a traitorous part of me that is, undeniably, a little bit thrilled by Brody’s protective instinct. “He could get suspended or fined.”

“Worth it,” Sarah declares. “The look on Jason’s face when that first punch connected? Priceless.”

22

BRODY

As I’m escorted down the tunnel, I risk one glance up at section 109. Elliot is standing, her expression unreadable even from this distance. I raise a hand in what I hope conveys apology rather than triumph.

Then I’m in the locker room, adrenaline still coursing through my system, the full impact of what just happened beginning to sink in. I fought Jason Martinez. On home ice. During a crucial game. After Coach explicitly warned against exactly this scenario.

I’m still processing the potential consequences when the locker room door bangs open and Coach storms in, face thunderous.

“What part of ‘keep it clean’ was unclear to you?” he demands, voice deceptively quiet.

“He went after Elliot,” I explain, wincing as the medical staff examines my jaw. “Made disgusting gestures right in front of her.”

“I don’t care if he insulted your mother, grandmother, and every ancestor back to the Stone Age,” Coach retorts. “That was exactly what he wanted—to get you off the ice for the crucial minutes of the game.”

“I know,” I admit, the fire of righteousness cooling under his glare. “I screwed up.”

“Yes, you did.” He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Luckily for you, the team is holding the lead. But if we lose this game because our best defenseman couldn’t control his temper, we’re going to have a much longer conversation.”

I nod, accepting the rebuke. “It won’t happen again.”

“Damn right it won’t.” He turns to leave, then pauses. “Was it worth it, at least? The punch?”

I think of Jason’s smug face, of the disrespect directed at Elliot, of the satisfying feeling of my fist connecting with his jaw.

“Yeah,” I say honestly. “It was worth it.”

Coach shakes his head, but I swear I see the ghost of a smile before he leaves. “Ice that jaw. You look like hell.”

Left alone with the medical staff, I submit to their examinations and treatments. Nothing broken, thankfully—just bruising and a cut inside my cheek that explains the metallic taste in my mouth.

The sounds of the arena filter through to the locker room—crowd reactions, buzzer signals, the muffled voice of the announcer. I strain to follow the game’s progress, relief washing over me when a massive cheer signals what must be another Phoenix goal.

My phone buzzes from my locker—probably Tommy’s wife updating me on the game situation. But when I check it, the message is from Elliot.

That was both the stupidest and most chivalrous thing I’ve ever seen. Are you okay?

I smile despite the pain in my jaw.

Fine. My dignity is more bruised than my face. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.

You didn’t. Though I’m perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.

I know. Consider it a teamwork approach. You wear my jersey, I punch your ex. Division of labor.

Terrible division. I got the easier job.

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