Page 71 of Across the Boards

“I tried. But how do I explain that I’ve thought about her for three years without sounding like an obsessed stalker?” I run a hand through my sweaty hair. “Which, by the way, is exactly how she took it.”

“You’re not a stalker,” Tommy says firmly. “Slightly pathetic, maybe, but not a stalker.”

“Thanks for the character reference.”

“Anytime.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Look, Elliot’s had a rough time. The divorce with Jason was brutal, and not just because of the cheating. He messed with her head, made her doubt herself. Sarah says she’s been slowly putting herself back together for three years.”

“And I just knocked down all her careful rebuilding with one badly timed confession.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you need to give her a minute to process, to realize you’re not Jason.”

I nod, hoping he’s right. “I left her coffee and a croissant this morning. As a peace offering.”

“Solid start,” Tommy approves. “Though not quite at the ‘grand gesture’ level if you really screwed up.”

“I’m working my way up to that.” I stand, stripping off my practice jersey. “I think I left my phone at home. Can I borrow yours to text her?”

Tommy shakes his head. “Left mine at home. Sarah has this ‘no phones during breakfast’ rule now.”

“Jensen,” I call across the locker room. Can you text Elliot for me? I forgot my phone at home and she might reach out.”

Jensen nods without looking up from untaping his pads. “Yeah, give me her number.”

I watch him type out the message to her and toss his phone to the side.

“Thanks, man,” I tell him. “Owe you one.”

“You owe me about twelve after that defensive breakdown earlier,” he grumbles. “My save percentage in practice shouldn’t have to compensate for your love life.”

“It won’t happen again.” And I mean it. I can’t bring personal issues onto the ice, not with playoffs approaching. Not with Miami—and Jason—coming to town next week.

The thought of Jason sends an unpleasant jolt through me. He’ll be here, in our arena, possibly on the ice against me. The man who hurt Elliot, who cheated on her and humiliated her publicly, will be right there, wearing his smug expression and Miami colors.

“Speaking of distractions,” Coach announces, walking into the locker room with his clipboard. “We’ve got Miami coming in on Thursday. I don’t want any extracurriculars, understand? They’re fighting for playoff position just like we are. This is about hockey, not personal vendettas.”

His eyes linger on me for a beat too long, making it clear he’s heard something. Probably from Matthews or Kelly, who are still firmly Team Jason despite his departure from Phoenix.

“All hockey, Coach,” I assure him, trying to sound more convinced than I feel.

“Better be.” He turns to address the full room. “They’ve won three straight. Martinez is on a hot streak—five goals in those three games. We need to shut him down, clog the neutral zone, and stay out of the penalty box. Full game plan tomorrow, but start getting your heads right today.”

Jason Martinez. On a hot streak. Coming to Phoenix in seven days.

Perfect.

After showering and changing, I check my car and confirm that my phone is indeed missing. The drive back to my complex feels interminable as I itch to check my messages, to see if Elliot has responded to my breakfast offering.

When I finally locate my phone on my kitchen counter where I must have left it this morning there’s nothing from Elliot. Just a text from Jensen saying he passed along my message, and one from my sister sending pictures of my nephew’s hockey practice.

I stand in my living room, staring at Elliot’s townhouse across our shared walkway. Her car is there, which means she’s home. I could walk over, knock on her door, try to explain in person. But she asked for time to process, and pushing my way in again would just reinforce the wrong impression.

Instead, I drop my gear bag by the door, and collapse onto my couch. The place still has that half-moved-in feel. A few unpacked boxes in corners, blank walls waiting for artwork, furniture arranged in a purely functional way. I haven’t had the time or motivation to really make it feel like home.

My phone buzzes, and I snatch it up, hoping to see Elliot’s name. But it’s just Tommy.

Sarah says Elliot’s calming down. She talked to her this morning. Don’t panic.

Define ‘calming down.’ Still furious but no longer homicidal? Mildly irritated? Actually understanding my side?

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