Page 11 of Across the Boards

“From what Sarah says, she’s good. Building her editing business, taking care of herself. Still swears off hockey players though,” he’d added with a laugh. “Can’t blame her after Jason.”

Two weeks later, I signed a lease at The Pines. Coincidence, I’d told myself. Convenient location, reasonable price, close to the practice facility. Nothing to do with knowing Elliot Waltman lived there.

I’m a terrible liar, even to myself.

For three weeks, I’ve been playing it cool. Casual waves when we’re both getting mail. Brief, neighborly conversations in the parking lot. I even managed not to stare (too obviously) when I spotted her running one evening, ponytail swinging, determined expression on her face.

And now, after three weeks of carefully orchestrated “accidental” meetings, I’ve finally made it past her front door. Granted, I had to lock myself out half-naked and make a complete idiot of myself, but I’ve never claimed to be subtle.

“Pull it together, Carter,” I mutter to myself as I grab my equipment bag from the floor. “You’ve faced down enforcers twice your size. You can handle dinner with a woman who edits technical manuals.”

My phone buzzes with a text from Tommy.

Hey man, still good for dinner tonight with us and Sarah’s friend? Meet 7pm at Elliot’s place.

I stare at the text, momentarily confused. Hadn’t Sarah already told Elliot about me coming? But then I remember the look that passed between them this morning—Sarah’s guilty expression, Elliot’s suspicion. Of course. Sarah hadn’t told her yet. The dinner was already planned, but my addition was a surprise.

Perfect. Just what Elliot needs—to be ambushed by her best friend with the hockey player next door.

Yeah, I’m in. Already met her this morning actually. I locked myself out after my run and had to go over there.

Smooth. Real smooth.

I never claimed to be smooth.

Just be careful, man. She’s not just some fan. She’s been through a lot with Jason.

If only he knew how much I’d witnessed firsthand. I’d seen how Jason treated her at team events—like an accessory to be shown off but not actually listened to. I’d noticed the way she’d smile that polite, empty smile when he interrupted her or talked over her. The Christmas party had just been the most obvious example.

I know. This isn’t a game to me.

Good. Because Sarah will literally kill you if you hurt her friend. And then I’ll have to help her hide your body, which would really mess with our playoff chances.

I laugh despite myself.

Your concern for the team is touching.

I’m a selfless guy. See you at practice.

I toss my phone onto the kitchen counter and try to focus on getting ready for practice instead of replaying every second of my interaction with Elliot. The way she’d rolled her eyes at my “aerodynamics” comment. How she’d clutched her coffee mug like a shield. The slight softening around her eyes when she’d reluctantly let me in.

I grab my keys, double-checking that I have them this time. As I head for my car, I catch a glimpse of Elliot through her front window. She’s sitting at her desk, typing furiously, a small frown of concentration on her face.

“Tonight,” I promise myself quietly. “Tonight I’ll make her laugh.”

* * *

Practice is brutal.Coach has us running defensive drills for ninety minutes straight, punishing the whole team for our sloppy performance in the last game. I’m sweating through my pads and wondering why I thought coming back to Phoenix in March was a good idea. The prodigal son returns, only to die of heat exhaustion in the desert.

“Carter! Where’s your head at?” Coach’s voice cuts through my thoughts just as a puck whizzes past my ear, missing by inches.

“Sorry, Coach!” I call back, shaking my head to clear it. Focus. I need to focus.

But focusing is proving impossible when all I can think about is dinner tonight and whether Elliot will forgive Sarah for the ambush. I feel a pang of guilt at being part of the surprise. Maybe I should text her, give her a heads up? But that might make it worse, like I’m assuming she wants to know my plans.

“Yo, Earth to Carter!” Tommy skates up, spraying ice as he stops beside me. “Coach is going to bench you if you don’t stop daydreaming.”

“I’m not daydreaming,” I lie. “I’m visualizing my defensive strategy.”

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