Page 129 of Across the Boards

My phone buzzes with a text as I pull into my driveway. Jensen, sending a link to sports coverage of last night’s fight. The headline reads: “Carter Suspension Less Than Expected; Martinez Bears Brunt of Disciplinary Action.”

The article notes the context—Martinez’s targeting throughout the game, the officials’ acknowledgment of his role as aggressor, the team’s support of my reaction despite its unprofessional nature. A video clip shows various angles of the fight, including the moment before it erupted—Martinez leaning in, saying something that transformed my expression from controlled intensity to unrestrained fury.

It’s surreal seeing myself like this, watching the incident as an outside observer rather than a participant. The disconnect between the composed, professional athlete I’ve always prided myself on being and the man who snapped so completely in the face of Martinez’s taunts.

But I don’t regret it. Not the fight, not the broken hand, not the suspension. Some things demand a response, regardless of consequence. Some lines can’t be crossed without repercussion.

What I do regret is letting Elliot walk away without fighting just as hard for her as I fought against Jason’s disrespect. For accepting her decision as final when everything in me knew it was wrong. For respecting her boundaries to the point of passivity when what she needed was proof that not every man in her life would abandon her when things got difficult.

I’ve given Martinez three solid weeks of living rent-free in my head, of influencing my performance, of affecting my happiness. No more. It’s time to focus on what matters: finding a way to show Elliot that what we have is worth risking vulnerability for. Worth fighting past fear for. Worth building a life around.

The details fall into place over the next few days. The decision to book a flight for the day after our playoff run ends. A conversation with Richards about serious interest from Seattle’s management. A call with my agent about contract possibilities, geographical preferences, career considerations.

The team plays valiantly in my absence but ultimately loses the series to Miami in six games. I watch from the press box, hand throbbing in its cast, heart aching for the disappointment visible on my teammates’ faces.

But as the final buzzer sounds on our season, a different emotion surfaces: anticipation. The end of one chapter, the beginning of another. Tomorrow, I board a plane to Seattle. Tomorrow, I take the first real step toward reclaiming the happiness that slipped through my fingers.

Tommy drives me to the airport, uncharacteristically serious as we navigate morning traffic.

“You sure about this?” he asks as we approach the terminal. “Once you’re there, once you see her—there’s no going back. No pretending you’re okay with how things ended.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” And it’s true. The certainty I feel about Elliot, about us, is unlike anything I’ve experienced before—steady, unwavering, bone-deep.

“Good.” He pulls up to the departure curb. “Because Sarah says Elliot’s just as stubborn as you are. She’s not going to make this easy.”

“I don’t want easy,” I say, grabbing my bag from the backseat. “I want Elliot.”

Tommy laughs. “Then go get her, you romantic idiot. And remember—subtlety. The woman edits technical manuals for a living. She appreciates precision, not flashiness.”

“Noted.” I shoulder my bag, confidence building with each step toward the terminal. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck,” Tommy calls after me. “You need courage. And you’ve got plenty of that.”

I use the flight to Seattle to rehearse what I’ll say, planning how to approach her, considering every possible reaction. But as the plane begins its descent toward a city shrouded in characteristic mist, I realize that no amount of preparation can account for the wild variable that is Elliot Waltman—brilliant, cautious, wounded but undefeated by life’s cruelties.

All I can do is show up. Be honest. Fight for what matters with the same intensity I brought to that moment on the ice when Jason crossed the uncrossable line.

Because some things in life are worth fighting for. Some things demand everything you have to give. Some things—some people—are worth the risk, worth the vulnerability, worth facing the possibility of rejection.

And Elliot Waltman is at the top of that list.

As the plane touches down in Seattle, I check my phone one last time. No messages from Elliot, but a text from Sarah containing the address of Elliot’s corporate apartment and a single line of encouragement.

She’s waiting for someone to prove Jason wrong. Someone who thinks she’s worth fighting for. Be that someone.

30

ELLIOT

Six weeks into my new life, and I still haven’t adjusted to the near-daily precipitation. Or to the passive-aggressive politeness that passes for local culture. Or to the corporate apartment with its gleaming chrome fixtures and generic artwork that feels less like home with each passing day.

I haven’t adjusted to the emptiness, either.

“You need to get out more,” Catherine says over lunch in Nexium’s sleek cafeteria. “Seattle has an incredible arts scene, fantastic restaurants, hiking trails twenty minutes from downtown. You’re missing the best parts of the city.”

“I’ve been meaning to explore. Just been focused on the documentation overhaul.”

“Which you’re handling brilliantly,” she says, her smile professional but warm. “The dev team actually praised the new format yesterday. That’s practically unheard of.”

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