Page 96 of Across the Boards

A silence falls between us, heavy with unspoken questions. Finally, he breaks it. “I’m sorry I lost my cool out there. That’s not... I don’t usually...”

“I know,” I assure him. Sarah had indeed explained that Brody was known for his level-headedness on the ice. “Sarah told me it wasn’t in character for you. Which makes the fact that you went absolutely feral over Jason insulting me even more notable.”

“Feral is a strong word.”

“But accurate.” I keep my tone neutral, giving nothing away. “What did he say to you out there? Before the fight?”

He hesitates, clearly reluctant to repeat whatever was said. “Nothing worth repeating.”

“Brody.” I make my voice firm. “I need to know what I’m dealing with. What did he say?”

With obvious reluctance, he relays the gist of Jason’s provocations—cruel, sexually demeaning comments about me, designed to provoke exactly the reaction they achieved. I maintain my composure, though each word is like a small knife turning in old wounds. Of course Jason would stoop to this level. Of course he would use the most intimate details of our relationship as weapons.

“I’m not surprised,” I say when Brody finishes. “He was always really good at knowing exactly what to say to cut deepest.”

“I shouldn’t have taken the bait,” Brody admits. “Coach warned us not to engage, and I-“

“Defended my honor like some medieval knight?” I raise an eyebrow. “Very gallant. Also completely unnecessary.”

“I know,” he runs a hand through his still-damp hair. “I just... when he made that gesture, looking right at you, something snapped.”

I study him for a long moment, this man who found my integrity worth fighting for. Who lost his professional composure because Jason disrespected me. It’s unnecessary, outdated, perhaps even slightly problematic from a feminist perspective.

And yet, oddly touching.

I step forward and gently press my fingertips to the bruise forming along his jaw. “Thank you,” I say softly. “For caring enough to lose your composure. It was stupid and reckless and professionally inadvisable, but... thank you.”

Relief floods his expression. “You’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m definitely mad that you thought I needed protecting,” I clarify, keeping my touch gentle. “But I’d be lying if I said watching you knock Jason on his ass wasn’t at least a little satisfying.”

He grins despite the pain. “Just a little?”

“Don’t push your luck, Carter.” But I’m smiling too, a strange lightness filling me despite the drama of the evening. “Come on, let’s get you home and properly iced. You look like you went a few rounds with a brick wall.”

“You should see the brick wall,” he counters, falling into step beside me as we head toward the parking lot.

As we exit the arena, I’m acutely aware of still wearing his jersey, of making this public declaration despite the spectacle we’ve just been part of. I’m Elliot Waltman, wearing Brody Carter’s jersey after watching him fight my ex-husband. It’s so far from the life I’ve built these past three years that it should terrify me.

Instead, I feel something like peace. Like I’ve finally faced the ghost that’s been haunting me and found it far less powerful than I feared.

“You know the whole team is going to be talking about this,” Brody says as we reach his car. “You in my jersey, the fight with Jason. Hockey players gossip worse than teenagers.”

“Let them talk.” I shrug, his oversized jersey shifting on my shoulders. “I spent three years avoiding the hockey world because I was afraid of the gossip, the sideways glances, the pity. I’m done hiding.”

And in that moment, I realize it’s true. Completely, utterly true. I wore Brody’s jersey tonight not just to make a statement to Jason, but to reclaim my right to be here. To exist in spaces I’ve avoided out of fear and shame. To move forward on my own terms.

Brody’s looking at me with something like awe, a bruise blooming on his jaw from a fight he shouldn’t have started. It’s ridiculous and imperfect and nothing like the careful, controlled life I’ve built.

But as I reach for his hand, twining my fingers with his, I realize it might be exactly what I need.

24

BRODY

The drive back to our complex is quiet, the adrenaline of the evening finally giving way to exhaustion. My jaw throbs dully, a reminder of impulsive actions and their consequences. But when I glance over at Elliot—tired but relaxed, still wrapped in my jersey—I can’t bring myself to regret a thing.

“Coming in for coffee?” she asks as we park in front of our townhouses. “Real coffee this time.”

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