Page 104 of Across the Boards

My phone rings from the bedroom—Sarah, of course, who else would call this early?

“Please tell me you’ve seen the video,” she says without preamble when I answer.

“Good morning to you too,” I reply, moving back to the kitchen to refill my coffee. “And no, I haven’t seen it yet.”

“Oh my god, you have to watch it. It’s GLORIOUS. Jason looks like he got hit by a truck. Brody’s right hook is the stuff of legends. The hockey blogs are calling it the ‘Boyfriend Beatdown.’”

I nearly spit out my coffee. “The what?”

“‘Boyfriend Beatdown.’ Tommy says the guys in the locker room were using it too. Since you were wearing Brody’s jersey and everything, everyone’s assuming you two are officially together.” She pauses. “Are you? Officially together? You never texted me after the game.”

“Yes,” I admit, unable to keep the smile from my voice. “As of last night, we’re officially dating.”

Sarah’s squeal is so high-pitched I have to hold the phone away from my ear. “FINALLY! Tommy owes me fifty bucks. He said you’d make Brody wait at least another week before making it official.”

“You two really need to stop betting on my love life.”

“Never. It’s too entertaining.” I can practically hear her grinning. “So, how’s lover boy’s face this morning? Those were some solid punches Jason landed.”

“Bruised but functional. He made me breakfast.”

“Breakfast, huh?” Her tone turns suggestive. “Does that mean he stayed over?”

My silence is telling enough.

“Marry him,” Sarah says immediately. “Any man who makes pancakes after getting in a fistfight defending your honor is husband material.”

“We’ve been officially dating for approximately twelve hours. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Fine, fine.” She acquiesces too easily, which immediately makes me suspicious. “So what’s the plan for your week in Seattle? Long-distance relationship already?”

“It’s a work conference, not a relocation,” I remind her. “We’ll text and call. It’s only five days.”

“Just be careful, Elle.” Sarah’s tone turns serious. “Tommy says the team’s worried he might try to get to you directly since his on-ice attempt backfired so spectacularly.”

A chill runs through me. “Jason wouldn’t?—”

“Wouldn’t he?” she interrupts. “He’s never taken public humiliation well, and last night was about as humiliating as it gets. Just... be careful, okay? Maybe it’s good timing that you’ll be out of town.”

“You’re being paranoid,” I say, though a small part of me wonders if she’s right. “Jason’s moved on. He doesn’t care about me anymore.”

“Jason doesn’t care about you,” she agrees. “But he cares immensely about his ego, which took a massive hit last night. Just promise me you’ll keep your phone handy and call if anything weird happens.”

“I promise.” I glance at the time. “I need to get ready. I have a client call at ten.”

“Fine, abandon me,” she says dramatically. “But we’re having dinner before you leave for Seattle. Tommy wants to show Brody the video of Jason’s face after that first punch. It’s frame-worthy.”

“You two are bloodthirsty,” I note, not entirely disapproving.

“Hockey culture, baby. See you later!”

After we hang up, I find myself drawn to my laptop, curiosity winning out over my usual avoidance of hockey social media. A quick search for “Phoenix Miami fight” brings up dozens of results, including multiple versions of the same video.

I click on one, holding my breath as the footage begins.

It’s clearly shot from the stands, not a professional broadcast, which somehow makes it more intimate. The camera follows the play, then zooms in as Jason delivers the dangerous hit that sends Brody into the boards. There’s a moment where Brody is clearly dazed, struggling to his feet.

Then the camera pans to follow Jason as he skates past the family section—past me—making a gesture so crude and dismissive that I feel my cheeks heat even watching it on video. The camera swings back just in time to catch Brody charging across the ice, gloves already dropping, fury evident even through his helmet.

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