Page 112 of Across the Boards

“Maybe.” He checks his watch. “Think about it, Elliot. Is he really worth risking his entire career? Every day you’re together, you’re putting a target on his back.”

With that, he steps aside, the mock-courtesy of a clear path. “Enjoy the rest of your conference.”

I walk past him on unsteady legs, fighting the urge to look back. Only when I reach the elevators, doors closing behind me, do I sag against the wall, hands trembling as I punch the button for my floor.

In my room, I lock and chain the door, then drag a chair in front of it. Paranoid, perhaps, but Jason has a way of making paranoia feel like prudence.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, mind racing. He can’t really ruin Brody’s career... can he? But I know the answer. Jason’s influence in hockey circles is real. His web of connections, favors owed, information gathered—it’s how he’s always operated.

And Brody is vulnerable. Already on thin ice after the fight, already being watched more closely by officials. It wouldn’t take much to turn routine penalties into a pattern of “problematic behavior.”

My phone buzzes with a text from Brody.

Just finished pregame warm-up. Still hoping for that call if you’re free later tonight? Miss your voice.

I stare at the message, heart constricting. What do I say? How do I respond knowing that every interaction puts him at greater risk?

A knock at the door startles me. For one panicked moment, I think it’s Jason.

“Room service,” calls a female voice.

“I didn’t order anything.”

“Complimentary, ma’am. From management for conference speakers.”

I check through the peephole to confirm it’s a hotel employee. I remove the chair, unlock the door, but keep the chain engaged, opening it just enough to take the tray.

I set it on the desk without examining its contents, too shaken to have any appetite. Instead, I return to the bed, Brody’s text still unanswered on my phone.

Catherine Porter’s business card comes to mind. A job in Seattle. A clean break, a fresh start, a way to remove myself from the equation entirely.

I pull out the card, turning it over in my hands. Nexium Technologies. Away from Jason, away from hockey, away from the mess I’ve inadvertently dragged Brody into.

Before I can overthink it, I dial the number.

“Catherine Porter.”

“Catherine, it’s Elliot Waltman,” I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. “I’ve been thinking about that position we discussed. I’d like to learn more, if the offer still stands.”

“Absolutely!” Her enthusiasm is clear. “Are you free for breakfast tomorrow? We could discuss details before my flight.”

“Breakfast works.” I agree to a time and place, then end the call, feeling both resolute and sick.

My phone buzzes again. Brody, still waiting for a response.

Elliot? Everything okay? You’ve been quiet today.

I stare at the screen, torn between honesty and protection.

Sorry, long day. Can’t talk tonight - migraine starting. Need to sleep it off.

Not entirely a lie. My head is pounding, though from stress rather than physiology.

No worries. Feel better. I’ll check in tomorrow. Ice pack on the back of your neck sometimes helps.

His thoughtfulness makes my eyes sting with tears. This is a good man who doesn’t deserve to be caught in Jason’s web of vindictiveness.

Thanks. Good luck with your game.

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