Page 115 of Across the Boards

With a sigh, I haul myself to the door. Tommy stands there with a six-pack of local craft beer and a paper bag emitting the unmistakable aroma of tacos.

“Post-game nutrition at its finest,” he announces, pushing past me into the room. “Figured you could use the company.”

“That obvious, huh?” I close the door, accepting the inevitability of Tommy’s intrusion. Not that I mind, really. Better than brooding alone.

“You’ve been checking your phone every thirty seconds and looking like someone shot your dog.” He drops onto the room’s single armchair, setting the food and beer on the small table. “So yeah, pretty obvious.”

I grab a beer, twisting off the cap with perhaps more force than necessary. “Something’s up with Elliot.”

“Trouble in paradise already?” He unwraps a taco, somehow managing to sound both sympathetic and unsurprised.

“Not exactly. She’s just...” I search for the right words. “Distant. Like she’s deliberately pulling away.”

Tommy takes a thoughtful bite, chewing slowly. “Conference stress, maybe? Sarah says those technical editing people can be intense about semicolons and stuff.”

“It’s more than that.” I sink back onto the bed, beer in hand. “We were texting constantly the first few days, FaceTiming at night. Then suddenly it’s like talking to a different person. Short answers, excuses not to call, always ‘too tired’ or ‘too busy.’”

“Have you asked her what’s wrong?”

“Three times. She says everything’s fine, just busy with the conference.” I take a pull from the beer, the craft IPA bitter on my tongue. “But it’s not fine. I can feel it.”

Tommy studies me for a long moment, then pulls out his phone. “Let me text Sarah, see if she knows anything.”

While he types, I scroll back through Elliot’s texts from the past week, looking for the moment when the tone shifted. It happened somewhere between Wednesday night and Thursday afternoon. Wednesday, she was sending me selfies from the conference, making jokes about pretentious keynote speakers. By Thursday evening, her responses had become perfunctory, almost formal.

“Huh.” Tommy’s voice pulls me from my analysis. “Sarah says Elliot’s been unusually quiet the last couple days. Hasn’t responded to texts since yesterday morning.”

A cold feeling settles in my stomach. Elliot not talking to Sarah? That’s beyond unusual—it’s a four-alarm fire. Those two are in constant communication, have been since before Elliot’s divorce.

“Something’s definitely wrong,” I say, setting aside my untouched taco. “Do you think...”

I can’t even finish the thought. The idea of Jason actually confronting Elliot, of saying or doing something to upset her, makes my blood boil. I remember the careful way she talked about him—never directly critical, but revealing volumes in what she didn’t say. The small flinch when his name was mentioned unexpectedly. The hyper-awareness of her surroundings in hockey spaces.

Jason hurt her, deeply and repeatedly. Not just with the cheating that ended their marriage, but in a thousand small ways before that—undermining her confidence, isolating her from friends, making her doubt her own perceptions.

And now she’s alone in Seattle, possibly dealing with him again, while I’m stuck in a hotel room in San Jose.

“I need to call her,” I decide, already dialing her number.

“It’s after midnight,” Tommy points out. “She might be asleep.”

“Then I’ll leave a message.”

The phone rings once, twice, three times. I’m expecting voicemail, so when she actually answers, I’m momentarily speechless.

“Brody?” Her voice sounds tired, strained. “Is everything okay?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” I say, relief at hearing her voice mingling with renewed concern at its tone. “You haven’t sounded like yourself lately.”

“It’s just been a long week.” A rustling sound, like she’s shifting in bed. “The conference is intense.”

“Elliot.” I keep my voice gentle but firm. “Please tell me what’s really going on. And before you say ‘nothing,’ remember that I’ve been counting the seconds until I see you again, and I’d like to think I know you well enough by now to tell when something’s wrong.”

There’s a long pause, so long I start to wonder if the call dropped.

“I’m just... reevaluating some things,” she says finally. “The conference has given me perspective. About my career, my future, where I want to be.”

The cold feeling in my stomach intensifies. “And where do you want to be?”

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