Page 124 of Across the Boards

“Because Jason is a vindictive sociopath who won’t stop until he gets what he wants,” Sarah says bluntly. “Which is you, miserable and isolated, and Brody, professionally damaged. Exactly what you’ve given him by running away.”

The truth of her words strikes like a physical blow. I haven’t protected Brody by leaving. I’ve just made him more vulnerable, removed the one person who might have kept him grounded in the face of Jason’s provocations.

“I have to fix this,” I whisper, though I have no idea how.

“Yes, you do.” Sarah’s voice turns gentle but firm. “The question is whether you’re brave enough to try.”

After we hang up, I sit in the dark of my temporary apartment, the television still replaying the fight on mute. Brody’s face, contorted with a rage I’ve never seen. Jason’s smirk even as blood streams from his nose. The officials between them, preventing further damage.

All because of me. Because I ran instead of staying to fight. Because I chose fear over love.

My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number. Against my better judgment, I open it.

Always knew Carter was unstable. Now everyone else does too. Hope Seattle was worth it, Elliot.

Jason. Of course. Gloating over the chaos he’s created.

I block the number without responding, a familiar sick feeling settling in my stomach. This is Jason at his most successful—creating doubt, sowing discord, ensuring everyone around him is as miserable as he is inside.

And I’ve played right into his hands. Given him exactly what he wanted by running away from the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

The realization is like ice water in my veins, shocking me into clarity after weeks of self-deception. I didn’t leave to protect Brody. I left to protect myself—from vulnerability, from the terrifying possibility of real intimacy, from the risk of loving someone who might actually love me back just as I am.

I left because I was a coward. Because three years after my divorce, I was still letting Jason dictate my choices, still believing his cruel assessments of my worth.

But what now? Brody is facing suspension, possibly worse if the league comes down hard on him for the fight. The damage is done. And I’m contractually obligated to Nexium for at least a year.

Is it too late to fix what I’ve broken? To become the person who fights for what she wants instead of running from it?

I don’t know. But as I watch the replay of Brody defending my honor—foolishly, recklessly, with the absolute conviction of someone who believes I’m worth fighting for—I realize something with painful clarity:

I love him. Have loved him, probably since that first morning when he appeared at my door without a shirt, asking for coffee and looking at me like I was some kind of miracle he couldn’t believe was real.

The admission changes nothing practical about our situation. But it changes everything about how I feel sitting alone in this sterile apartment, three states away from the only place that ever felt like home.

After hours of internal debate, I reach for my phone and type a simple message.

I saw what happened tonight. I’m sorry, Brody.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then set the phone down, not expecting a response. It’s late, and he’s likely dealing with the aftermath of the fight, team meetings, medical evaluations.

To my surprise, the phone buzzes a few minutes later.

I meant what I said that day in the coffee shop. This isn’t over, Elliot. Not by a long shot.

Simple. Direct. A promise, not a forgiveness. But it’s something—a lifeline in the darkness, a possibility I don’t deserve but desperately want to seize.

For the first time since arriving in Seattle, I fall asleep without the hollow ache of regret in my chest.

29

BRODY

The quiet after a hockey game is different from any other kind of quiet.

It’s a physical thing—ears still ringing from crowd noise, body humming with spent adrenaline, the sudden absence of skate blades on ice creating a vacuum that seems to pull at your insides. Most nights, that quiet is when I do my best thinking.

Tonight, sitting alone while officials review game footage, the quiet is deafening.

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