Page 123 of Across the Boards

There’s a photo: Brody mid-game, intensity etched in every line of his body as he defends against Jason’s approach. Even through the helmet, I can read the determination in his posture, the controlled power.

I miss him. God, how I miss him.

Not just the physical attraction, though that was undeniable. I miss his ridiculous jokes. His genuine interest in my work. The way he remembered every detail of our conversations. The absolute certainty in his eyes when he told me he loved me.

My phone buzzes again—a news alert this time.Phoenix Defeats Miami in Overtime, Takes 1-0 Series Lead.Brody with the game-winning assist, the article notes. His sixth point in seven playoff games.

He’s thriving professionally, at least. Without me there complicating things, distracting him, making him a target for Jason’s vindictiveness.

It’s better this way. Has to be.

I repeat this to myself as I prepare for bed, as I lie awake staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, as sleep finally claims me hours later. It’s better this way. For both of us.

The mantra continues through the next day’s meetings, through lunch with Catherine, through the evening as I force myself to explore a Seattle neighborhood where I might eventually find a permanent apartment.

It’s better this way.

Until my phone rings at 11 PM, Sarah’s name flashing on the screen.

“Turn on ESPN,” she says without greeting. “Now.”

Something in her voice—urgency, concern, a thread of fear—has me scrambling for the remote. “What happened? Is Tommy?—”

“It’s not Tommy. It’s Brody.” Her voice catches. “Just watch.”

I find the channel just as they replay what must have happened earlier tonight—game two of the playoff series. Phoenix and Miami tied late in the third period. Brody playing another outstanding game despite Jason’s constant physical attacks. Every replay shows another cheap shot – Jason throwing an elbow behind the play, crosschecking Brody into the boards when the puck was nowhere near, slashing at his ankles during faceoffs.

The announcers note it repeatedly: “Martinez seems determined to get under Carter’s skin tonight... Another borderline hit by Martinez goes uncalled... The officials are letting them play, but Martinez is pushing the limits...”

But Brody remains composed, channeling the aggression into his play, until something finally breaks in the third period. They’re battling for position in front of Phoenix’s net when Jason says something – inaudible to microphones but clearly vicious based on Brody’s reaction.

And then chaos. Gloves dropped. Officials swarming. Brody and Jason at the center, locked in a fury of fists and rage.

“What happened?” I demand, watching in horror as the replay shows Brody landing a devastating right hook that sends Jason crashing to the ice. “What did Jason say to him?”

“Tommy just called from the arena.” Sarah’s voice is grim. “Jason made some comment about you. Something crude and explicit.”

My stomach churns with dread. “Tell me.”

“Elle—”

“Tell me, Sarah.” I need to know what Jason has done now, what poison he’s spread.

She sighs heavily. “According to Tommy, Jason said something about hoping Brody enjoyed tasting his seconds because you’d opened your legs for him in Seattle.”

The lie is so blatant, so calculated to cause maximum damage, that for a moment I can’t breathe through my rage. “That’s not—I never?—”

“I know.” Sarah’s voice gentles. “Everyone who matters knows. But it was enough to make Brody snap. Tommy says he’s never seen him like that.”

On screen, the replay continues—officials separating the players, blood visible on both men’s faces, Brody being escorted to the penalty box and then directly to the locker room. The commentators discussing the likely suspensions, the impact on both teams’ playoff hopes.

The analysis is surprisingly favorable to Brody, with one commentator noting: “You have to wonder what Martinez said. Carter’s been composed all night despite consistent targeting. Whatever was said clearly crossed a line.”

“How bad is it?” I ask, unable to look away from Brody’s face as they replay the moment again. The raw fury in his expression is so at odds with the gentle man I know.

“Bad,” Sarah admits. “Suspension for sure. But given the way Jason was targeting him all night, the league might be lenient. Everyone could see Martinez was the instigator.”

The reality of what’s happened crashes down on me. “This is exactly what Jason wanted. What I was trying to prevent by leaving. And it happened anyway.”

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