Page 127 of Across the Boards

Tommy snorts. “Bullshit. Sarah says she’s miserable.”

“She texted me tonight,” I say, remembering the message that arrived after the game. Simple, understated in typical Elliot fashion.

“And? What did you say back?”

“That it wasn’t over. That I meant what I said in the coffee shop.”

Tommy nods approvingly. “Good start. Now what’s the follow-through?”

I stare out the window at my townhouse—at the empty driveway next door where Elliot’s car used to be. “I don’t know yet.”

“Well, figure it out.” He puts the car in park. “Because the way I see it, you’ve got some unexpected free time coming up. Might as well use it for something more productive than moping around feeling sorry for yourself.”

I exit the car with a grudging “thanks for the ride,” Tommy’s words echoing as I unlock my front door. He’s right, infuriatingly so. I’ve been passive in the face of Elliot’s departure—respecting her decision, giving her space, waiting for her to realize what I already know: that what we had, brief as it was, was worth fighting for.

Inside, my townhouse feels emptier than usual, the silence more pronounced. Nothing has changed physically since Elliot left—same furniture, same half-unpacked boxes in corners, same borrowed coffee mug she left behind sitting on my bookshelf. But the space feels hollow now, an absence more notable than any presence.

My phone buzzes with a text from Jensen.

League disciplinary hearing scheduled for tomorrow morning, 9AM. Coach says wear a suit and look contrite.

Perfect. Just what I need—a formal dressing-down from league officials about “the integrity of the game” and “professional behavior.” As if they’ve never wanted to punch Jason Martinez in his smug face.

I scroll through recent messages, lingering on Elliot’s from earlier tonight. Simple. Restrained. So perfectly her. I reread my response:I meant what I said that day in the coffee shop. This isn’t over, Elliot. Not by a long shot.

Words are easy. Actions matter. But what action can possibly bridge the distance she’s created—not just physically by moving to Seattle, but emotionally by choosing fear over possibility?

Sleep eludes me, mind racing with scenarios, potential paths forward, ways to demonstrate through action rather than words that what we have is worth the risk. By morning, I’ve formulated exactly one concrete plan: survive the disciplinary hearing, then figure out how to get to Seattle.

The hearing goes about as expected—stern faces, video review of the incident, questions about what precipitated the fight. I’m honest without being specific, acknowledging that I lost my composure while emphasizing the context of Martinez’s persistent targeting throughout the game.

“Mr. Carter,” says the committee chairman, “while the video evidence clearly shows Martinez as the instigator of the physical confrontation throughout the game, your response crossed the line of acceptable conduct. However, given the context and your previously clean disciplinary record, the committee has decided on a three-game suspension, effective immediately.”

Three games. Less than expected given the violence of the fight. Martinez receives five games for his role as the aggressor—small consolation but consolation nonetheless.

Coach meets me outside the hearing room. “Three games. Could have been worse.”

“Much worse,” I agree. “Though with this—” I hold up my cast-covered hand, “—I’m effectively done for the season regardless.”

We part ways in the parking lot, but before I can reach my car, General Manager Richards approaches, his usual brisk manner softened slightly with what looks almost like concern.

“Carter,” he calls. “Got a minute?”

“Of course, sir.” I turn to meet him, preparing for additional reprimands about representing the organization.

Instead, he surprises me. “Martinez crossed a line last night. Tommy Harrington filled me in on the context. About Waltman. About what he said on the ice.”

I tense, uncomfortable discussing Elliot with management. “It was a private matter that should have stayed private.”

“Agreed.” Richards nods. “Which is why I wanted to speak with you directly rather than in the hearing. The organization supports you, Carter. Martinez’s behavior was unacceptable on multiple levels.”

This is unexpected—support rather than censure. “Thank you, sir.”

“That said,” he continues, “your contract situation requires discussion. You’re a free agent after this season ends. We’ve been planning to offer an extension, but I sense there might be... complications.”

The opening I didn’t even realize I was looking for presents itself. “Actually, sir, I’ve been meaning to discuss that with you. I’m interested in exploring other options when my contract expires.”

Richards raises an eyebrow. “Other teams?”

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