Page 134 of Across the Boards

I laugh, the sound freer than anything I’ve managed since arriving in Seattle. “Very considerate of you. Saves me the hassle of moving back to Phoenix.”

“Always thinking of your convenience,” he agrees, pulling me closer. “It’s part of my charm.”

“Your charm is dangerous,” I murmur against his lips. “Made me laugh in the middle of trying to be serious.”

“Made you fall in love with me too,” he points out, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “So I’d say it’s working pretty well.”

For the first time since arriving in this rain-soaked city, I feel like I’m home.

31

EPILOGUE

Three months later

“Istill can’t find my good tie,” Brody calls from the bedroom. “The blue one with the subtle pattern.”

I smile to myself, continuing to apply mascara in the bathroom mirror. “Check the second drawer on the left. I reorganized your dresser yesterday.”

A pause, then: “Why would ties be in a dresser drawer? They go on the tie rack. The tie rack that was perfectly functional until someone decided to introduce ‘organization’ to my closet.”

“The tie rack that was holding a grand total of two ties while the rest were draped over your desk chair?” I counter, stepping into the bedroom where Brody stands, dress shirt half-buttoned, hair still damp from his shower. “Second drawer. Left side.”

He opens the specified drawer, eyebrows rising in surprise when he finds not only the blue tie in question but all his others, neatly rolled and arranged by color. “Huh. This is... actually kind of satisfying to look at.”

“You’re welcome.” I adjust his collar, fighting a smile. “For someone who can remember every defensive play in the NHL handbook, your organizational skills are surprisingly limited to hockey gear.”

“That’s because hockey makes sense,” he grumbles, but there’s no heat behind it. He slides his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. “Unlike women who move a man’s ties without warning.”

“I left you a detailed spreadsheet outlining the new organizational system,” I remind him, straightening his collar. “Not my fault you don’t read your emails.”

“I read the important ones.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Like the one from Coach Barrett about tonight’s team dinner. The one you’re nervous about for absolutely no reason.”

I pull back slightly, surprised by his perception. “I’m not nervous.”

“Elliot.” Just my name, but loaded with affectionate skepticism. “You’ve changed outfits three times, reorganized my entire closet to displace your anxiety, and you’re doing that thing with your eyebrows that happens when you’re overthinking.”

“What thing with my eyebrows?” I ask, immediately trying to relax my facial muscles.

“That little crease right here.” He touches the spot between my brows gently. “It’s adorable, but it’s your tell. What’s really going on?”

I sigh, caught out. “It’s stupid.”

“Try me.”

“It’s just...” I smooth an imaginary wrinkle from his shirt. “Last time I was at a hockey team function, I was Jason’s wife. Everyone knew me as Jason’s wife. The quiet, boring one who never quite fit in with the hockey wives. And now I’ll be there as your girlfriend, and people will remember, and compare, and?—”

“Hey.” He cuts off my spiral with gentle firmness. “First of all, you were never boring. Jason wanted you to believe that because it served his purposes to diminish you.”

“I know that rationally, but?—”

“Second,” he continues, “the Seattle guys aren’t the Phoenix guys. They don’t have history with Jason except as an opponent they universally dislike. And third, most importantly—” He tilts my chin up, making sure I meet his eyes. “You’re not coming as ‘Brody’s girlfriend’ any more than I’m going as ‘Elliot’s boyfriend.’ We’re going together, as partners. As us.”

Forty minutes later, we’re in his car—a sensible SUV bought to handle Seattle’s rainy weather—heading toward Roman Varga’s lakefront home where the team dinner is being hosted. Brody’s hand rests comfortably on my thigh as he drives, his presence a steady anchor amid my lingering nervousness.

“So remind me again who’s who,” I say, mentally reviewing the names he’s mentioned over the past few months. “Roman is the perpetually serious captain who’s hosting tonight.”

“Right. Team dad, despite being younger than me.” Brody navigates through evening traffic with casual confidence. “Dex Malone is our resident playboy—you’ll know him by the swagger and the rotating cast of models on his Instagram. Luca Moretti is our starting goalie, Italian, makes the best pasta you’ll ever taste. And Rodriguez is the rookie—crazy talented but the jury’s still out on whether he’s better at TikTok or hockey.”

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