Page 79 of Across the Boards

“Was that a compliment, Waltman?” He presses a hand to his chest in mock shock. “Be careful, or I’ll start thinking you respect my professional abilities.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” I step onto the walkway, turning back with a small smile. “Goodnight, Brody.”

“Goodnight, Elliot.”

As I walk the short distance to my own door, I can feel his eyes on me, watching until I’m safely inside. It’s a small gesture, but a thoughtful one. The kind of detail that’s easy to dismiss but adds up to something meaningful.

Inside my townhouse, I lean against the closed door, processing the conversation. It went better than I expected—honest without being confrontational, making progress without rushing headlong into something I might regret.

My phone buzzes with a text. Sarah, of course.

Well??? Did you talk to him? Are you still mad? Did you make up? DETAILS, WOMAN.

We talked. I’m not mad anymore. We’re going to try dating. Properly dating, not “not-coffee” dating.

Translation: no more makeout sessions on the couch. Booooring. But progress! What changed your mind?

He made me an omelet and we had an adult conversation about boundaries and expectations.

The omelet was that good, huh?

The conversation was that good. The omelet was a bonus.

So when’s the first official date? And please tell me you’re coming to the Miami game. Tommy says the guys are all talking about how Martinez is going to try to start something with Brody.

I frown at this confirmation of Brody’s concerns.

Wednesday night, and yes, I’m coming to the game. Is Jason really that petty?

Is water wet? Of course he’s that petty. This is the man who “accidentally” ran into his trainer’s girlfriend after she dumped him for cheating. He lives for drama.

Lovely. I’d almost forgotten what a joy he is.

The good news is, Brody can definitely take him in a fight if it comes to that. Tommy says he’s scary when he gets truly angry, which is apparently rare.

Not helping, Sarah. I don’t want anyone fighting anyone.

Boring but sensible. Fine. I’ll pick you up for the game. We’ll get dinner first, pre-game, make a whole night of it. Your first official hockey WAG re-debut!

I am NOT a WAG.

Yet. ;) Gotta run, Tommy’s trying to cook again and I smell burning. XOXO

I set the phone down with a mixture of amusement and trepidation. Leave it to Sarah to simultaneously support me and make things more complicated. But her enthusiasm is well-meaning, if overwhelming.

The realization that I’ve committed to attending Jason’s game—to facing him and the hockey world head-on after three years of careful avoidance—hits me suddenly. Am I ready for this? For the stares and whispers, the inevitable confrontation (on or off the ice), the resurrection of gossip I thought was long buried?

But the alternative—hiding away, letting Jason believe he still controls my choices—is worse. I’ve spent three years rebuilding my life on my terms. I refuse to surrender that autonomy now, just because my ex-husband might make a scene.

And if I’m being completely honest with myself, part of me wants to see Brody play. Wants to understand this other side of him, the professional athlete whose skill and dedication have shaped his life. The man whose quick reflexes and strategic thinking make him valuable enough to be traded across the country multiple times.

I move to my desk and open my laptop, determined to finish my editing project before bed. But my mind keeps drifting to Brody—to the careful way he handled our conversation, the respect he showed for my boundaries, the quiet intensity in his eyes when he talked about Jason.

This is dangerous territory, this growing attachment to a man I barely know. My rational mind knows this. Warns against it. Reminds me how spectacularly wrong I was about Jason, how easily I was fooled by charm and attention.

But Brody isn’t Jason. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to trust my judgment again. To believe that I’ve learned enough from my past mistakes to recognize the difference between genuine interest and manipulation.

Wednesday seems very far away. And Thursday’s game—my first time seeing Jason in over a year—feels both too distant and too close.

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