Page 9 of Across the Boards

The photo hits me like a physical blow. Us on the beach, my hair longer then, his arm around my waist. His smile bright and charming for the camera. The same smile he wore in court three years later, explaining to the judge how his “indiscretions” were really just a cry for help.

A crash from next door startles me out of the memory.

“Sorry!” Brody’s voice carries through clearly. “Totally meant to do that.”

I catch myself smiling and immediately school my expression. My finger hovers over the post.

Another crash, this one followed by what sounds like something collapsing onto his floors.

“All good!” His voice again, slightly strained. “Part of my pre-practice routine. Very professional.”

A laugh escapes before I can catch it.

My phone buzzes again—this time a text from an unknown number.

Sarah gave me your number, hope that’s okay. Hypothetically speaking, if someone wanted to thank their neighbor for saving them from both public indecency charges AND caffeine withdrawal, what would be an appropriate thank-you gift? Asking for a friend.

Despite myself, I smile as I type.

Hypothetically speaking, that neighbor might appreciate silence before 9 AM on weekends and for all hockey equipment to stay firmly on the correct side of the fence.

The response is immediate.

Noted. And what are this hypothetical neighbor’s thoughts on going to dinner with clumsy hockey players?

I bite my lip, considering my response. Sarah’s words echo in my mind: Not every hockey player is going to break your heart.

She thinks one coffee and one fence-jumping incident doesn’t warrant dinner.

What about one coffee, one fence-jumping incident, AND remembering exactly how she took down an entire table of hockey wives at the team BBQ with nothing but literary references and a glass of champagne?

My breath catches. How does he remember that?

Before I can respond, another text comes through.

For the record, it was the single most impressive takedown I’ve ever witnessed. Jason’s face was priceless.

I can’t help laughing.

In my defense, they started it by suggesting Jane Austen was “just writing fancy romance novels.”

No defense needed. Literary justice was served.

I save his number in my phone, hesitating only a moment before naming the contact.

Another crash sounds from next door and I try and fail to suppress my smile. Maybe breaking a few birthday traditions wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“ALL FINE!” Brody calls through the wall. “TOTALLY UNDER CONTROL!”

Okay, so maybe I’m about to make some questionable birthday decisions. But as I glance at my phone, at Jason’s post still waiting to be dealt with, I realize something important:

Moving forward sometimes means climbing over fences you’ve built yourself.

With a decisive tap, I delete the photo and then—feeling particularly bold—change my lock screen from a nature photo to a simple phrase: “Break some rules.”

2

BRODY

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