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brODY

H otel rooms start to blend together after a while. Same bland artwork, same mediocre pillows, same view of parking lots or high-rises. After nearly a decade in the NHL, I’ve developed a routine to make these temporary spaces feel somewhat familiar—unpack immediately, arrange toiletries in the bathroom, put my book on the nightstand.

But this California road trip feels different. Longer. Empty. Not because of the accommodations or the grueling schedule, but because of the Elliot-shaped hole in my daily life.

I toss my phone onto the San Jose hotel bed after reading her latest text—brief, impersonal, distant.

Scored a goal tonight! Coach says my defensive positioning was A+. Did you watch?

Congrats on the goal. Couldn’t watch. Conference dinner ran late.

Not Great job, Carter! or I’ll need video evidence of this alleged defensive positioning . No gentle teasing, no warmth. Just polite acknowledgment from someone who sounds like she’s responding to a distant acquaintance, not her boyfriend.

Something’s wrong. It’s been building since the middle of her conference—a gradual cooling, responses becoming shorter, less frequent, more formal. At first, I chalked it up to her busy schedule, the exhaustion of networking and presenting. But now, two days later, it feels deliberate. Calculated.

I sit up, wincing slightly as my bruised ribs protest the movement. Last night’s game against the Sharks was physical, but we came out with the win, putting us in good position for playoff seeding. Under normal circumstances, I’d be riding the high of victory, maybe FaceTiming Elliot to share the celebration.

Instead, I’m staring at my phone like it might explain why the woman I’m falling for suddenly feels a thousand miles away, not just the geographic distance between us.

A knock at my door interrupts my brooding.

“Room service,” Tommy calls through the door.

“Didn’t order any,” I call back, not moving from the bed.

“It’s a cultural experience. Open up.”

With a sigh, I haul myself to the door. Tommy stands there with a six-pack of local craft beer and a paper bag emitting the unmistakable aroma of tacos.

“Post-game nutrition at its finest,” he announces, pushing past me into the room. “Figured you could use the company.”

“That obvious, huh?” I close the door, accepting the inevitability of Tommy’s intrusion. Not that I mind, really. Better than brooding alone.

“You’ve been checking your phone every thirty seconds and looking like someone shot your dog.” He drops onto the room’s single armchair, setting the food and beer on the small table. “So yeah, pretty obvious.”

I grab a beer, twisting off the cap with perhaps more force than necessary. “Something’s up with Elliot.”

“Trouble in paradise already?” He unwraps a taco, somehow managing to sound both sympathetic and unsurprised.

“Not exactly. She’s just...” I search for the right words. “Distant. Like she’s deliberately pulling away.”

Tommy takes a thoughtful bite, chewing slowly. “Conference stress, maybe? Sarah says those technical editing people can be intense about semicolons and stuff.”

“It’s more than that.” I sink back onto the bed, beer in hand. “We were texting constantly the first few days, FaceTiming at night. Then suddenly it’s like talking to a different person. Short answers, excuses not to call, always ‘too tired’ or ‘too busy.’”

“Have you asked her what’s wrong?”

“Three times. She says everything’s fine, just busy with the conference.” I take a pull from the beer, the craft IPA bitter on my tongue. “But it’s not fine. I can feel it.”

Tommy studies me for a long moment, then pulls out his phone. “Let me text Sarah, see if she knows anything.”

While he types, I scroll back through Elliot’s texts from the past week, looking for the moment when the tone shifted. It happened somewhere between Wednesday night and Thursday afternoon. Wednesday, she was sending me selfies from the conference, making jokes about pretentious keynote speakers. By Thursday evening, her responses had become perfunctory, almost formal.

“Huh.” Tommy’s voice pulls me from my analysis. “Sarah says Elliot’s been unusually quiet the last couple days. Hasn’t responded to texts since yesterday morning.”

A cold feeling settles in my stomach. Elliot not talking to Sarah? That’s beyond unusual—it’s a four-alarm fire. Those two are in constant communication, have been since before Elliot’s divorce.

“Something’s definitely wrong,” I say, setting aside my untouched taco. “Do you think...”

I can’t even finish the thought. The idea of Jason actually confronting Elliot, of saying or doing something to upset her, makes my blood boil. I remember the careful way she talked about him—never directly critical, but revealing volumes in what she didn’t say. The small flinch when his name was mentioned unexpectedly. The hyper-awareness of her surroundings in hockey spaces.

Jason hurt her, deeply and repeatedly. Not just with the cheating that ended their marriage, but in a thousand small ways before that—undermining her confidence, isolating her from friends, making her doubt her own perceptions.

And now she’s alone in Seattle, possibly dealing with him again, while I’m stuck in a hotel room in San Jose.

“I need to call her,” I decide, already dialing her number.

“It’s after midnight,” Tommy points out. “She might be asleep.”

“Then I’ll leave a message.”

The phone rings once, twice, three times. I’m expecting voicemail, so when she actually answers, I’m momentarily speechless.

“Brody?” Her voice sounds tired, strained. “Is everything okay?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” I say, relief at hearing her voice mingling with renewed concern at its tone. “You haven’t sounded like yourself lately.”

“It’s just been a long week.” A rustling sound, like she’s shifting in bed. “The conference is intense.”

“Elliot.” I keep my voice gentle but firm. “Please tell me what’s really going on. And before you say ‘nothing,’ remember that I’ve been counting the seconds until I see you again, and I’d like to think I know you well enough by now to tell when something’s wrong.”

There’s a long pause, so long I start to wonder if the call dropped.

“I’m just... reevaluating some things,” she says finally. “The conference has given me perspective. About my career, my future, where I want to be.”

The cold feeling in my stomach intensifies. “And where do you want to be?”

Another pause. “I don’t know yet. That’s what I’m figuring out.”

“Does this reevaluation have anything to do with us?” I hold my breath, waiting for her answer.

“It’s complicated, Brody.” Her voice is so carefully controlled it makes my chest ache. “Can we talk when I get back? In person?”

“Did something happen, Elliot? Did Jason?—”

“No,” she interrupts, too quickly. “Jason has nothing to do with this. It’s about me, my career, my choices.”

But there’s something in her voice—a slight tremor, a too-careful denial—that tells me she’s not being entirely truthful.

“I’m worried about you,” I admit, dropping any pretense. “You’ve been different since Wednesday. If something happened, if someone hurt you?—”

“I’m fine,” she insists, the words clipped. “Just tired and overwhelmed. My flight lands tomorrow. We’ll talk then, okay?”

Tommy gestures to me from across the room, mouthing something I can’t decipher. I wave him off, focusing entirely on Elliot.

“Promise me you’re okay,” I press. “Really okay.”

“I promise.” But the words sound hollow, rehearsed. “I need to sleep now, Brody. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Elliot. I—” But she’s already hung up, cutting off what was about to be my first “I love you.”

I stare at the phone, a sense of dread settling over me. Something is very, very wrong.

“Well?” Tommy asks, watching me carefully.

“She’s shutting me out.” I set the phone down, feeling slightly sick. “Something happened in Seattle, and she won’t tell me what it is.”

Tommy’s phone buzzes. He checks it, his expression growing serious. “Sarah says Elliot texted her an hour ago. Said she needs to talk when she gets back to Phoenix. Something about ‘big changes coming.’”

“What kind of changes?”

“Sarah doesn’t know. But she’s worried too.” He looks up from his phone. “She’s picking Elliot up from the airport tomorrow. Thinks she might get more out of her in person.”

I nod, grateful for Sarah’s intervention but frustrated by my own helplessness. Our flight back to Phoenix doesn’t land until two hours after Elliot’s. Two more hours of not knowing what’s wrong, of imagining worst-case scenarios, of feeling this growing distance between us.

“What if she’s done with me?” The question slips out before I can stop it, voicing my deepest fear. “What if she realized this whole thing was a mistake?”

“Don’t borrow trouble,” Tommy advises, collecting the remains of our impromptu meal. “Could be anything. Maybe she got a job offer. Maybe her mom’s sick. Maybe?—”

“Maybe Jason threatened her in Seattle,” I finish, the possibility that’s been haunting me since her texts turned cold. “Maybe he’s still not done punishing her for leaving him.”

Tommy can’t deny the possibility. We both know Jason’s vindictive streak, his inability to let go of perceived slights. “If he did anything to hurt her...”

“I’ll end him,” I say quietly, with the absolute conviction of someone stating a simple fact. “I don’t care about my career or suspensions or fines. If he hurt her, he’s done.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Tommy cautions, though I can see the concern in his eyes. “Talk to her tomorrow. Face to face. Get the full story before you do anything.”

He’s right, I know he’s right. But the restless energy coursing through me demands action, movement, some way to close the distance between Elliot and me—both the physical miles and whatever emotional chasm has suddenly opened.

After Tommy leaves, I try to sleep, but my mind races with possibilities, each scenario worse than the last. By morning, I’ve formulated exactly one concrete plan: survive the team’s morning skate, then get back to Phoenix as quickly as possible and find out what’s happening with Elliot.

Morning skate is brutal—Coach drilling us through defensive systems while I struggle to maintain focus. Even Jensen, our notoriously self-absorbed goalie, notices my distraction.

“Whatever’s going on with you, deal with it,” he mutters as we take a water break. “You’re no use to anyone like this.”

“Working on it,” I reply tersely.

Practice ends, finally, and we board the team bus back to the hotel. My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number as we pull away from the arena.

Your girl’s still got a thing for older men, Carter. Didn’t take much convincing in Seattle. I’m sure you understand - some things never change.

My blood freezes in my veins. Jason. Has to be. But how did he get my number? And what the hell does he mean about Seattle?

Tommy notices my expression from across the aisle. “What’s wrong?”

I wordlessly hand him my phone. His face darkens as he reads the text.

“This is bullshit,” he says firmly, keeping his voice low. “Total bullshit. Sarah would know if Elliot had seen Jason in Seattle.”

“Would she?” I ask, doubt creeping in despite my best efforts. “Elliot’s been distant with her too, remember?”

“I still don’t buy it. This is classic Jason—lies designed to cause maximum damage.” Tommy hands the phone back. “Block the number and wait until you talk to Elliot. Don’t let him get in your head.”

But it’s too late. The seed is planted, unwelcome images taking root. Elliot and Jason in Seattle. Elliot reconsidering everything about us. Elliot pulling away, making excuses, avoiding calls.

No. I refuse to believe it. This is exactly what Jason wants—doubt, suspicion, the poison of mistrust between Elliot and me. I delete the text without responding and block the number.

When we land in Phoenix, Tommy offers to drive me straight to Elliot’s, but Sarah texts that they’re not home yet. Stuck in traffic after a coffee stop. So I head to my townhouse first, dropping my gear bag inside the door before pacing restlessly, watching out the window for any sign of Sarah’s SUV pulling up next door.

An hour passes. Then another. The shadows lengthening across my living room floor mark time as surely as a clock.

Finally, headlights sweep across my windows as a car pulls into Elliot’s driveway. I’m out my door before the engine cuts off, trying not to look like I’ve been watching and waiting.

Sarah emerges from the driver’s side, spotting me immediately. Her expression—grim, apologetic—sends a fresh wave of dread through me.

“Where’s Elliot?” I ask, approaching the car.

“Inside already.” Sarah jerks her head toward Elliot’s door. “But Brody, listen?—”

“I need to talk to her.” I move toward Elliot’s townhouse, but Sarah grabs my arm.

“Wait. You need to know what happened.” Her grip tightens. “Jason confronted her in Seattle. At her hotel.”

I stop cold. “What?”

“Cornered her in the lobby. Physically intimidated her.” Sarah’s expression is a mixture of anger and concern. “And he threatened her. Threatened you , actually. Said he’d ruin your career if she stayed with you.”

The pieces click into place with sickening clarity. “That’s why she’s been distant.”

Sarah nods grimly. “And it gets worse. She got a job offer while she was there. In Seattle.”

“A job...” I struggle to process this new information.

“Technical editing position with some tech company. Better pay, more responsibility.” Sarah glances toward Elliot’s door. “She’s planning to take it. To ‘protect your career’ from Jason’s threats.”

I feel like I’ve been checked into the boards at full speed. Elliot is leaving. Moving to Seattle. Ending things between us because Jason threatened her—threatened me, really, using her feelings for me as leverage.

“I need to see her,” I say, pulling away from Sarah’s grip.

“That’s why I’m warning you. She’s convinced herself this is the noble choice. The selfless option.” Sarah’s expression softens slightly. “She needs you to fight for her, Brody. Even if she can’t admit it.”

I approach Elliot’s door, heart hammering in my chest, and knock firmly. The wait feels eternal before I hear footsteps on the other side.

The door opens, and there she is. Hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing a Phoenix University t-shirt that’s seen better days, eyes widening in surprise at finding me on her doorstep.

“Brody,” she says, voice carefully neutral despite the shock in her eyes. “I thought you weren’t landing until?—”

“Sarah told me everything,” I interrupt, unable to maintain polite pretenses. “About Jason in Seattle. About the job offer. About your plan to leave.”

Her face closes off immediately, the defensive mask I remember from our earliest interactions sliding into place. “You shouldn’t be here. I was going to call you tomorrow, explain properly.”

“Explain what? That you’re running away because your ex threatened my career?” She flinches, and I immediately regret my harsh tone. “Elliot, please. Just let me in so we can talk about this.”

She hesitates, then steps back, allowing me to enter. The familiar space feels different somehow—emptier, as if she’s already begun the process of leaving in her mind.

“You don’t understand,” she says as soon as the door closes, wrapping her arms around herself in a protective gesture. “Jason wasn’t bluffing. He has the connections, the influence to make good on his threats. I’ve seen him do it before.”

“I don’t care,” I say with absolute conviction. “Let him try. Let him do his worst. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

“It’s not that simple.” She turns away, moving toward the kitchen as if seeking distance. “This isn’t just about feelings, Brody. It’s about your career, your future. Everything you’ve worked for.”

“No, what I’ve worked for is a life that means something beyond hockey,” I follow her, unwilling to let her retreat physically or emotionally. “Hockey is my job, not my identity. And it sure as hell isn’t worth losing you over.”

She finally turns to face me, expression pained. “You say that now, but what about when the suspensions start? When the fines add up? When teams won’t touch you because you’ve been labeled a ‘problem player’? You’d resent me. Eventually.”

“That’s not true,” I insist, closing the distance between us. “And it’s not going to happen. Jason doesn’t have the godlike powers he wants you to believe he has.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” she says, a tremor in her voice betraying her composure. “What he’s capable of when his ego is bruised.”

“No, I don’t.” I concede this point, gentling my tone. “But I know the league. I know how things really work behind the scenes. And I know that his influence has limits, especially when he’s acting out of petty revenge.”

She shakes her head, unconvinced. “I’ve already accepted the job in Seattle. It’s done.”

The finality in her voice sends a surge of genuine panic through me. “When? When did you accept it?”

“This morning. Before I flew home.” She won’t meet my eyes. “It’s a good opportunity, Brody. Better pay, more responsibility. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start,” I repeat, the words bitter on my tongue. “Away from me. Away from us. Because that’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Not protecting my career, but running from what we could be together.”

Her head snaps up, eyes flashing with genuine anger. “That’s not fair. I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

“The right thing for who? Not for me. Not for you, if you’re honest with yourself.” I take another step toward her, close enough now that I can see the exhaustion etched into her face, the tension in her shoulders. “If you want to take the Seattle job because it’s truly what you want, I’ll support you. We can figure out long distance. But don’t do this because you’re afraid of Jason. Don’t let him win.”

Something flickers in her eyes—doubt, maybe, or a crack in her resolve. “It’s not that simple,” she says again, but with less conviction.

“It is that simple,” I insist, reaching for her hand, relieved when she doesn’t pull away. “You’re trying to make a noble sacrifice, and I appreciate the sentiment, I really do. But I don’t accept it. I won’t let Jason take this from us. Not when we’ve barely begun.”

“Brody—”

“I love you,” I say, the words finally breaking free after weeks of holding them back. “I love you, Elliot. I think I have since that night at the Christmas party years ago. Maybe that sounds crazy, and maybe it’s too soon, but it’s the truth. And if you’re going to walk away, I need you to know exactly what you’re walking away from.”

She stares at me, shock written plainly across her face. “You... what?”

“I love you,” I repeat, finding strength in the declaration. “Your brilliance, your caution, your dry humor, the way you light up talking about books. The way you wear my jersey and correct my grammar in text messages and make me feel like more than just another player. I love all of it. All of you.”

Tears fill her eyes, one escaping to track down her cheek. “Don’t say that. It makes this harder.”

“It’s supposed to be hard,” I reach up to brush away the tear with my thumb. “Because it matters. We matter.”

“Jason will never stop,” she whispers, a confession more than an argument now. “He’ll always see you as a target because of me.”

“Then let him come after me,” I say firmly. “I can handle Jason Martinez. What I can’t handle is losing you because he made you afraid.”

She looks away, but not before I catch the uncertainty in her eyes. “I’ve already accepted the job.”

“Jobs can be declined. Or negotiated to remote work.” I keep my voice gentle but firm. “Unless this is what you truly want. Unless you’re using Jason and my career as excuses to end something you don’t actually want.”

“No!” The vehemence of her denial is reassuring. “That’s not... I do want this. Us. But not at the cost of destroying your life.”

“The only thing that would destroy my life is watching you leave because you think it’s protecting me,” I say simply. “I’m a grown man, Elliot. I can fight my own battles. And this one—us, what we’re building together—is worth fighting for.”

Her resolve is wavering; I can see it in the slight trembling of her lips, the uncertainty in her eyes. But she’s stubborn, my Elliot, and pride won’t let her concede so easily.

“I need time to think,” she says finally. “This isn’t a decision I can make impulsively.”

“Of course not,” I agree, relief flooding through me at even this small victory. “That would be very out of character for you. Take all the time you need. But promise me something?”

“What?”

“Don’t make any more decisions based on fear. Or on what you think is best for me without actually asking me.” I squeeze her hand gently. “We’re supposed to be partners in this. That means facing problems together, not you sacrificing yourself for some misguided idea of protecting me.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, then nods slowly. “I promise to think about it. Really think, not just react.”

It’s not a complete victory, not a promise to stay or to choose me over Seattle. But it’s something—a crack in the wall of certainty she’d built around her decision, a willingness to reconsider.

“That’s all I ask,” I say, then add, unable to help myself, “Well, that and maybe a kiss? I’ve missed you.”

A small smile finally breaks through her serious expression. “Pushing your luck, Carter.”

“Always.” I grin, feeling hope resurge. “Is it working?”

Instead of answering, she rises on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine—a brief kiss, but one that conveys more than words could. When she pulls back, some of the strained tension has left her face.

“I should go,” I say reluctantly. “Give you that thinking time. But Elliot? Whatever you decide, about the job or us or anything else, I’m not giving up. Not on you, not on us. Just so we’re clear.”

“I understand,” she says, and though her expression is still conflicted, there’s a warmth in her eyes that wasn’t there when I arrived. “Goodnight, Brody.”

“Goodnight, Elliot.”

As I walk back to my own townhouse, I feel simultaneously exhausted and energized. The battle isn’t won—Elliot is still considering the Seattle job, still worried about Jason’s threats—but I’ve given her something to think about, planted seeds of doubt in her certainty that leaving is the answer.

And for now, that will have to be enough.