Page 17 of Cross the Line

“Yeah. Boone or somebody mentioned it. Pretty sick.”

“Does that mean you and Boone are on better terms? Because you definitely played better together tonight.” I heard some shuffling, and I wondered if she was lying down like I was.

Don’t go there.

“Yeah. Who knew all I needed to do was punch an opposing player to earn his respect.”

“Right?” She laughed, and the sound loosened something in me. “How’s Fizzy?” she asked. “He seemed off his game tonight.”

That was a nice way of saying he’d played like shit. Fortunately, the rest of our defense had been on fire.

“Frasier’s been off ever since the fight with Wilson.” Motherfucker. I clenched and unclenched my fist.

“Jackass,” Logan spat.

“Wilson’s gotten so much negative press lately, I’d be surprised if Seattle isn’t looking for a way to dump him.”

“It would serve him right,” she gritted out.

The guy was a piece of shit, and he made all of us look bad. But I cared more about the impact of his words, particularly on my friends.

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” I said. “But you can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

“Okay…” she said, dragging out the word. “Now I’m intrigued. And yes, I promise.”

“When the league reached out to me after the fight, I told them about what you said on the podcast. About locker-room talk and the idea of training people to be upstanders.”

“You what?” she gasped. “I mean, yes, that’s what I was saying, but I didn’t use that term.”

“But it’s what you meant. I looked into it afterward so I could pitch it to them. Apparently, they liked the idea so much, they want to start a new campaign to send a clear message that locker-room talk has no place in hockey. They plan to train players and others in the league how to be upstanders—to speak up even when it’s difficult. Plus, they want to draft new rules with serious fines attached to them.”

“Holy shit,” she whispered, excitement and awe threading through her words. “They’re finally going to do something.”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. I was grinning like an idiot because I knew how excited she’d be about this. Hell, I was excited about this.

“They want me to be a spokesperson, along with Fizzy.”

“Carson, that’s amazing.” I could hear the smile in her voice, the admiration and pride. Fuck me. Hearing her say my name did something to me. “Are you going to do it?”

“Fuck yes. It’s long overdue.”

“And it’s great exposure for you.”

“That’s a side benefit. To me, it’s more about making real change in the league. I have a platform, and I want to use it for the benefit of others. Plus, I’m tired of a few assholes making the rest of us look bad.”

She laughed. “Of course you are. I almost believed the altruistic act until then.”

“I think we both know I’m no saint.” My voice was deeper, raspy almost.

“Mm. That’s true. But I like that about you—you’re honest. You’re not trying to pretend you’re something else.”

I was tempted to ask if there was anything else she liked about me, but I kept my mouth shut. We were friends; that was all.

All she wanted.

All this could ever be.

And I needed to remember that. Because somehow, in the last four months, she’d become important to me. I looked forward to talking with her, hearing her opinion. When I had good news, she was the first person I wanted to tell.