Page 11

"Nervous?" Lena asks, reading my expression.

"No," I lie. "Just looking for familiar faces."

She doesn't call me on it; she just settles into her seat and studies the program. "So, the goal is to kick the ball into the net, right?"

I stare at her for a moment before catching the twinkle in her eye. "Very funny."

"I actually played soccer in high school," she admits. "I wasn't half bad as a defender."

"Why am I not surprised? You strike me as someone who'd be good at blocking people's shots."

She bumps my shoulder with hers. "Was that a compliment or an insult?"

"Definitely a compliment. Defense wins championships."

"Is that why you play defense in hockey? "

"Partly." I consider how to explain it. "I like the strategy of it. Reading the play, anticipating where the puck's going, getting between the opponent and their goal."

"The protector," she says thoughtfully.

“I don’t know about that...”

“Well, I do,” Lena starts to explain. A roar from the crowd interrupts us as the teams take the field for warm-ups. I point out Cara—Latina, a midfielder with a dark ponytail.

"She's amazing," I tell Lena. "Got recruited right out of college. On the national team, too."

"Your family must be proud."

"We are. Even if she's not technically family yet." I scan the sidelines again and freeze. "Three o'clock. By the media tent."

Lena follows my gaze subtly. "Is that Adam?"

He stands near the press area, clipboard in hand, talking to what appears to be a group of sponsors. He's wearing his professional uniform—slim-cut suit, no tie, trendy glasses—and looks completely in his element.

"That's him," I confirm, my voice tighter than I'd like.

Lena's hand finds mine on the armrest between us. "You, okay?"

"Fine." I force myself to look away from Adam. "Just... it's the first time I've seen him since."

"We can leave," she offers immediately. "This was a stupid idea."

"No." I squeeze her hand, surprised by how much I appreciate the contact. "I'm okay. Really."

"Okay." She doesn't let go of my hand, and I don't pull away. It feels... nice. Grounding.

The match begins, and we settle into watching the action. In the fourteenth minute, Cara makes a brilliant pass that leads to the first goal, and I jump to my feet, cheering. Lena stands, too, laughing at my enthusiasm.

"Your family loyalty extends to girlfriends of cousins?" she teases .

"Women's sports don't get enough credit," I reply. "Plus, Cara's practically a Stag already. Wes is just taking his time proposing."

We're still standing, discussing the goal, when I notice a commotion near the media tent. Adam has spotted us. He's staring, mouth slightly open, distracted enough that one of his clients seems to be repeating a question.

"Mission accomplished," Lena murmurs, following my gaze.

"That was easier than expected."

We sit back down, but I'm acutely aware of Adam's attention throughout the first half. Every time I glance in his direction, he's watching us, his expression growing increasingly agitated.

During halftime, Lena and I hit the concession stand. We're waiting in line when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

"Alder."

I turn to find Adam standing there, professional smile firmly in place, though his eyes are cold.

"Adam," I reply, equally cool. "Working the game?"

"Yes, as you’re clearly aware.” His gaze shifts to Lena. "Dr. Sinclair, right? I've heard so much about you."

"Wish I could say the same," Lena says sweetly. "But Brad never mentioned you. For obvious reasons."

Adam's smile tightens. "I should apologize for the... awkwardness."

"You mean when you were sucking face with my boyfriend on the jumbo screen?" Lena's voice remains pleasant, but there's steel beneath it. "No apology necessary. You did me a favor."

Adam blinks, clearly not expecting this response. "Well. Good, then." He turns his attention back to me. "Could we speak privately for a moment?"

"No," I say simply. "I'm here to watch soccer with my friend. "

"Your friend." He glances between us, skepticism evident. "Does she know what it’s like to be in your orbit? With the media everywhere?"

I just glare at him as Adam's face flushes. "We'll leave you to your work," I tell him, placing a hand on Lena's back to guide her forward in the now-moving line.

"This isn't over, Alder," Adam says, low enough that only I can hear. "Call me when you're done playing games."

I don't respond; I just continue forward with Lena. Once we're out of earshot, she exhales dramatically.

"What a douche," she whispers. "I can't believe I was intimidated by the idea of him."

"You were intimidated?"

"A little," she admits. "He's so... polished."

"That's one word for it."

We order nachos and beer, then make our way back to our seats. I'm aware of people watching us. Phones occasionally raised to capture photos. Word has obviously spread about our presence.

"I can see why you fell for him,” Lena muses as we sit. “He's very pretty."

"Pretty empty," I mutter, then feel childish. "Sorry. That was petty."

"Hey, petty is what we're here for." She nudges me with her elbow.

I smile, grateful for her lightness. "Right."

The second half begins, and we settle back into watching the match. Adam remains on the sidelines, but I'm less concerned with his presence now. I'm more interested in Cara's footwork and Lena's running commentary, which grows increasingly insightful as the game progresses.

"You really did play, didn't you?" I ask after she correctly predicts a penalty call .

"Told you," she says with a grin. "Four years varsity, thick thighs and all.”

"Is there anything you're not good at?"

"Plenty," she laughs. "Relationships, for one."

"Same." I watch as the penalty kick sails into the net, putting Hot Metal up 2-0. "Maybe we should stick to sports."

"Maybe we should."

The rest of the match passes in a blur of good soccer and even better company. Hot Metal wins 3-1, with Cara assisting on the final goal, and the crowd erupts in cheers. As we stand to applaud, I notice several people openly taking photos of us.

"We've been spotted," I murmur to Lena.

"Good." She claps enthusiastically. "Adam looks like he's about to have an aneurysm."

Sure enough, Adam is staring at us from the sideline, his professional composure wavering. One of his clients is trying to get his attention, but his focus is completely on us.

As we exit with the crowd, I feel my phone vibrate with an incoming call. I check the screen and see Brian's name.

"My agent," I explain to Lena. "Should I take it?"

"Go ahead," she says. "I'll wait."

I answer as we step into a quieter area near the exit. "Hey, Brian."

"A-Stag, what the hell are you doing? BuzzTalk is exploding with photos of you and the dentist at the soccer game."

"Watching soccer," I reply innocently. "Cara played great."

"Don't play dumb with me, kid. Is this some kind of revenge date? Because if so, we need to coordinate our messaging."

"It's not a date," I say, though the denial feels strange on my tongue. "Lena's staying at my place temporarily because her ex is fucking mine. We're friends. "

"Friends," Brian repeats skeptically. "The kind of friends who hold hands at sporting events?"

I glance at Lena, who's examining a Hot Metal team poster with exaggerated interest, clearly trying not to eavesdrop.

“I was helping her up the stairs,” I insist. "But if people want to think otherwise... I'm not going to correct them."

Brian sighs heavily. "Fine. But if this blows up, don't say I didn't warn you. Adam is definitely not chill, and the team has rules about fraternization."

"We're not fraternizing," I argue. "We're... coexisting."

"Whatever you say, A-Stag. Just be careful." He hangs up without saying goodbye, typical Brian style.

I rejoin Lena, who raises a questioning eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

"Fine. Brian's just being Brian."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he's worried about optics." I guide us toward the exit.

"Mission accomplished then?" she asks as we step into the warm evening air.

"Definitely." I spot Adam across the parking lot, frantically typing on his phone while his clients wait. We walk to my car in comfortable silence, the energy of the evening settling around us. It's not until we're driving home that Lena speaks again.

"Do you think we went too far?" she asks quietly. "With the public appearance thing?"

I consider this. "We didn't actually do anything except watch a soccer match together."

"True, but we knew what people would think. What they'd say."

"Does that bother you?"

She's quiet for a moment. "Not exactly. It's just... I don't want to create more problems. For you, for the team."

"Brian mentioned something about fraternization rules," I admit. "But they're mostly about coaches and players. I don't think they apply to medical staff and players being friends."

"And if people think we're more than friends?"

It's a fair question and one I don't have a simple answer for, so I just shrug.

We drive the rest of the way home in comfortable silence. I find myself wondering what it would be like to go on a real date with Lena, not just a revenge outing; to hold her hand because I want to, not for show.

It's a dangerous thought, one I push away as soon as it forms. We're roommates. Co-conspirators in a petty revenge plot. Maybe friends. Anything more would complicate an already messy situation.

But as we arrive home and I watch her laughing at Gordie's enthusiastic greeting, I can't help but think that some complications might be worth it.