Page 14

ALDER

I open Lena's car door, the simple "Thanks for that" still hanging in the air between us. Her point about my hockey intelligence has settled deep in my chest, a small warmth I'm not ready to examine too closely.

The drive home is comfortable, the silence broken only by Lena's occasional comments about her day or my observations about traffic. This commute together feels strangely domestic as if we've been doing it for years instead of one day.

Her phone rings as we pull into the townhouse complex. I glance over and see her face tighten as Brad's name flashes on the screen.

"It's him," she says unnecessarily, voice suddenly small.

I shift the car into park and turn toward her. "You don't have to answer."

"I know." The phone continues its insistent buzzing. "But if I don't, he'll just keep calling."

"Want me to take it?" I offer before I can stop myself. The idea of this asshole harassing her makes something protective flare in my chest.

"No, I should handle this." She takes a deep breath and accepts the call. "Hello? "

"Finally!" Brad's voice is loud enough to hear every word. "I've been trying to reach you for two days, Lena. What the hell is going on?"

"I needed space after seeing you kiss someone else on the jumbo screen at my new job." Her voice trembles slightly, and I resist the urge to grab the phone.

"That was... I can explain that. If you'd just come home?—"

"I'm not coming home, Brad."

"You're being ridiculous. Where are you even staying? A hotel? You can't afford that on top of our rent."

Our rent. The entitled tone in his voice makes my jaw clench. From our conversations, I know that he never paid a cent toward their living expenses.

"I'm staying with a friend." Lena glances at me, and I try to project steadiness and support.

"What friend? You don't have friends here." The casual cruelty twists my stomach. "Is it him? That hockey player? Adam thinks you’re dating him. Lena, be serious. Look at yourself. Why would someone like him want someone like you except as some kind of revenge?"

The words land like a sucker punch, echoing my insecurities about Adam so precisely that I raise an eyebrow at Lena, who looks equally shocked by the parallel.

"You don't get to tell me what I'm worth anymore, Brad," she says, a steel entering her voice that I haven't heard before. "I'm not coming home. I'll get my things another time when you’re not there."

"You're making a huge mistake," Brad warns. "You think you can do better than me? That he wants more than just a quick revenge fuck? You're delusional. You're going to end up alone and begging me to take you back."

"Goodbye, Brad." She hangs up, her hands visibly shaking.

The car fills with tense silence. I search for something profound to say, but what comes out is, "He sounds nice. "

It startles a laugh out of her, breaking the tension. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

"Charming fucker.” I hesitate, studying her face. "You okay?"

"Not really," she admits. "But I will be."

I nod, understanding the need for space after emotional confrontation. "Want to walk Gordie with me? River path's pretty at sunset."

Relief crosses her features. "I'd like that."

Inside, Gordie nearly trips Lena in his enthusiasm, which makes us both laugh. I grab his leash, and we head out to the river path that runs through our townhouse community. The evening light turns everything golden, softening the edges of what's been a hard few days.

"He said basically the same thing about me that everyone says,” Lena notes after we've walked in silence for a while. “That nobody would take me seriously as a girlfriend because of how I look.”

A burst of rage hammers into my ribs, but I force myself to suppress it. "Makes you wonder what we saw in them, doesn't it?"

"I've been asking myself that a lot lately."

I pause on the path, watching Gordie sniff intently at a shrub. "I think... I was so focused on being accepted for being bi that I ignored all the other ways he wasn't accepting me."

The admission costs more than I expected, leaving me feeling exposed. However, Lena's understanding nod eases the discomfort.

"I get that," she says. "I was so grateful Brad 'saw past' my size that I didn't notice he was using it as a weapon to keep me believing I couldn't do better."

"You’re fucking gorgeous,” I say, meaning it more than I expected to. "For what it's worth. "

Our eyes meet, and something passes between us that tightens my chest—maybe understanding or recognition—something that makes this friendship forged from outrage feel suddenly complicated.

The moment breaks when Gordie, impatient with our stillness, tugs on his leash.

We continue walking, shifting to safer topics—her new office, my off-season training plans, and whether Gordie would like to go to the dog park this weekend. By the time we loop back to the townhouse, I'm somehow both more settled and unsettled than when we left.

I order takeout—more carbs—and we eat on the couch while I pull up game recordings.

I find myself pointing out defensive strategies and explaining plays more intensely than I usually would.

It's a reflex after her earlier comment about my hockey intelligence, a need to prove something I shouldn't have to prove.

But Lena watches with genuine interest, asking insightful questions that make me see the game through fresh eyes.

She’s probably primarily interested in how all of it impacts the guys’ teeth, but there's something affirming about explaining my craft to someone who wants to understand it.

It feels like, in addition to that, she might care about something that matters to me.

When she finally heads to bed, pausing in the hallway to turn back to me, I expect a simple "goodnight."

Instead, she says, "For what it's worth... I think everyone would notice if you stopped playing hockey. Not because of the family legacy or the Stag name, but because you bring something to the game that's uniquely you."

I stare at her, momentarily speechless. No one—not coaches, not teammates, not even family—has ever articulated my value to the game quite like that. Not as a Stag, not as an enforcer, but as me. I’ve always been half of a twin pair…valuable because of what I share with my brother.

"Thanks, Lena," I manage finally, my voice rougher than intended.

After her door closes, I lower the TV volume and reach for the whiskey bottle. Not to drown the day like last night, but to sit with this unfamiliar feeling of being truly seen.

I pour a single finger and sip it slowly as Gordie settles on my lap with a contented sigh. I stroke his fur absently, thoughts circling back to Lena—her quiet strength on the phone with Brad, how easily she's slipped into my life as if she's always belonged here.

This wasn't the plan. The plan was revenge. Petty pranks to show Adam and Brad exactly what they'd lost. Simple. Straightforward. Temporary.

But as I finish my whiskey and head to bed, Gordie padding beside me, I realize there's nothing simple about what's happening between Lena and me. We're becoming friends, genuine friends, with the kind of honesty I never had with Adam.

The question gnawing at me as I slide under the covers is whether friendship will be enough when I'm starting to feel the pull of something more.