Page 15

LENA

"I swear if I have to look at one more mouth mold, I'll scream," I announce as I enter the townhouse the next afternoon, bracing myself to be mauled by Gordie.

Tucker Stag's removable denture fitting went remarkably well, considering his anxiety about all things dental.

This is probably because I prescribed him a Valium, and Gunnar dropped him into my chair half-high.

But it was the fifth fitting I'd done today, and my fingers ache from the precision work.

My roommate glances up from his perch on the couch, pocketing his phone. "How was Tucker?"

"Brave as a four-year-old getting his first filling, but we made it through."

Alder laughs. "So, he cried the whole time?"

I set my bag down and squat to greet Gordie. "Only on the inside.” "How was your workout?"

"Brutal. My trainer's determined to rebuild my entire left side this summer." He rubs his shoulder with a wince. "I'm going to shower," Alder announces, disappearing down the hall.

I take the opportunity to change into leggings and a loose T-shirt, then head to the kitchen to assess dinner options. By the time Alder emerges, hair damp, wearing sweatpants and a faded Fury T-shirt, I've determined that takeout is our best option.

"Thai or pizza?" I ask, looking up from my phone.

"Neither." He flops onto the couch with a groan. "My body is one giant knot. What I really need is to just... not think for a while."

I set my phone down. "Bad day?"

"Not bad. Just..." He rubs a hand over his face. "Between the training and fielding calls from Brian about media shit and dodging questions about us... I'm fried."

"Want me to order dinner while you nap?"

He looks at me thoughtfully. "You know what I want? To get high. Just zone out completely."

The statement surprises me, though I'm not sure why. "I didn't know you smoked."

“I don’t. It never seemed like a good idea. But now?” He shrugs. "League doesn't test for it. But I have no idea how to get drugs. Is that pathetic?”

I let out a laugh before I can stop myself. “Of course, you’re not pathetic. And actually, I do."

“You do what?”

“I know where to get some ganja.”

Alder sits up, eyebrows raised. "Dr. Sinclair, you naughty girl. Where?"

I absolutely cannot believe the rush of heat I feel at the sound of Alder forming the words "naughty" and "girl" in regards to me. I clear my throat. "Brad keeps a stash in his desk drawer. Top quality stuff, apparently. Medical grade.”

"And you never partook?"

"Once or twice." I shrug. "Not really my thing."

"So, where's this desk drawer?"

"In the apartment. In his 'office.'" I make air quotes around the word .

Alder's eyes light up. "The apartment you still need to get your stuff from?"

"Yeah, that's—" I stop as his meaning becomes clear. "Oh. You're suggesting we?—"

He grins, and there's something mischievous in it that makes my stomach flip. "You need your things, and I need to unwind. Might as well liberate some of Brad's finest while we're there."

"That's... petty theft."

“You think he’ll report it to the cops?” The blinding smile Alder sends my way includes dimples.

I try not to stare and consider his question. “Hell, I probably paid for it to begin with.”

"There you go. Just retrieving your property." He leans forward. "Come on, when did you last do something just because it felt good? Something a little reckless?"

The question catches me off guard. Does moving in with a hockey-playing stranger count? When was the last time otherwise? Before Brad, certainly. Perhaps even before dental school.

"Alright," I say, surprising myself. "Let's do it."

Alder's grin widens. "That's my girl."

The phrase sends another surge of warmth through me, which I immediately try to squash. I'm not his girl.

But as we plan our "heist," as Alder insists on calling it, I can't help but relish the conspiratorial energy between us.

“It would be great if he were out tonight," Alder says, pulling takeout menus from a drawer. "I'd rather not have a confrontation if we can avoid it. Although I also don’t want to think about him and Adam fucking…”

I pull out my phone and open the shared calendar app Brad insisted we use. "Looks like he has a department mixer tonight until 9."

"Perfect. We'll go at 7:30, be out by 8:30. "

"We should probably eat first," I suggest. "And maybe get some snacks for... after."

Alder glances up from the menus, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Planning to join me, Dr. Sinclair?"

"I'm keeping my options open."

He laughs with a deep, genuine sound that makes me smile in return. "I like this rebellious side of you."

We decide on burgers, and while waiting for delivery, I make a list of essentials I need to retrieve from the apartment: clothes, toiletries, important documents, and my framed diploma… It's surprisingly little, considering I lived there for four years.

"You should unlink yourself from that shared calendar, you know," Alder says, watching me scroll through my phone. "Cut those digital ties."

"You're right." I delete the app entirely. "One less way for him to track me."

The burgers arrive, and we eat at the kitchen island, finalizing our plan. Alder will provide the muscle. I'll go straight for the essentials. In and out, there is minimal conversation if Brad happens to be there.

"What if he asks where I'm staying?" I ask, suddenly nervous.

"Tell him the truth," Alder says simply. "You're staying with me. Let him think we fuck all the time.”

I cross my legs and purse my lips, shaking my head at his candor. This plan awakens Alder's mischievous side, which borders on manic. But he’s more animated than I’ve seen and it’s adorable.

By the time we finish eating and load empty laundry baskets into Alder's car, my nervousness has transformed into something akin to excitement. There's something liberating about taking control like this, about having someone like Alder supporting me .

"Ready?" he asks as we pull up outside my old apartment building.

I take a deep breath. "Ready."

The apartment feels smaller than I remember, or maybe it's just that I'm seeing it through new eyes. The furniture I paid for, cheap though it may be. The decor I chose, create a home that now looks strange and unwelcoming.

"Nice place," Alder comments, looking around.

"It served its purpose." I head straight for the bedroom, pulling out the suitcases. "I'll start with clothes."

Alder follows, leaning against the doorframe as I start emptying my side of the closet. "Want me to help?"

"Sure. Dresser over there—top two drawers are mine."

We work in comfortable silence for a while, with me packing clothes as Alder empties my dresser drawers. It's strangely intimate, him handling my things, but not uncomfortable.

When we've filled the first basket, he asks, "Where's this office with the good stuff?"

"Second bedroom is down the hall."

While I continue to pack clothes and toiletries, Alder disappears to find Brad's stash. He returns a few minutes later, triumphantly holding up a small wooden box.

"Jackpot," he says with a grin. "And bonus—found these." He holds up a bag of gourmet chocolate-covered espresso beans. "Perfect for munchies."

I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in days.

He tucks the wooden box and the chocolates into his pocket. "How are we doing on time?"

I check my phone. "It's a little after eight. We should wrap up soon."

I'm just tucking my underwear and bras into the second basket when we hear it—keys in the front door lock.

"Shit," Alder whispers. "I thought you said he'd be out until nine. "

"That's what the calendar said." My heart rate skyrockets. "He must have left early."

We freeze, listening to Brad as he enters the apartment. His voice carries down the hall—he's on the phone.

"No, babe, I told you it's fine. She's not an issue.” A pause. "Yeah, staying with your hockey player, apparently. Ridiculous, right?" Alder's face darkens at Brad's dismissive tone. "I just need to grab some papers, and I'll head over," Brad continues, his voice getting closer.

Alder looks at me, then at the bedroom door, then back at me. Before I can process what's happening, he moves toward me in two long strides.

"Trust me," he whispers, pressing me against the wall beside the bedroom door.

And then his lips meet mine.

The kiss starts as a performance—I'm aware enough to recognize that. A distraction, a strategy. But then his hand comes up to cup my face, and something shifts. His lips are soft yet insistent, and despite myself, I respond. My hands find his waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his T-shirt.

I hear Brad's footsteps in the hallway, but they seem distant and unimportant compared to the feeling of Alder's body pressed against mine, the gentle stroke of his thumb along my jaw, and the heat spreading through me like wildfire.

The bedroom door swings open. "What the hell are you doing in here?”

For a moment, Alder continues to kiss me as if Brad's interruption is merely an annoyance. When he finally pulls back, his eyes meet mine briefly, and what I see there makes my breath catch—confusion, fire, something unplanned.

Then he turns to Brad, keeping his body partially in front of mine. “We can do what we want in Lena’s bedroom. Or anywhere else."

Brad stands in the doorway, phone still in hand, his face contorted with indignation. His gaze flicks from Alder to me, then to the baskets full of my things.

"You're actually leaving? For him?" The disbelief in his voice would be comical if it weren't so insulting.

I find my voice, though it comes out slightly breathless. "Yes, I'm leaving. Not for him. For me."