Page 19

ALDER

I stare at my phone, tempted to ignore it. After last night's disaster at family dinner, the last thing I want is Tucker's opinions on my life choices. However, turning down a run with my twin would mean admitting something's wrong, and I'm not ready to give him that satisfaction.

I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Gordie, who's sprawled across the foot of my mattress. As I pull on my running shorts and lace up my shoes, I glance at Lena's closed door. Is she angry? Probably. I would be.

" Summer Fling ." What the hell was I thinking?

I scribble a quick note?—

Out for a run with T. Back by 8

—and leave it on the kitchen counter before heading out. Not that she should care why I’m gone or even notice. We’re friends. We’re not having a fling. We’re both hurting from big breakups. Whatever.

The morning air is thick with humidity, promising a scorcher later.

Tucker is waiting at our usual spot by the Schenley Park trailhead, stretching his quads against a bench.

Since college, we've been running this loop, a five-mile circuit through the park that ends with a brutal uphill slog.

Our dad and his brothers prefer to run the paved roads and flatter options in Highland Park.

We always felt like we were tougher or something, tackling the hills in a different park.

"You're late," he says without looking up.

"By two minutes."

"Still late."

I don't argue; I just start my warm-up stretches. We fall into our familiar routine, mirror images performing identical movements. It used to freak our coaches out.

We start running in silence, finding our rhythm side by side. Tucker has always been slightly faster on the straightaways, but I have better endurance on the hills. After decades of competing, we've settled into a pace that challenges us both equally.

Two miles in, Tucker finally breaks the silence.

"So, a summer fling."

I keep my eyes on the path ahead. "Don't start."

"Too late." He matches my stride effortlessly. "What were you thinking, A?"

"It just came out, okay? Uncle Tim was pushing, and I panicked."

"Yeah, but 'summer fling'? You basically told Mom you're using our new team dentist for sex."

I wince. "That's not what I meant."

"Sure, sounded like it. Poor Doc looked like she wanted to crawl under the table and die."

We reach the frog pond at the halfway point, and I'm grateful for the excuse to stop talking as a flock of geese waddles across the path. Tucker waits until we're running again before continuing his lecture.

"So, what is going on with you two? Because something's definitely going on."

"I don't know," I admit. "We haven't really defined it."

Tucker snorts. "Classic Alder."

“Fuck you, Fucker. This isn’t like with Adam, if that’s what you’re implying. We're just... helping each other through a shitty situation."

"By sucking face?”

I stumble slightly, catching myself before I faceplant on the trail. "How did you?—"

"I heard you and Lena whisper-fighting. Something about 'the kiss' you've both been avoiding talking about."

Great. Just great. Not only did I humiliate Lena in front of my family, but now my fat mouth just set off another avalanche of shit.

"It was a distraction," I say. "Her ex walked in while we were getting her stuff. I kissed her to throw him off."

"And how'd that work out for you?"

I think about Lena's soft lips, the small sound she made when I touched her face, and how right it felt to hold her against me. "It worked fine."

Tucker gives me a knowing look but mercifully drops that line of questioning. We run in silence for another quarter mile before he speaks again.

"You know, the fam never liked how you let Adam treat you."

I tense. "Adam has nothing to do with this."

"Doesn't he? Six months of you chasing someone who wouldn't even acknowledge you in public, and now you're suddenly in a 'summer fling' with the first person who shows interest after he dumps you?"

"Adam didn't dump me. He cheated on me. There's a difference. "

"The point is," Tucker continues, undeterred, "you deserve better than that. Better than Adam and better than whatever half-assed arrangement you're trying to set up with Lena."

We hit the hill that marks the final stretch of our run, and I push the pace, partly to punish Tucker and partly to channel my growing frustration. He keeps up because, of course, he does.

"I'm just saying," he pants, "you're worth someone being excited to be with you. Worth more than some weird payback plan.”

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?"

He gives me a pointed look, and I frown. “Care to share, Fucker?”

He claps me on the shoulder, and I take a small joy in knowing I’m slimy with sweat and sunscreen.

“I’m just saying it sucks being with someone under …

shady circumstances.” With that mysterious truth bomb, Tucker pulls slightly ahead as we crest the hill.

I can see the wildflowers and benches near the row of parked cars.

"It starts to feel bad all the time, and you internalize that shit. You know?"

I hate that I do.

"Lena's not like that," I say, though I'm unsure why I'm defending her in this context. We're not actually dating.

"No, she's not." Tucker slows as we approach the end of our route. "Which is why you need to figure out what you're doing. Before someone gets hurt, and I mean that both emotionally and professionally, bro.”

We stop at the park entrance, both of us breathing hard. Tucker takes a long drink from his water bottle, then fixes me with a serious look.

"Just don't fuck this up, A. She seems cool. Too cool to be your 'summer fling.' And she fixed my tooth.” He flaps his fake tooth up and down for emphasis .

"I got it, okay? Message received." I'm sweaty, tired, and in no mood for more twin wisdom. "I'll talk to her."

Tucker nods, apparently satisfied. "Good." He checks his watch. "Gotta go. Breakfast with my summer fling."

I flip him off as he jogs backward down the street, laughing at his joke. Asshole.

The drive back to the townhouse gives me time to think, though I'm not sure it helps. Tucker's right about one thing—I need to figure out what I'm doing with Lena. The problem is that I have no idea what I want from her or this arrangement.

I shouldn’t be looking for anything like this when I’m raw. I should be focused on hockey.

But when I walk through the door, Lena is pouring coffee into a travel mug in the kitchen. She's dressed for work, hair pulled back, looking impossibly put-together and really fucking hot, even in scrubs.

"Morning," she says, her tone carefully neutral. "Coffee's fresh."

"Thanks." I hover awkwardly by the counter. "About last night?—"

"We don't have to talk about it right now." She glances at her watch. "I need to get to the facility. Banksy is coming in this morning for scans.”

"Right." I shift from one foot to the other, suddenly acutely aware that I'm sweaty and she's immaculate. "I'll see you later? Maybe I can cook dinner?”

She hesitates, then nods. "Sure. That sounds nice.”

As she grabs her bag and heads for the door, I'm struck by how much I want to reach out, stop her, say... something. But what? Sorry, I told my family we're having a meaningless fling? Sorry, I kissed you and pretended it didn't matter? Sorry, I have no idea what I'm doing?

The door closes behind her, and I'm left alone with my coffee and confusion.