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I sink lower in my seat, filming the whole thing while trying not to draw attention to myself.

I created a fake account on one of those video apps and am live-streaming this with all kinds of hashtags.

This is everything I hoped it would be, except for one crucial detail—Lena isn't here to enjoy it.

As the quartet finishes with a flourishing harmony on "No, we don't want no scrubs," followed by a cheerful "Message delivered courtesy of Dr. Lena Sinclair," I slip out the back door, already composing a text to share the video with her.

But when I get to my car, I find three missed calls and twice as many texts from Lena.

Did you hire a barbershop quartet to humiliate Brad????

ALDER. Answer your phone.

WHAT DID YOU DO???

My stomach drops. This is not the reaction I was expecting.

I call her immediately, but it goes straight to voicemail. I send a quick text:

Heading home now. Can explain everything.

When I walk through the door twenty minutes later, Lena waits in the living room, arms crossed and expression stormy. Gordie senses the tension and scurries to his bed, watching us warily .

"Before you say anything," I begin, "I have a video I think you'll want to see."

"I've already seen it." Her voice is ice. "It's all over social media. #ProfessorRoast is trending."

"Good!" I throw my hands up. "Isn't that what we wanted? Public humiliation for the guy who humiliated you? It was your idea!"

"My idea that I didn't ask you to execute without consulting me!" She paces the living room. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Uh, delivered perfect karmic justice to your cheating ex?"

"You've potentially destroyed my professional reputation!" Her voice rises. "I had a meeting with management this week. About professional boundaries. About the fraternization policy that could get me fired if I'm seen to be in a relationship with a player!"

I blink, taken aback. "What does humiliating Brad have to do with me? How would management link those two things?”

“Oh, gee.” She taps a sturdy finger against her red, pouty lip.

“They called me in for a discussion after we were spotted at Cara's match. They weren’t exactly subtle, reminding me that I could lose my job if I was unprofessional.

And what's more unprofessional than sending a singing quartet to humiliate a university professor in front of his students publicly? "

Understanding dawns, cold, and sickening. "Lena, I didn't know?—"

"No, you didn't know because you didn't ask!" She runs a hand through her hair in frustration. "You just decided to take matters into your own hands. Without talking to me first!"

"I was trying to surprise you!" I protest. "You've been avoiding me all week. I thought you were disappointed that we weren't making more progress on our revenge plans."

"I wasn't avoiding you because of the revenge plans. I was trying to create distance because I can't afford to lose this job!" She drops onto the couch, deflated. "Do you know how much student debt I have? This position with the Fury is the only way I can make payments and still afford to live."

I sink down beside her, keeping a careful distance. "I'm sorry. I really didn't think?—"

"That's the problem, isn't it? You didn't think." She looks at me, and I see genuine hurt beneath the anger. "You just went ahead and made decisions for both of us. Just like at your family dinner, announcing we're having a 'summer fling' without consulting me first."

Her words hit uncomfortably close to home. How the hell do I keep doing this–running my mouth until I fuck over everyone I care about? "I said I was sorry about that."

"And yet here we are again." She sighs, the fight draining out of her.

"We can be more careful. I can be more thoughtful. Keep things professional." It’s not like me to be impulsive like this, not really. I’m usually more strategic. This situation with Adam has me fucked in the head.

"It's not just that." She looks away. "I think I need space to figure things out. On my own."

"Is this because of the quartet?" I'm scrambling now, feeling something important slipping away. "Because I can fix that. I'll call my agent. I'll talk to management and explain that you had nothing to do with it."

"It's not just the quartet." She finally meets my eyes again. "It's everything—the kiss at Brad's apartment. Your family thinking we're a couple. The media attention. It's too much."

I feel a hollowness spreading in my chest. "So you're just going to leave? Just like that?"

"Not right away," she concedes. "I haven't found a place yet. But I did get the lease transferred out of my name." She shrugs and smiles, a small victory. I want to hug her or at least give her a high five, but I’m not sure how to be around her right now .

We sit in silence for a moment, the distance between us on the couch feeling suddenly vast. Gordie whines softly from his bed, sensing the tension.

"I've come to rely on you," I finally admit, my voice quieter than intended. "These past couple weeks, having you here... it's made everything better." I swallow hard. "You're a good friend, Lena. Probably the best friend I have right now outside of my brothers."

Her expression softens slightly. "You've been a good friend to me, too, Alder. But that's why this is so hard. I can't risk my career, even for a good friend."

"What about Gunnar's wedding?" The question seems trivial in the face of everything else, but it bursts out of me anyway. "It's next week. The whole team will be there. I need... I was hoping you'd be my plus one."

She hesitates, and for a moment, I think she's going to refuse because of the optics. "I'll think about the plus-one status," she says finally. "But no promises."

It's not much, but it's not a no, either. I'll take it.

"I'm sorry about the quartet," I say again. "I really was just trying to make you happy."

"I know." A ghost of a smile flickers across her face. "For what it's worth, the video was pretty satisfying. Brad looked like he was going to dissolve into the floor."

"So, mission accomplished, at least partially?"

She shakes her head, but the slight curve of her lips betrays her. "You're impossible."

"Part of my charm," I attempt, but the joke falls flat in the still-tense atmosphere.

We lapse into silence again. There's so much more I want to say, but I'm unsure how, or if I should. I miss our easy conversations. The townhouse feels wrong when she's not in it.

But those aren't things you say to someone who's already got one foot out the door .

"I should get some work done," Lena says finally, standing up. "Real work this time, not just an excuse."

"Right." I nod, staying seated. "I'll make dinner. If you want some."

"Maybe." She pauses at the edge of the living room. "Alder? No more surprises, okay?"

"No more surprises," I agree. “I swear on my best pair of Bauers.”

After she disappears down the hall, I slump back against the couch. Gordie takes this as permission to approach, jumping up beside me and resting his head on my lap with a sympathetic whine.

"I really screwed up, didn't I?" I murmur, scratching behind his ears. He truly does stink. I’ll have to find a groomer who can see him regularly.

My phone buzzes with a text. For a hopeful moment, I think it might be Lena, already forgiving me. But Adam's name appears on the screen.

Can we talk?

I stare at the message for a long moment before deleting it without replying. Whatever twisted game Adam is playing, I want no part of it.