Page 34

LENA

I close the tab with a sigh and lean back in my office chair. After yesterday's conversation with Alder and Brian's blunt assessment of our situation, my apartment search has taken on new urgency and produced even more stressful results.

No more half-hearted browsing. I need to find my own place—soon. Maybe I need to look at the suburbs…

The thought squeezes my heart as I consider how much further that would put me from Alder and, truly, his entire family.

A knock at my door interrupts my thoughts. I quickly switch to the dental records I should be reviewing and call, "Come in."

Coach Thompson enters, his imposing figure filling the doorway. "Dr. Sinclair. Got a minute?"

"Of course." I straighten in my chair, fighting the irrational fear that he somehow knows I was apartment hunting instead of working. "What can I do for you? "

He settles into the chair across from my desk, his expression unreadable. "Just checking in on mouthguard progress. I’m hearing that some of the guys are refusing to wear them.”

I nod. “Yeah. And I swear I advised them otherwise. They insist some nonsense about rites of passage…”

Thompson groans. “I really had hoped that mindset would change from my day in the game. We really don’t need to be fishing teeth from inside the Zamboni.” He shakes his head, then fixes me with a direct look. "And how are you settling in with the team? Any... concerns I should be aware of?"

The careful emphasis makes my stomach clench. Is this another warning about the fraternization policy?

"Everything's going smoothly," I say, keeping my voice professional. "The equipment is excellent, and everyone's been very welcoming."

He studies me for a moment, then nods. "Glad to hear it. You've been a good addition to the staff, Dr. Sinclair. I'd hate to see anything interfere with that. There’s a strong pool of trauma dentists in this city…”

The message couldn't be clearer: Don't mess this up.

"I appreciate that, Coach." I manage a smile. "I value this position very much."

"I know you do." He stands, straightening his Fury polo shirt. "By the way, the Black and Gold Gala is coming up. Important event for the organization. All team leadership are expected to attend. The donors genuinely like talking to our dentist at these shindigs. War stories and whatnot…"

"I'll be there," I assure him.

"Good. Keep up the good work." With a final pointed look, he leaves, closing the door behind him.

I bite back a groan. If I needed further confirmation that my relationship with Alder is under scrutiny, that was it. The team values discretion, and we've been anything but discreet.

My apartment search needs to be my top priority—not just for my career but also for my sanity. Living with Alder while trying to maintain professional boundaries is becoming impossible, especially after this weekend.

My phone buzzes, my mother's name flashing on the screen—perfect timing, as usual.

"Hi, Mom," I answer, steeling myself.

"Lena, darling. I've been trying to reach you for days." Her voice has that tone where I can tell she’s about to say something mean. "Too busy with famous athletes to call your mother?"

"Of course not. I've just been busy with the new job."

"The hockey position? How's that going? Have they realized they made a mistake yet?" She laughs lightly as if she's made a joke instead of questioning my competence.

"Actually, it's going really well," I say, ignoring the barb. "I'm getting settled in."

"And where are you living now? Did you work things out with Brad?"

I wince. "No, Mom. That's over."

"Hmm." She sounds disappointed as if my refusal to reconcile with a cheating boyfriend is somehow a failure on my part. "So you found your own place?"

"I'm in a temporary situation while I look for something permanent." Not technically a lie, though I doubt she'd approve of my current "situation."

"Well, don't wait too long. Good apartments are harder to come by than good men,” she says as if I don't know this from weeks of searching. "And with your student loans, you can't be picky."

"I'm aware of my financial limitations, Mom."

"I'm just being realistic, darling." She sighs. "So, what else is new?"

I hesitate, then decide to mention the gala. If nothing else, maybe she'll have practical advice about formal wear: "The team is having a charity event soon. I need to find a dress. "

"A formal event? Well, I'm sure you have something appropriate in your closet." Her voice takes on that careful tone she uses when discussing my appearance. "Something black and plain would be best. No need to draw attention to yourself."

Of course. Heaven forbid I wear something that might truly make me feel good about myself.

"I thought I might get something new," I say, surprising myself with the defiance in my voice.

"Oh, Lena." She sighs again. "You know how hard it is to find flattering formal wear in your size. Why waste the money? Just wear something dark and conservative that you already own."

I glance at the clock. "I should go, Mom. I have patients waiting."

"Alright, dear. Just remember what I said. Black, simple, no fuss. It's what works for you."

I hang up, feeling deflated yet irritated—the familiar emotional cocktail my mother specializes in serving. She's wrong, of course. I know she's wrong. But part of me still hears her voice when I shop for clothes and see myself through her critical eyes.

It’s hard not to slip back to memories of my time in bed with Alder, the way he looked at my body with reverence, ran his hands along me like I was a precious work of art…

My phone buzzes again, this time with a text from an unknown number.

Hi Lena! This is Emerson (Gunnar's wife). Got your number from Alder's phone. Hope that's okay! Fern’s taking me shopping for the charity gala this weekend. Would love for you to join! Us curvy girls need to stick together.

I stare at the text, warmth blooming in my chest even as a knot forms in my stomach.

Emerson and Fern—Wyatt's girlfriend, who is back from London for the wedding—are reaching out to include me, which feels unexpectedly nice. But the prolonged interaction with Alder’s family is a painful reminder of my precarious position.

In another life, one where I wasn't the team dentist and Alder, and I didn't have a damning policy hanging over our heads, maybe I could have been friends with these women. Perhaps I could have truly been part of the Stag circle, joining them for dinners and holiday celebrations.

But that's not my reality.

Still, I could use help finding a dress, and the thought of facing formal wear shopping alone after my mother's comments is depressing.

I'd love that

I reply.

Could definitely use your expertise.

Emerson responds immediately:

Perfect! Curvy Couture is on Walnut St in Shadyside tomorrow at around 5? They have amazing stuff.

See you there

I confirm, trying to ignore the voice that whispers I'm only setting myself up for more pain by strengthening connections I'll eventually have to sever .

Curvy Couture is tucked between a high-end shoe store and a coffee shop on one of Shadyside's trendy shopping streets. It’s right near the emergency vet where we took Gordie the other day, but I try not to think about those intimate moments where Alder was so vulnerable, and I loved being someone he could lean on.

The shop window display features mannequins with actual curves wearing beautiful, vibrant formal wear—not a shapeless black sack in sight.

Emerson and Fern are already waiting outside when I arrive, both looking effortlessly stylish. Emerson waves enthusiastically when she spots me.

"Lena! So glad you could make it." She pulls me into a hug like we're old friends instead of people who've met exactly twice. “You remember Fern."

Fern offers a warm smile and a handshake. "Nice to meet you properly. I saw you at the wedding, but things were a bit chaotic."

"You too," I say, taking in her classic style and bright colors. "How long have you been back from London?"

"Just a couple of days. Wyatt has a game this weekend so that we will fly back soon.”

Emerson pats her arm. “The aunts are really going to be pressuring you two to get hitched now that we broke the seal.”

Fern shakes her head. “No way. I’m finishing this PhD if it kills me. Wyatt can wait a few more years.”

There's an easy camaraderie between them that makes me both envious and comfortable.

They effortlessly include me in their banter as we enter the boutique, a cheerful bell announcing our arrival.

Fern confesses that Wyatt used to be her student when she was a TA for his math class and I realize the Stag men seem to specialize in impossible relationships …

and, evidently, figuring out how to make them work.

The store is a revelation—filled with beautiful, fashionable clothes designed for bodies like mine. There are no shapeless tents or matronly styles, just gorgeous, well-made garments that acknowledge curves as assets rather than flaws to be hidden.

"First-timers?" asks a stylish Asian woman who introduces herself as Vivian. "Welcome! Looking for anything in particular?"

"Formal wear for a charity gala," Emerson explains. "Something fabulous for the doc and myself.”

Vivian grins. "I can definitely help with that. Let me pull some options."

As she bustles away, Fern turns to me. "So, you and Alder. How's that going?"

The directness of her question startles me. "Oh, we're not—I mean — it's complicated."

"It always is with the Stags," Emerson says knowingly. She turns to Fern. “Lena fixed Tucker’s tooth and promised Gunny she’d prevent him from losing any.”

“That seems like a big promise,” Fern suggests.

I grin. “I believe what I said was that I would do my best to take care of his teeth.” The conversation momentarily distracts me from my distress about my life choices.

Before Emerson can respond, Vivian returns with an armful of dresses. "Let's start with these. The fitting rooms are in the back."