Page 41

ALDER

"This organization isn't your personal fight club, Stag."

Charles Sutton leans back in his leather chair, fingers steepled. His expression is the carefully neutral mask of a man who's spent decades negotiating with millionaire athletes and billionaire investors. The bruise on my jaw throbs under his scrutiny.

"Adam Lawson is threatening legal action," he continues. "Not just against you, but against the organization. His company is not happy, to put it mildly.”

"He deserved it," I say, the words escaping before I can stop them.

Brian shifts nervously beside me. He's been hovering since we entered the office like he's afraid I might lunge across the desk and take a swing at the owner next.

Coach Thompson, who's been silently observing from the corner, steps forward. "Maybe he did. But that's not how professionals handle things off the ice.” He pauses, then adds in a lower voice, "Even if I would've done the same in your position."

The unexpected show of solidarity doesn't soften the blow that follows.

"Public apology," Sutton declares. "Community service with the youth hockey program. And you're covering any medical expenses for Lawson."

I nod, accepting the punishment without argument. Adam’s probably going to milk me for a nose job. Jagoff. It could be worse. They could bench me next season, trade me to a team in the middle of nowhere, and completely end my career.

"We'll draft a statement," Brian jumps in. "Schedule a press conference."

"Fine," I say, just wanting this meeting to be over.

"One more thing." Sutton's eyes bore into mine. "This is your only warning, Stag. Next time, there won't be a conversation."

The implied threat hangs in the air as I'm dismissed.

"What were you thinking?" Brian explodes the moment we're alone in the hallway. "Do you have any idea the PR nightmare we're dealing with?"

I lean against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "It wasn't planned, Brian."

"No shit." He shoves a piece of paper into my hand. "Public statement. Memorize it. We're holding a press conference tomorrow morning."

I scan the typed paragraph—a generic apology full of corporate-speak about "regrettable actions" and "commitment to sportsmanship." There is nothing about Adam's smug face or his taunts about Lena. Nothing about how it felt to finally hit something that had been hurting me.

"This is bullshit," I say, crumpling the paper slightly in my fist.

Brian steps closer, lowering his voice. "This is your last chance, A-Stag. No more public outbursts, no more scenes. The team has been more than patient with the loss after the kiss cam and all the circus that followed. "

I want to argue, but I know he's right. This isn't helping anyone, least of all me.

Brian's expression softens slightly. "Look, I get it. The guy's a dick. But this isn't helping you move on."

Move on… as if I haven't been trying to do exactly that.

"You really don't see what's going on here?" Brian asks, exasperated.

"Enlighten me," I spit back, pressing the ice pack to my jaw.

"After you blew his confidentiality at the barbecue, Adam lost a major account.

The merger announcement was a mess. This whole thing—kissing that philosophy professor on camera, planting those stories questioning your bisexuality—it's strategic.

It's revenge, A-Stag. He's trying to tank your public image like you accidentally tanked his career. "

I rear back, the pieces finally clicking into place. "So, this isn't just about our breakup."

"You hurt him professionally. Now he's doing the same to you. The difference is, he's doing it deliberately."

I blink and adjust my weight. "I'll be at the press conference," I promise, pocketing the statement. "I'll say what needs to be said."

Brian looks skeptical but nods. He walks away, muttering, “Pain in my ass.”

I'm almost to the parking lot when a familiar voice calls out behind me.

"Heard management reamed you out." Tucker falls into step beside me, matching my stride as easily as he always has. "How bad was it?"

I fill him in on the consequences as we step through the doors into the bright afternoon sunshine. The mid-summer heat strikes like a physical wall after the air-conditioned facility.

"Public apology, community service, not bad.” I shrug, trying to appear more casual about it than I feel.

Tucker nudges my shoulder. "Nice right hook, though. Dad would be horrified, Mom probably secretly proud."

Despite everything, I feel a smile tugging at my lips. "Dad would pretend to be horrified while Mom's around."

"Exactly."

We reach my car, and I expect Tucker to head toward his own. Instead, he hesitates, and his expression grows serious.

"Have you talked to her?" he asks.

I don't pretend not to know who he means. "No. She made her choice."

"You're both stubborn idiots." Tucker shakes his head. "I've seen the way she looks at you, A. And the way you’ve been moping.”

"I need to clear my head," I say, changing the subject. "And you’re one to talk." His brows fly up, and he shakes his head, starting to say something. I hold up a hand. “I can’t talk about your shit right now, whatever it is. I’m going for a drive.”

I spin on my heel away from my twin, feeling unmoored now more than ever.

I drive aimlessly at first, muscle memory carrying me through familiar streets. Only when I realize I'm approaching Shadyside—where Lena's new apartment is located—do I jerk the wheel, making a sharp turn away.

I don't even know exactly where she lives—just the neighborhood she mentioned. But the thought of accidentally driving past her building, maybe seeing her through a window or on the street, is both tempting and terrifying.

My heart races, and my thoughts swirl. If Tucker were here, he wouldn’t have any experience with this kind of relationship fallout.

I realize my older brothers do, though. I swallow the bile rising in my throat and veer toward Gunnar and Emerson's place.

I haven't called ahead. Haven't even decided if I'm going there until I'm parking outside their building.

I hesitate in the car for a long moment, questioning what I'm even doing here. Gunnar and I have never been the "talk about our feelings" type of brothers.

But I need someone who'll understand. Someone who won't judge me for being a mess over a woman I've known for less than two months.

I knock on their door, perhaps harder than a normal person would. There's a muffled curse from inside, then followed by shuffling footsteps. The door swings open to reveal Gunnar, hair disheveled, wearing only sweatpants. Behind him, I glimpse a door slamming shut.

"Shit." I take a step back. "Bad timing. I didn't call?—"

"Aldernator?” Gunnar blinks, then recovers. "No, it's—we were just—" He runs a hand through his hair, glancing down the hall. "Em, it's Alder."

Emerson's head pops out from behind the bedroom door, her face flushed. "Hi, Alder." She smooths down her shirt, which is definitely on backward. "I was just... napping."

"Right." I start to back away. "I'll go. Sorry to interrupt your... nap."

"Don't be stupid. She’d never fall asleep on my watch.” Gunnar grabs my arm, pulling me inside.

Emerson throws a pillow at his head, which he catches with practiced ease.

He grins at her and turns back to me. "Give me two minutes to get decent, and then we can talk."

I stand awkwardly in their entryway while they straighten up, feeling like an intruder. After a moment, Emerson disappears into her music room. Her curls tamed into a messy bun. Cello music begins to play behind the closed door, which I realize gives Gunnar and me an additional layer of privacy.

Gunnar retrieves two beers from the fridge, handing one to me. "So," he says, dropping onto the now-straightened couch. "What brings you to interrupt my afternoon delight?"

I wince. "Sorry about that."

"I'm kidding. Mostly." He takes a long drink, studying me over the bottle. "Management chewed you out good?"

“Fucker is a blabbermouth.”

“He is, but…” Gun gestures toward my bruised jaw. "Figured there'd be consequences."

I collapse into the armchair across from him. "Community service, public apology, gotta pay for Adam’s plastic surgery or whatever.”

"Worth it, though?"

I consider the question longer than I should need to. "Yes. No. I don't know."

Gunnar watches me, his expression more serious than usual. “You wouldn’t drive here unannounced about that, though.”

"No," I admit after a long pause.

A beat of silence stretches between us. Then Gunnar says quietly, "So... the dentist."

I start to defend myself, but he cuts me off with a wave.

"I'm not judging. Em, and I like her. A lot." The sincerity in his voice surprises me. "The summer fling isn't such a carefree thing after all, is it?"

The phrase—my phrase, thrown back at me from that family dinner—lands like a punch. "Don't."

"Look, I saw you two at our wedding. The way you looked at each other." Gunnar leans forward. "She looks at you the way Em looks at me. That's rare, A."

My throat tightens. "Yeah, well, she also moved out the second things got complicated. "

“I’d argue things have been complicated for you guys from the start.”

A sharp knock interrupts whatever Gunnar was about to say. He rises to answer the door, and I'm not entirely surprised to see Tucker standing there, a six-pack dangling from his hand.

“Twin sense. Figured you'd end up here," he says to me before nodding at Gunnar. "G."

“Fucker.” Gunnar takes the beer. "A's moping about the dentist."

"Yeah, well, he's been pathetic since she left," Tucker says, dropping onto the couch.

"I'm right here," I protest.

"Good." Tucker grabs a beer. "Then you can listen to people who actually care about you."

Gunnar retrieves his phone from the coffee table. "Want to see something interesting?" He scrolls for a moment, then turns the screen toward me. "Em got the first batch of wedding photos this morning."

I stare at the image—Lena and me on the dance floor, our bodies close, eyes locked. Even in the still photo, the intensity between us is palpable. Her hand on my shoulder, mine at her waist. The way we're leaning in, like magnets drawn together.

"Em said everyone at the wedding was talking about how you two couldn't keep your eyes off each other," Gunnar says.

"Or your hands," Tucker adds.

I look away from the photo. "It doesn't matter. She chose her career."

"So did you," Tucker says, unexpectedly serious. "She worked her ass off to get where she is. You, of all people, should understand that."

"It's different," I argue.

"Is it?" Gunnar challenges. "You've both dedicated your lives to your careers. You've both made sacrifices. The question is whether this sacrifice is worth it. "

His words hit home in a way I wasn't expecting. I take a long pull of my beer, buying time to gather my thoughts.

"What if I'm not enough?" The question slips out before I can stop it, raw and honest in a way I rarely am with my brothers. "I wasn't for Adam."

"Adam's an asshole," Gunnar says firmly. "That doesn't reflect on you."

"You're comparing apples and garbage, bro," Tucker adds.

"You know what I was afraid of when Em and I first got serious?" Gunnar sets his beer down. "Not that I wasn't good enough for her. That what I was asking her to accept—the publicity, the travel, the scrutiny—wasn't worth it. That I was selfishly pulling her into a life she never asked for."

I look up, surprised by the admission. Gunnar and Emerson have always seemed so solid, so sure.

"What changed?" I ask.

"Nothing. I'm still afraid of that sometimes." He shrugs. "But I realized it wasn't my decision to make. It was hers. And she chose us, even knowing what it meant."

Tucker nods thoughtfully. "It's about trust, man. Trusting that she knows what she wants, what she's willing to risk." He hooks his gaze on mine, and I know he’s got something on his mind, but I’m grateful that he’s letting me focus on my exploding life.

“We don’t know Lena like you do,” Gunnar adds. “But that woman doesn't seem like the type to make decisions lightly."

"Or back down from a challenge," Tucker says.

Gunnar swipes to another wedding photo—this one of Lena talking with our mother, laughing about something.

"Mom loves her, by the way," he says. “Keeps saying she’s never seen you so comfortable with someone."

"Even Odin approved, and he judges everyone," Tucker adds.

I stare at the photo, feeling a complex mix of emotions. Seeing Lena laughing with my mother brings back memories of how easily she fit into my family and how naturally she became part of my life.

"The question is," Gunnar says, "what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know yet." I pull Brian’s crumpled statement from my pocket, smoothing it on my knee. “Can we talk about something else?”

Gunnar shrugs and crushes his beer can with a belch. “God, I love the off-season. Is that your press conference script? Let’s see.”

Tucker reads it over my shoulder. "This is corporate bullshit."

"You can't say this," Gunnar agrees. "If anything, the Fury should release a statement that bisexuality is real."

“Thanks, Gun,” I say. I stare at the paper some more and sigh. "Maybe I need to find my own words." I'm surprised by the certainty I suddenly feel. "Something honest."

“Brian will hate that.” Tucker claps me on the shoulder. “I love it.”

We spend the next hour brainstorming what I could say instead, how I could be sincere while still being professional. By the time I'm ready to leave, I have the bones of something that feels right—something that acknowledges the mistake without denying the humanity behind it.

"Thanks," I say as my brothers walk me to the door. "For... you know."

"Anytime," Gunnar says. "And for what it's worth, I’m sure she misses you too."

I lean past Gunnar and conduct an eyebrow conversation with my twin, explaining that we will talk after things settle for me and that he can tell me whatever’s been weighing on him.

Tucker nods. "At least talk to her. Clear the air. Maybe ask Uncle Tim for advice? I’m pretty sure he set up these rules after Aunt Lucy started banging Uncle Hawk when she coached the Forge…Tim probably knows the loopholes…”

I make a noncommittal gesture, but internally, something has shifted.

Maybe Lena made the practical choice, the professional one.

But I'm not convinced it was the right one—for either of us. The problem is, once I go to my uncle with this information, he’s duty-bound to report that we’re actually in a relationship.

It feels inappropriate for me to go to him without consulting Lena first, and…

I don’t know if I’m ready to talk to her yet because she could freak out and end things before we settle this.

I’m definitely not prepared for her to give up on us.