Page 45

LENA

The reporter's question hangs in the air, a ticking bomb waiting to detonate my carefully constructed professional facade. The conference room falls silent, all eyes turning to me. I can feel Alder's gaze from where he sits at the table, the weight of his attention almost physical.

Time seems to stretch as I consider my options. Should I deny everything? Should I stick to the sterile script of "we're colleagues, nothing more"? Should I redirect to the mouthguard program and ignore the personal question entirely?

Sarah's words from last night flashes in my mind: Your career and your heart both matter.

In this suspended moment, I realize that whatever I say next will define both my professional standing and my personal future. The path of least resistance would be to deny, deflect, and maintain the safe distance I've been struggling to create.

But I'm tired of shrinking myself, of making myself smaller to fit the spaces others allow me.

I take a measured breath, straighten my posture, and lean toward the microphone.

"My relationship with Mr. Stag is both professional and personal," I begin, my voice steadier than expected. "As professionals, we maintain appropriate boundaries in the workplace."

A murmur ripples through the media section. I continue more confidently.

"However, I won't deny that we've developed a friendship outside of work. It initially formed from shared emotional trauma, but developed because we understand one another in ways that make us well-rounded people.” I glance briefly toward management, gauging their reaction.

Sutton's expression remains neutral, but Coach Thompson's eyebrows rise slightly.

"What matters today is that both Mr. Stag and I are committed to player safety—physical and mental—within this organization. The mouthguard program represents a significant advance in how we protect our athletes, and I'd prefer to focus on those innovations."

I begin to pivot back to the technical aspects of the concussion sensors, ready to redirect the conversation away from personal territory, when Alder unexpectedly leans forward in his seat, grabbing the microphone. His expression is composed, but his eyes are intense.

"I'd like to add something, if I may," he says, his deep voice reverberating. "Dr. Sinclair has demonstrated nothing but the highest professional standards since joining this organization. She greets our athletes with empathy and skill. I’m not going to lie. Hockey is brutal on teeth, and our smiles are such an important part of our lives off the ice.”

He pauses, and I can see him making a decision, crossing some internal threshold.

"On a personal note, her presence in my life has made me a better player and person." His gaze finds mine across the room, direct and unflinching. "Hockey is about the whole athlete—mind, body, and heart. I believe our organization understands this better than most."

My breath catches in my throat as he continues .

"I know I play better, more effectively, when I'm whole. When I'm not compartmentalizing or suppressing parts of myself, that’s why I came out, with the full support of my team, and it’s why I’m coming out now as having found a person I want to be with long term.”

The room has gone utterly still, every reporter sensing the significance of what's happening. This isn't just about a fight at a charity gala anymore. It's about something much more fundamental.

“In fact,” Alder continues, “I’ve asked the team’s legal counsel to review personnel policies to ensure all players, including myself, are carefully considered when I pursue this relationship with Dr. Sinclair.

Which,” and here he winks. Winks! “As I said earlier, the specifics of my love life are not up for discussion today.”

I feel a rush of emotion at his declaration, fighting to maintain my professional composure even as something shifts dramatically inside me. No one has ever spoken about me this way—as someone who makes them better, stronger, more whole.

The moderator quickly steps in, sensing the moment has become too charged for a standard press conference.

"Thank you, Mr. Stag, Dr. Sinclair. This concludes our formal statements. Press packets with additional information on the community service initiative and the mouthguard program are available at the back of the room."

There's scattered applause as the press conference officially ends, immediately followed by a surge of reporters trying to get follow-up questions. The PR team creates a buffer, Melissa Chen efficiently directing staff to escort Alder and me to separate side rooms.

As I'm led away, I catch Alder's eyes across the chaos of bodies and cameras. Something unspoken passes between us—an acknowledgment that whatever happens next, something significant has changed .

"Well, that was certainly interesting."

I turn to find Sarah standing in the doorway of the small conference room where the PR team had deposited me "to decompress." She dismisses the remaining staff member with a coach's authority and closes the door behind her.

"Did I just end my career?" I ask the adrenaline of the press conference finally giving way to anxiety.

Sarah smiles, leaning against the table. "No. You just started being honest about your life."

"Is there a difference in professional sports?"

"More than you'd think." She crosses her arms, studying me. "For what it's worth, I thought you handled that perfectly. Professional but authentic."

I sink into a chair, the weight of the morning catching up with me. "What happens now?"

"Professionally? Not sure.” Sarah takes the seat across from me.

“It’s true that Alder asked Tim Stag to take a look at our policies.

Well…first, he apparently called demanding we trade him to Columbus.

” She rolls her eyes, and I gasp, horrified at the idea of him moving away from his team and family.

Noting my reaction, Sarah laughs. “I promise, Alder Stag isn’t going anywhere. Well, at least not without his twin and a very high transfer fee.”

“What…” I shake my head as if the thoughts rolling around were physical shapes that need to settle. “What, um, happens in other teams? With romantic relationships?”

Something flickers across her face—a quick, carefully concealed reaction. “It’s tricky. Pro sports is a unique environment, and it’s not easy to prevent abuses of power. Ensure athletes aren't pressured or coerced by those with authority over them."

The subtext is clear. As a coach, Sarah's situation with whoever she's involved with is far more complicated than mine with Alder.

"So I'm not getting canned for admitting I have a personal relationship with a player?"

"No. But there will be guidelines. Boundaries." She straightens as a knock sounds on the door. "And I think you're about to hear about those now."

The door opens to reveal Melissa Chen. "Dr. Sinclair? Mr. Sutton and Coach Thompson would like to speak with you in the main conference room."

Sarah encourages me as I stand: "Remember what I said last night. Balance is hard, but not impossible."

The walk to the conference room feels like the longest of my life, each step carrying me toward what I assume will be a professional reckoning. To my surprise, when I enter, both Sutton and Thompson stand to greet me, their expressions not nearly as severe as I expected.

"Dr. Sinclair," Sutton says, gesturing to a chair. "Thank you for speaking with us."

I sit, hands folded in my lap to hide their slight tremor. "Of course."

"I want to start by saying your mouthguard presentation was excellent," Sutton begins. "The board is extremely enthusiastic about implementing the program."

"Thank you," I say cautiously, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Thompson leans forward. "We also appreciate your honesty out there. Handling personal questions in a professional setting is never easy."

Sutton nods in agreement. "As mentioned, we've evaluated our organizational policies with legal counsel. Your... situation with Alder Stag has highlighted areas that need updating. "

He slides a folder across the table to me. Inside are several documents, topped by what appears to be a formal disclosure form.

"Tim Stag has been particularly vocal about modernizing our approach," Thompson explains. "He's been quite insistent on these revisions, meeting with player advocates and industry experts."

“Mental health and well-being weren’t always part of the conversation.” Sutton sucks on his teeth as I open the folder.

I scan the documents, my heart rate gradually slowing as I realize this isn't a termination meeting.

"If you choose to pursue a personal relationship with a player," Thompson says carefully, "these are the professional boundaries we'd expect: disclosure, recusal from certain medical decisions, and regular check-ins with HR."

"We're not in the business of controlling our employees' personal lives," Sutton adds. "But we do need to ensure that professional integrity is maintained."

I look up from the papers, hardly daring to believe what I'm hearing. "So I'm not being fired?"

Thompson laughs at that. "Fired? We just announced your mouthguard program to the media. The timing would be terrible."

"Not to mention," Sutton adds, more seriously, "we value your contributions, Dr. Sinclair. Trust me, it’s not easy to find a dentist who can handle the mouth trauma we see out here.

And Alder Stag is one of our most valuable players, and he was right about one thing—he plays better when he's whole. "

The meeting concludes with specifics about the mouthguard program implementation and a timeline for the policy revisions.

As I turn to leave, the door opens, revealing Tim Stag himself in an impeccably tailored suit, tablet in hand, and an uncharacteristic grin spreading across his usually serious face.

"Charles, you might want to see this," he says, striding into the room and placing the tablet on the conference table. "Public response is... significant."