Page 49

LENA

FIVE WEEKS LATER

"Here we are," Alder says, the car tires crunching on gravel as we pull up to the Stag family ski house.

My breath catches at the sight of it. "Cabin" was the word Alder used, but this is no cabin. The structure rises from the mountainside with multi-story windows reflecting the late summer sunset, a sprawling edifice of wood and stone that commands the hillside.

"This is stunning," I whisper, watching Gordie's nose press against the car window, his tail wagging furiously.

Alder parks and claps his hands. "Wait until you see inside," he says, squeezing my hand before getting out to retrieve our bags.

I follow him up the stone path, Gordie racing ahead to sniff every bush and tree.

When Alder pushes open the massive wooden door, I enter a great room with vaulted ceilings that soar two stories high.

A wall of windows provides a breathtaking view of the mountain.

A stone fireplace dominates one wall, with a comfortable-looking leather sectional arranged around it.

The space flows into an impressive kitchen with a granite island and an enormous wooden table that could easily seat twenty people.

"This is where you vacation?" I ask, trying not to gape .

Alder grins, setting down our bags. "Dad and his brothers all bought it when my Uncle Tim turned 40.” He moves toward a wall panel, pressing buttons illuminating the space and starting a fire in the fireplace with a gentle whoosh.

"Nice touch," I say, admiring the flames.

Gordie has already claimed a spot on the rug before the fire, circling three times before flopping down with a contented sigh.

"Smart dog," I murmur, joining Alder in the kitchen as he starts unpacking groceries. "Can I help?"

"You can open this," he says, handing me a bottle of wine. "I checked the calendar three times to make sure we'd have the place to ourselves. My brothers and cousins have a bad habit of showing up unannounced."

I laugh, reaching for the wine opener he points out in a drawer. "Is that a common problem?"

"You have no idea. Wyatt once brought Fern here for a romantic weekend and ended up with half the family walking in while they were... occupied." Alder's eyes crinkle with mischief as he unpacks steaks for tomorrow.

"What did he do?"

“Tried to get them to leave, but they all sat around and ate breakfast while Fern tried not to explode.” Alder takes the open wine and pours a glass on each of us. "To have the place all to ourselves," he says, clinking his glass against mine.

"To proper scheduling," I counter, taking a sip.

After we put away the groceries and had our wine, Alder gives me the full tour.

The downstairs level boasts a theater room with plush recliners, a foosball table, and gaming consoles.

Outside, there's a heated pool and a hot tub large enough for at least eight people.

The upper floors contain bedrooms—some with bunks for cousins, others with king beds for the original Stag brothers and their partners.

"This one's ours…for now,” Alder says, pushing open the door to reveal a spacious room with a king-sized bed and a pr ivate balcony overlooking the woods. Each door has a small chalkboard, and I watch Alder write "A Stag + Lena" in his surprisingly tidy handwriting.

I step inside, running my hand along the deer-patterned quilt that covers the bed. "It's perfect."

Alder wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. "I've never brought anyone here before," he says quietly.

The admission sends warmth spreading through my chest. "Thank you for sharing it with me."

We unpack in comfortable silence, moving around each other with the ease of people who have learned each other's rhythms. I hang my clothes in the closet beside his and arrange my toiletries alongside his in the bathroom.

Such simple acts of domesticity, yet each one feels significant—another thread binding us together.

Later, we eat a quick meal of pasta and salad at the counter, sharing stories and laughing as Gordie tries to convince us he's never been fed.

"I can see why you love it here," I say, glancing around at the secluded luxury of the space. "It feels... peaceful."

"It's my favorite place to recharge before the season starts," Alder admits. "No press, no pressure. Just mountains and quiet."

This easy companionship with Alder feels like breathing after years of suffocation.

"Want to try the pool?" he asks suddenly, eyes bright with boyish excitement.

I hesitate, thinking of how I'd look in a swimsuit, then catch myself. This is Alder, who has seen every inch of me, touches me with reverence, and never once made me feel anything but desired.

"Race you there," I say instead, and his delighted laugh follows me as I head to change .

The heated pool gleams under the moonlight, steam rising gently from its surface into the cool mountain air. Alder dives in with athletic grace, surfacing with water streaming from his golden hair. I cautiously enter via the steps, but the perfect temperature soon lures me deeper.

"Come here," he says, floating in the center. "Look up."

I paddle over and try to mimic his position but keep sinking.

"Like this," he says, sliding his hands beneath me, supporting my weight. "Relax your neck... that's it... now look."

I gaze upward and gasp. Away from the city and the stadium lights, the night sky spreads in infinite darkness, punctuated by stars that seem close enough to touch.

"It's incredible," I breathe, focusing on staying afloat as he slowly removes his supporting hands.

“You sure are,” Alder murmurs, his lips finding my neck.

The water makes everything weightless and dreamlike. His hands roam my body as we float, kiss, and touch. When the heat between us builds too high, we move to the hot tub, where the jets pulse against our skin and steam rises around us like a private cloud.

Once properly pruned, we emerge from the water, wrapped in plush robes, and drink more wine by the fire, Gordie snoring at our feet. I tuck myself against Alder's side, marveling at how naturally we fit together—my curves against his angles, my softness against his hardness.

"Happy?" he asks, pressing a kiss to my temple.

"Perfectly," I answer, and I mean it.

I wake to sunlight streaming through the windows and the scent of coffee and bacon. Alder's side of the bed is empty but still warm. Wrapping myself in one of his T-shirts, I pad downstairs to find him in the kitchen, wearing only loose shorts, flipping pancakes on the griddle.

"Morning, beautiful," he says, sliding a mug of coffee across the counter to me.

"Morning," I reply, accepting the mug gratefully. Gordie trots over to greet me, his whole body wiggling with excitement.

"He's already been out," Alder says, nodding toward the dog. "Chased three squirrels and lost every time."

"Poor baby," I coo, scratching behind Gordie's ears. "Those mean squirrels don't play fair."

The domesticity of the moment strikes me—Alder cooking breakfast, Gordie at my feet, mountain sunshine spilling across the wooden floors. Six months ago, I wouldn't have believed this could be my life.

"So," Alder says, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of me, "I was thinking we could hike up to the ridge today. The view is incredible, and there's a little mountain pond for swimming if we get hot."

I sip my coffee, watching him move confidently around the kitchen. "Sounds perfect. Though I can't promise to keep up with your athlete pace."

"I like going at your pace,” he says with a suggestive wink that makes me blush despite everything we've done together.

We eat breakfast discussing practical matters—the upcoming season schedule, my mother's impending first visit to meet the Stags, and my role in helping to interview sports psychologists for the Fury staff. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by Gordie's attempts to score fallen bits of bacon.

After we finish eating, I stand to help clear the dishes. We work side by side at the sink, Alder washing while I dry, our hips occasionally bumping in the comfortable choreography we've developed.

"This is nice," he says quietly, handing me a clean plate.

"The ski house?" I ask .

"All of it. Being here with you. Waking up together. The normal, everyday stuff." He rinses a glass, his expression thoughtful. "I never had this with Adam. He always kept me at a distance, emotionally and physically."

I set down the dish towel, turning to face him fully. "I know what you mean. With Brad, everything felt like a transaction. What could I do to earn his approval and his attention? It was exhausting."

Alder turns off the water, drying his hands before taking mine. "Thank you for taking a chance on us. On me. I know it wasn't easy with the team policies and everything."

"Best risk I've ever taken," I say honestly.

He cups my face with one hand, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. "I need you to know that this isn't temporary for me. I'm in love with you, Lena."

Though we've been living together for weeks and shared our bodies and lives, neither of us has said those words directly until now. Hearing them sends a cascade of emotions through me—joy, relief, and a lingering hint of fear that I push aside.

"I love you too," I say, the words coming easier than I expected. "So much that it terrifies me sometimes."

He leans his forehead against mine. "What terrifies you about it?"

"Loving someone means they have the power to hurt you," I admit. "And I've been hurt before."

"Me too," he says softly. "But I'm not going anywhere, Lena. I'm all in."

"I'm all in, too," I whisper, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

Alder lifts me onto the counter, stepping between my thighs as he kisses me deeply. My arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, heat building between us rapidly.

"I love how you feel," he murmurs against my neck. "Every curve, every inch of you. "

His hands slide under my shirt, spanning my waist, and I lean into his touch, lost in the sensation.

We're so absorbed in each other that we don't hear the front door open. It's only when Gordie suddenly barks in excitement that we break apart, turning toward the sound.

And there, standing in the doorway with wide eyes and dropped jaws, are Odin, Thora, Gunnar, and Emerson, arms laden with grocery bags and coolers.

For a frozen moment, no one speaks. Then Gunnar grins wickedly. "Well, well. Looks like we're interrupting dessert."

I bury my face in Alder's shoulder, mortification washing over me. But then I feel him shaking with silent laughter, and somehow, the absurdity of the situation hits me, too.

“I used the damn calendar,” Alder says, not bothering to move away from me.

"Clearly," Odin drawls, setting down his bags. His girlfriend Thora is fighting a smile beside him.

Emerson steps forward, radiating warmth despite the awkward circumstances. "We can come back later if you two need some time to... finish your conversation."

Gunnar snorts. "No, we can't. I just drove an hour with your cello rattling in the trunk."

"I told you to check the calendar," Thora mutters to Odin.

"I did check it!" he protests. “And I noticed that Alder and Lena were hogging it all to themselves.”

Alder groans. Gunnar raises his hands in innocence. "Don't look at me. Dad wanted a family weekend."

“Minus Tucker,” Odin adds, shaking his head.

From the doorway, Juniper Stag appears, followed by her husband Ty, who sends Gordie into a frenzy of excitement.

"Well, don't stop on our account," Juniper says cheerfully, taking in the scene. “You were saying something about love and forever?” She beams at me .

And just like that, our romantic getaway transforms into a family weekend. Bags are carried upstairs, and groceries are unpacked. The quiet sanctuary fills with laughter, teasing, and stories.

I help Juniper prepare lunch, chopping vegetables while she tells me stories of young Alder.

Gunnar and Odin set up a horseshoe game outside, their competitive banter carrying through the open windows.

Emerson and Thora discuss music on the couch, their conversation punctuated by Thora's distinctive laugh.

Alder catches my eye through the window, where he's helping his father set up the grill on the deck. He mouths "Sorry" with a rueful smile.

But I'm not sorry, not really. There's something magical about being enveloped in this family's warmth, about being treated as if I've always belonged here.

Later, when the family has spread out across the property—Gunnar and Emerson swimming, Odin and Thora hiking, Ty and Juniper napping—Alder and I find a quiet moment on the deck. The mountains spread before us, bathed in late afternoon sunlight.

"I'm sorry about the change of plans," he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "I promise the next trip will be just us."

I lean into him, watching a male deer feel its way through the trees. "It's okay. I don't mind sharing you sometimes."

He studies my face. "Really? You're not just saying that?"

"Really." I turn to face him fully. "I meant what I said this morning. I love you. And I love your family, chaos and all."

"Even when they barge in unannounced?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

"Especially then," I admit. "It means I'm finally part of something real."

His expression softens, and I see the depth of his feelings written plainly across his face .

"You know," I say, intertwining my fingers with his, "for so long, I tried to make myself smaller. Literally and figuratively. With Brad, with my mother, with everyone. I shrank myself to fit the spaces others allowed me."

Alder squeezes my hand encouragingly.

"But for the first time in my life, I don't feel too big, too loud, or too much," I continue. "With you, with this family, I'm exactly the right size."

He pulls me into his arms, his embrace solid and sure. "You could never be too much for me, Lena. You're everything I never knew I needed."

Behind us, the door slides open, and Juniper calls, "Dinner is served, lovebirds!"

We both laugh at the moment of intensity breaking.

"Coming, Mom," Alder calls back.

As we head inside, I realize that the word "love" no longer terrifies me. Not when it's wrapped in this—family and belonging and the certainty that I am accepted exactly as I am.

For the first time, I feel truly, completely whole.