Page 8

ALDER

I'm pretty sure my brother broke all the bones in my hand while squeezing it during his tooth extraction with Dr. Sinclair.

I have no idea what she's doing in his mouth, but she assures me he's numb, and she keeps singing softly to him with a lovely voice that I can hear above the humming of her tools.

After what feels like twenty hours, she leans back, flicks her ponytail over her shoulder, and confidently declares him to be all set.

Tucker flops around in the seat, meeting my eye and pulling his lips back. I squint, looking at his mouth, and see… a hole where his upper front tooth used to be. "Looks smooth," I tell him. He closes his eyes.

Dr. Sinclair—Lena—pats his hand. "You should be able to eat and speak normally once the anesthesia wears off.

I'll get to work building a temporary tooth and bring you back to get fitted for that as soon as possible.

Hopefully, we have a model of your ‘before’ mouth in here somewhere.

" Lena waves a hand toward a set of drawers. I cringe internally because I happen to know that mouth mold day was one of the times Tucker bribed me to come in place of him. So, I guess he’s getting a tooth-shaped like mine …

Lena stands and walks to the sink, washing her hands while still humming to herself. She and I have a few things to discuss.

Brian reappears in the room and tips his chin at me, signaling with his hand to his ear in the universal sign for 'call me later.' He swats Tucker on the shoulder. "Come on, big guy. I'll take you home."

Tucker moans and shakes his head but rolls himself out of the chair and gets to his feet, following Brian, who is already talking to him about endorsement deals for orthodontia.

I glance around the room at the heaps of dental tools and gauze that Dr.—Lena has started cleaning up. "Don't you have staff for that?"

She shrugs. "Probably? I think they’re maybe all hungover after …everything…"

She drifts off, and I chuckle. Then, I hear her stomach gurgle loudly in the quiet room. "Right." I nod. "Well, we've got shit to discuss, and you're starving, so why don't we head to the cafeteria and kill two birds?"

"Mmm." She nods again, dumping a bunch of metal tools into the sink and wiping her hands on her scrub pants. "Lead the way."

We walk silently through the halls of the training facility, which resembles a ghost town. Makes sense since I ended our season last night, but I guess I assumed the staff would at least be here yelling at each other and threatening to bench me or send my ass down to the minors.

The cafeteria is pretty quiet, but I hear the sounds of someone washing dishes in the back, and there are a few meals in the grab-n-'-go cooler.

So Lena and I help ourselves and sit at one of the booths along the window overlooking the training ice.

It's dark down there, which seems fitting.

I realize neither of us has anything to drink, so I grab a few mugs and find coffee in a carafe.

I see that Lena has grabbed a small tray of cream and sugar, and I smile at her as I sink back into the booth.

I hand her one of the mugs, and then we reach for the creamer simultaneously. Her hand is warm and soft, and I retract mine as if I got burned. I clear my throat. "After you." I wrap my hands around my mug, grateful for the warmth.

Dr. Sinclair—Lena—stares into her mug as if it contains answers instead of caffeine. The silence between us isn't exactly uncomfortable, but it's heavy with the weight of shared humiliation.

She glances up, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Is it always like this? Your life being... public property?"

"Only when I screw up spectacularly." I attempt a smile that feels more like a grimace. "Or when I'm doing something marketable. It's Pride Month, so I'd be getting attention anyway."

"That's right." She nods slowly. "You're out. I mean, clearly, since everyone knew about Adam."

I take a sip of coffee, wincing at both the heat and the memory.

"Yeah. Since college. It's never been a big deal with the team. Adam, though..." I trail off, surprised by my sudden urge to explain everything to this woman I barely know. She sets me at ease, and I don’t even think she’s aware of doing it.

"Adam wasn't out?" she prompts, a dark brow raised in confusion.

“Not like I am. After six months of dating, I've never met his friends. He's never spent holidays with my family—which, trust me, is a whole circus you can't avoid in the Stag household." I stare at my hands. "I made excuses for him. Said he needed time."

Lena's quiet laugh holds no humor. "I know about making excuses. Brad was 'focusing on his dissertation.' That's why he couldn't work, couldn't contribute financially, couldn't help around the apartment..." She rubs her temple. "God, I'm an idiot. "

"Hey." The word comes out sharper than I intended. "We're not idiots. We're just people who trusted the wrong people."

There's a moment of silence as she absorbs my statement, and both of us attack our food.

I'm not even sure what she grabbed, but I've got some kind of oatmeal bowl layered with nuts and seeds.

I make a mental note to stop for fast food later since it's the off season, and I can murder my guts with grease if I want.

"You know what kills me?" Lena says after several bites. "I paid for everything. His books, his conferences, our rent." She stabs what looks like a potato. "I even paid for his therapy because—get this—he said he needed to work through his commitment issues."

"While he was committing to someone else.

" I shake my head. "Adam always had reasons why we could only meet at my place.

Never in public." I pour syrup over my oatmeal, watching it pool at the edges of the bowl.

"I thought he was protecting me from fans and media.

Turns out he was keeping his options open. "

"Brad claimed I'm too boring for anyone else to be interested in," Lena says so matter-of-factly that it takes me a moment to register the cruelty of those words. "Said I should be grateful he saw past my size to the real me."

My spoon freezes halfway to my mouth. "That's fucked up."

"Yeah." She holds my gaze, and something shifts between us—a recognition that we're not just complaining about bad breakups.

We're acknowledging genuine harm. "And you know what?

That grad program he claimed took all his time?

He was barely passing his program requirements.

His advisor called once looking for a draft that was months overdue. "

"Adam would always text during our dates. Said it was work." I shake my head. "Probably texting your boyfriend. "

"Ex-boyfriend," she corrects firmly, and we share our first genuine smile.

I hop up to refill our coffees, and I find myself telling Lena about Adam's excuses for missing my family's Christmas, about the way he'd criticize my townhouse, and about the subtle digs at my intelligence.

She nods along, offering her own stories—Brad "borrowing" her credit card, Brad telling her friends she was too busy to hang out while she was working extra shifts to cover their expenses, and Brad criticizing her clothes while refusing to carry laundry down to the building's basement.

With each revelation, my embarrassment fades, and my anger grows—not the hot, blinding rage I felt when I saw them on the kiss cam, but something cooler and more focused.

"You know what's almost funny?" Lena sets down her fork, plate nearly empty. "I kept thinking if I just tried harder. If I had been more supportive, he'd have finally committed. Complete his dissertation, get a job, be a partner instead of a project."

"I get that." I lean back, suddenly aware I've eaten every grain in my bowl. "I thought if I gave Adam enough space, enough time, he'd eventually feel secure enough to let me in. To be part of my world."

"And then..." she begins.

"They became part of each other's worlds," I finish.

Our eyes meet, and there's a moment of perfect understanding between us—two people who've been played for fools finding unexpected solidarity across a sticky cafeteria table.

Lena wraps her hands around her coffee mug again, but it doesn't appear she's seeking warmth this time. She looks composed. "I spent this morning throwing up from the shock. Now I'm just... angry. "

"Good." I nod decisively. "Angry is better than humiliated."

"Is it, though?" Her eyebrow lifts. "I mean…the whole city's watching?"

I consider this as I study the woman across from me—her direct gaze and the stubborn set of her jaw. Something about her reminds me of my mother, not in looks but in backbone. "Maybe we can turn this around somehow."

"How?" she asks, curiosity replacing some of the hurt in her expression

I lean forward, thoughts brewing. "Like I said, what if we get some revenge? Nothing illegal, but something... satisfying."

Her eyes narrow, but there's a spark there. "What kind of revenge?"

"I don't know yet, but we deserve to feel better than this." I tap my fingers on the table. "Got any ideas?"

"Actually..." A small, dangerous smile plays on her lips. "I've had a few thoughts."

"Let's hear them."

"Well, Brad's teaching a summer seminar on moral philosophy." She twists her napkin between her fingers. "Wouldn't it be poetic for someone to interrupt his lecture on ethics with a reminder of his moral failures?"

I let out a surprised laugh. "What did you have in mind? Skywriting? Billboard outside his classroom?"

"I was thinking more... musical." Her smile widens. "My college roommate's brother has a barbershop quartet. They do singing telegrams."

The image clicks instantly, and I'm grinning despite myself. "A quartet bursting into his classroom to sing about what a cheating mooch he is?"

"They could sing 'No Scrubs' by TLC."

I nearly choke on my coffee. "That's perfect. Imagine it in four-part harmony or whatever? ”

“I bet his class would join in, sing with them,” she finishes, and we're laughing now.

"What about Adam?" she asks when we've calmed down. "What's your revenge fantasy?"

I consider this, rolling a few possibilities around in my mind. “I’d love to let Gordie–that’s my dog–piss in all Adam’s designer shoes. Oh, or switch all his pants out for pants one size smaller.”

Lena grins. “I could give you toothpaste that dyes his teeth blue.”

“Yes!” I pump my fist. “I love that one.”

Lena raises an eyebrow. "Would you do anything to him at a work event?"

"No." I shake my head. "I'm not that guy. But making him sweat a little? That's fair game."

"What about social media?" she suggests. "You could post about 'moving on' and 'finding someone who appreciates you.' Make him think you've already replaced him."

"I could," I muse. "Though knowing Adam, he'd just call me to figure out who I'm seeing."

"Block his number?"

"Tempting." I drum my fingers on the table. "What about you? What else can we do to Brad?"

She sighs. "I don’t think I’m creative enough for this."

I wave a hand. "You’re super creative. This is all gold. We could always do something classic. Change his Netflix password. Sign him up for embarrassing email lists."

"I like the email idea," she nods. "Especially since he uses his university email for everything personal."

We spend the next twenty minutes throwing increasingly ridiculous revenge ideas back and forth—most of which we'd never actually do, but it feels good to voice them out loud. Eventually, our laughter dies down, and reality settles back in. Lena's expression clouds over.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

She hesitates, then says, "I just remembered I don't want to go home tonight. Or ever… really."

"Because of Brad?"

"Yeah." She stares into her empty coffee mug. "The thought of facing him, of sleeping under the same roof..." She shakes her head. "Maybe, I can find a hotel for a few days."

"Hotels are expensive," I point out. "Especially considering you were already floating his lazy ass.”

"I know, but?—"

"I have a guest room." The words are out before I can think better of them.

She looks up, surprise evident in her expression. "What?"

"I have a guest room," I repeat. "It's nothing fancy, but it's private. And, you know, Brad-free."

"That's..." She blinks. "That's very generous, but I couldn't impose like that."

"It's not an imposition," I assure her. “It’s the first time I’ve ever lived without my twin and at least one other brother. It’s too much space for just me and my dog.”

"We barely know each other," she points out.

"True," I acknowledge. "But you're the team dentist. If you were an axe murderer, I'm pretty sure they would've caught that in the background check."

That elicits a small laugh from her. "Still..."

"Look, it would be temporary," I say. "Just until you find your place. And honestly?" I lower my voice conspiratorially. "It would give us more time to plot our revenge. Two minds are better than one."

She studies me for a long moment, clearly weighing her options. "I wouldn't be in your way?"

"There's plenty of space." I shrug. "And this way, when Brad and Adam inevitably try to reach out, neither of us has to face them alone."

"What about rent? Utilities?"

"We can figure all that out later."

She draws a deep breath, then nods. "Okay. Temporarily. Until I find a place."

"Great," I say, surprised by how pleased I feel. "Do you need to get your stuff tonight?"

"I have a few things in my car." She pauses. "The rest... I don't know. Maybe I can go when I know Brad won't be there."

"Or I could go with you," I offer. "Moral support. Heavy lifting."

"Thank you," she says, and the genuine gratitude in her voice makes something warm unfurl in my chest. "For all of this."

"Hey, revenge plotters have to stick together," I reply lightly, but I mean it. There's something comforting about having someone else who understands exactly what I'm going through.

As we gather our things and head for the exit, I wonder what I've just gotten myself into: a roommate situation with a woman I barely know, a revenge scheme against our cheating exes without input from Brian, and a complicated web of personal and professional connections.

But as I glance at Lena walking beside me, her head held high despite everything that's happened, I can't bring myself to regret it. For the first time since seeing that kiss cam footage, I feel something other than humiliation or rage.

I feel like I might have found an ally.